Two and a half weeks into the Inquisitionâs occupation of it, Skyhold was really beginning to look like a castle with residents again.
The first couple of days had been devoted to the absolute essentials: clearing out places for everyone to live and securing supplies to ensure they could eat. She wasnât sure what magic Lady Marceline, Rilien, and Leon had worked between them exactly, but the results had been remarkable, and theyâd only grown more so as further time passed: merchants, builders, and craftsmen of all sorts had converged with their crews upon the castle, and though most of the repairs still had yet to be done, there was noticeable progress everywhere. Estella had elected to help where she could and otherwise stay out of everyoneâs way, but despite everything, Rilien was still insistentâor his equivalent of insistenceâthat they maintain something like a regular schedule.
It wasnât like she minded, of course. Her teacherâs presence centered her like few other things did, in large part because she didnât feel the need to be anyone in particular around him. He knew her foibles as well as she did, probably better, and not once had any of them bothered him in the slightest. The cynical might not think that counted, since it was categorically impossible for anything to bother a tranquil, but Estella saw it a bit differently.
In any case, she made her way to the top of the western watchtower, wending her way up a large spiral staircase around the perimeter of the circular structure until it let her out in the rookery. Rilien had likely chosen the location for expediency; he sent and received so many communiqués that she imagined it was much easier to just be right near the birds. They had free flight in and out of the windows, which would keep the space quite clean, and it was rather spacious, for what it was.
A few of the ravens cawed at her when she appeared in their space, and Estella smiled, shrugging a few dried dates from her sleeve, a handy little trick sheâd learned from Rilien himself, and offered up one of the fruits to the nearest, a particularly-large specimen she'd dubbed Polonius. With the back of her finger, she ruffled the feathers on his chest, breathing a soft laugh when he cawed again, picking at her sleeve with his beak. âAvaricious, arenât we?â
It didnât stop her from feeding him another, of course.
âIf you continue to feed my messengers like this, none of them will be able to fly much longer.â The flat delivery of the words could belong to no one but Rilien, though by this point in their acquaintance, Estella could detect the ever-so-slight modulation that indicated the admonishment wasnât particularly genuine. There was a silver thread of amusement in the words, thin, tenuous, and near-undetectable.
Estella would have jumped if she hadnât been expecting him at any moment. As usual, heâd appeared with no noise at all, though he let his footsteps fall slightly more heavily now, making his way around her to what seemed to be his workstation, and the scant evidence of his individual presence on this level of the tower: a freshly-built table, sturdy and dark wood, upon which rested several perfectly-stacked columns of documents, a quill, an inkwell, andâon the far end near the open window outâthe portable alchemy tools heâd salvaged from Haven. Nothing about any of it identified the arrangement as belonging to Rilien personally; he was not one for excessive memorabilia or trinkets, but all the same the space was clearly his, partly from the combination of items, plus the polished cabinet beneath the table and partly because of the air of enforced precision that pervaded. They may have been in a rookery, but it was cleaner and more fastidiously-arranged than most salons.
There were but two chairs present, as though he expected only one visitor, or at least only one at a time, and he placed himself with ease into the seat behind the table, leaving the one in front of it obviously for Estella. She took it, bringing her legs up underneath her and letting her hands fall in her lap. She wondered how many people came to see him up here; how many even knew this was where heâd located himself. Probably not a large number, and most of those would be his agents, in the cases they needed to make reports in person. She knew solitude didnât bother him. It was funny, almost: he was much more often physically alone than she was, but it was she who felt so often lonely.
For a while, he simply regarded her in his usual way: steady, attentive to detail, and reserved. Though Rilien was an elf, and the reality of that meant that he was at best a second-class citizen anywhere in Thedas, he had never carried or conducted himself like he was at all conscious of the fact. His subtlety was not the kind belonging to someone who believed he needed to hide, or go beneath noticeârather, it was part of a certain kind of dignity, almost, and indeed nothing about his appearance as such was intended to deflect attention. Estella had always admired that about himâhow perfectly at ease and comfortable he was with exactly who he was. It wasnât simply a trait of tranquil, either, because sheâd met plenty of them by this point in her life. Rilien was aware of himself in a way most of them didnât seem to know to be anymore, and utterly assured of his own capabilities.
âYou are afraid.â It wasnât a question, but the tone in which it was delivered was the gentlest one sheâd ever heard from him, perceptibly different from any of his usual small variations. Anyone at all would be able to recognize it as concern, perhaps tinged even with affection.
It was strange to hear, in his voice, but not as strange as she might have thought. Shades of this had been present in previous conversations between them, and she recognized this as a new development only because of how much more apparent it was than usual. Estella dropped her eyes to her lap, lacing her fingers with one another and twisting her hands around idly. It scared her sometimes, how much of her he understood. But she trusted him absolutely, and that trust was perhaps the only reason why she made no attempt to deny his claim.
âIâm terrified,â she replied softly, swallowing past the lump forming at the back of her throat. âBeing one of a pair is nothing like being the only one.â She felt terrible, that sheâd even had the thought that she wished Romulus were still alive for that reason. There were other reasons, of course, better ones, and she felt those, too, but she hadnât failed to note that she was now responsible for so much more than she had been.
It had been overwhelming before. Now, she was drowning in it.
She shifted her hands so that the right one lay palm-up, and pursed her lips down at the mark. âI donât think I can be what they need me to be, Rilien. I donât think I can even pretend well enough.â She wanted to know his thoughts on the subject, because she knew heâd never lie to her about it. Heâd give her his honest assessment, and he wouldnât soften it to spare her feelings. She needed thatâthe assurance that what he was saying was true, and not adjusted to make her feel better.
From the periphery of her vision, she could see Rilien shift slightly, and the sound of rustling parchment followed as he removed one of them from the stack. He slid it with one hand across the surface of the table to her. It was a list, written in his precise handwriting, of twenty-five names, all soldiers who had died during the attack on Haven. âHow many of these people did you know? Can you recall their faces?â He was back at near-perfect neutrality; it was impossible to tell what he was driving at.
Estella lifted the parchment carefully, scanning over the list. Many of the names were familiar; those that were had accompanying faces that easily came to mind. Sheâd spent a lot of time with the troops, in part because on most days, there wasnât anywhere else for her to be. The day-to-day business of the Inquisition was handled by Rilien, Leon, and Marceline, really; in the end, she didnât have much use beyond closing rifts. But sheâd always been good at remembering things, especially faces.
âI knew most of them, yes,â she told him, a pained expression crossing her face. Her free hand rose to her sternum, and she rubbed at it absently, trying to soothe an ache with no physical remedy. Some of them, sheâd shared a drink with, or a story, or just a few minutes in march formation. Little details filtered into her recollection as well. The way Moira held herself, the way Thomas spoke of his daughter back home in the bannorn. The fact that Sigurd had liked dark beer from Nevarra over anything they had in Orlais. Fragments of conversations, snippets of memory.
It felt like she should have more than that, but all she had were pieces.
âAnd you cared about them, did you not? You mourn their passing?â Rilien looked pointedly at where her hand lay close to her heart, blinking slowly at her in an owlish fashion.
Estella didnât understand the meaning behind the question. âOf course I did.â Her brows drew together over her eyes, and she carefully set the list back down on the table. âOf course I do. Why? Does someone thinkâŠâ She wasnât sure how she wanted to finish that sentence, because she couldnât imagine anyone not mourning the losses. There had been so many, and all of it for⊠she grimaced.
âI do not mourn them.â Rilienâs words were measured, crisp, and exceptionally clear, almost as though he were taking particular care that they were understood. âLady Marceline does not mourn them. Neither does High Seeker Leonhardt.â He paused a moment, letting the words hang there. âWe recognize a loss, and perhaps, in some way, they are moved by it. But we do not mourn as you do. We do not know so many names, we cannot so easily attach even those names that we do to faces and memories the way you can.â
Rilien laid both of his hands neatly on the table before him. âThis is not a condemnation of us. Few people in the world can feel as deeply as you do for people they knew so little. Fewer still can find the strength to carry on in the face of such loss, and the almost certain prospect of its repetition.â Reaching forward, he returned the parchment to its stack, one of the shorter ones on his desk.
âBut you can. When the rest of us are thinking only in terms of how an act will serve the Inquisitionâs goals, you remember to ask how it will serve its people. That is what they need you to be: exactly what you already are.â
She found what he was saying extremely difficult to believe. She certainly trusted him, and knew that this had to be what he really thought, but that didnât mean she understood, and she was fairly sure she disagreed. âButâŠâ Estella hesitated, trying to find the words. âBut thatâs not it, though, is it? Maybe⊠maybe itâs required, but surely it canât be the only thing.â She shook her head emphatically.
âRilien, the Inquisition needs to be behind someone who can lead them to battle. Who can negotiate on their behalf. Who can inspire them, who can, I donât know⊠live up to their expectations!â She gestured expansively, trying to get at just how tall an order she thought that was. Her words came out louder than sheâd intended, but she wasnât precisely shouting. It was more panic than anything, really, which was a good reflection of her mental state.
The truth was, she wasnât even sure what heâd said about her was true. Estella didnât think she felt loss any more keenly than anyone else didâthe entire organization had been slowly working its way out of a sharp drop in morale for more than a fortnight. Asala still hadnât really emerged from her room since their discussion more than a week ago. Zahra was no doubt in terrible shape as well, or so she seemed to be when anyone could even find her to check. That she mourned was nothing special, and she flatly refused to believe that Marceline and Leon and Rilien himself did not. Heâd lost an old, dear friend, and while he might be able to convince other people that it didnât affect him, she knew differently.
Her instinctual belief in him and what he said was in desperate tension with things she knew to be deeply true of herself and others, and she wasnât sure which side of the fence she was going to fall off on. âHave you ever once seen me do anything right the first time? Or even the hundredth? We canât take those kinds of risksâI canât be important. Iâll get even more good people killed!â She stood suddenly, unable to remain seated, and paced back and forth, her motions jerky and abrupt. He was logical, all the time, and she needed him to understand the logic in what she was saying.
âYou will.â Rilien didnât disagree with her assessment, it seemed. âYou, in conjunction with the rest of us, will make decisions that will get people killed. Good people, as you say.â He stood with a great deal more deliberateness than she had, crossing slowly to where she was and planting himself in front of her. He didnât reach out to touch her or halt her movement; he was not known for his tactility, and now was no different. But he met her eyes and held them steadily.
âThat is the reality of the situation. No matter what we do, no matter who leads the Inquisition, people will die. If you lead, you will make mistakes. You will stumble and you will err. Perhaps you will do so more often than another would. But in every case, you will err with the best of intentions, with your heart precisely where it should be, and you will learn.â His eyes narrowed slightly.
âI have never seen you succeed immediately, but I have also never seen you give up. Remember that you are not alone. Trust myself and the others to guide you. Trust your friendsâand they are manyâto steady and ground you. And when you stumble and fall, stand again. You can, and you must.â
âIâŠâ Estella found that she didnât really have anything she could adduce against that. He made it sound so simple: trust her friends, donât give up. Keep moving forward. Those were things she could do, or at least she thought she could. She worried, still, about all of it, but⊠if he really believed that was all she had to do, thenâŠ
She turned her hand over, opening her fist and staring down at the mark. Sheâd always believe things would have been better if someone else had it, someone other than her. But no matter how much she wished, it wasnât anyone other than her, and she had to accept that. She was the only one now, and that meant something had to change, regardless of whether she was ready or confident or not. And he seemed to believe she could. Estella let her hand drop, and raised her eyes back to his.
Either way, it came down to what it always did: whether or not she could, she must.
âOkay. What⊠how do we start?â
There was a short pause, and Rilien almost smiled. His expression eased considerably in any case, becoming much less severe than the default neutrality he wore on most occasions. He nodded once, briefly, conveying somehow as much approval as other people spent minutes relaying with words. âWe name you Inquisitor, and in so doing, we inform the rest of the world of what youâve just decided. Then⊠we pursue our leads. There are things we know about the Elder One, but we must know more.â
She was immediately leery of the title, but in some way, she supposed it might actually rankle her less than Herald of Andraste did. At least Inquisitor implied only that sheâd been named head of an organization, not chosen by the bride of the Maker for anything. In fact, in that sense, it was vastly preferable. The rest of the world knowing wasnât exactly comfortable, but sheâd decided to do this, and there was no denying itâd be uncomfortable more often than not. Since she felt that so often anyway, she might as well prepare for yet more.
That didnât stop her from grimacing at him. âAll right. I⊠suppose we should get to that, then. Leon and Lady Marceline will want to know, right?â Estella suspected the plan had been something like this from the beginning, so she didnât expect the news would come as a surprise.
âThey will. They will also be waiting until after your lesson. Be present at the bailey in ten minutes, please.â Just as abruptly as their conversation had begun, it ended, with Rilien gliding past her to descend the stairs first.
It took her a second to process that, but then she was hurrying down behind him, wondering if she could get back to her quarters, retrieve her gear, and make it to the bailey in ten minutes at anything less than a full sprint. She also had no idea if he wanted full gear or just the wooden practice blade.
âWait, Rilien!â
He was, of course, already gone.
The first couple of days had been devoted to the absolute essentials: clearing out places for everyone to live and securing supplies to ensure they could eat. She wasnât sure what magic Lady Marceline, Rilien, and Leon had worked between them exactly, but the results had been remarkable, and theyâd only grown more so as further time passed: merchants, builders, and craftsmen of all sorts had converged with their crews upon the castle, and though most of the repairs still had yet to be done, there was noticeable progress everywhere. Estella had elected to help where she could and otherwise stay out of everyoneâs way, but despite everything, Rilien was still insistentâor his equivalent of insistenceâthat they maintain something like a regular schedule.
It wasnât like she minded, of course. Her teacherâs presence centered her like few other things did, in large part because she didnât feel the need to be anyone in particular around him. He knew her foibles as well as she did, probably better, and not once had any of them bothered him in the slightest. The cynical might not think that counted, since it was categorically impossible for anything to bother a tranquil, but Estella saw it a bit differently.
In any case, she made her way to the top of the western watchtower, wending her way up a large spiral staircase around the perimeter of the circular structure until it let her out in the rookery. Rilien had likely chosen the location for expediency; he sent and received so many communiqués that she imagined it was much easier to just be right near the birds. They had free flight in and out of the windows, which would keep the space quite clean, and it was rather spacious, for what it was.
A few of the ravens cawed at her when she appeared in their space, and Estella smiled, shrugging a few dried dates from her sleeve, a handy little trick sheâd learned from Rilien himself, and offered up one of the fruits to the nearest, a particularly-large specimen she'd dubbed Polonius. With the back of her finger, she ruffled the feathers on his chest, breathing a soft laugh when he cawed again, picking at her sleeve with his beak. âAvaricious, arenât we?â
It didnât stop her from feeding him another, of course.
âIf you continue to feed my messengers like this, none of them will be able to fly much longer.â The flat delivery of the words could belong to no one but Rilien, though by this point in their acquaintance, Estella could detect the ever-so-slight modulation that indicated the admonishment wasnât particularly genuine. There was a silver thread of amusement in the words, thin, tenuous, and near-undetectable.
Estella would have jumped if she hadnât been expecting him at any moment. As usual, heâd appeared with no noise at all, though he let his footsteps fall slightly more heavily now, making his way around her to what seemed to be his workstation, and the scant evidence of his individual presence on this level of the tower: a freshly-built table, sturdy and dark wood, upon which rested several perfectly-stacked columns of documents, a quill, an inkwell, andâon the far end near the open window outâthe portable alchemy tools heâd salvaged from Haven. Nothing about any of it identified the arrangement as belonging to Rilien personally; he was not one for excessive memorabilia or trinkets, but all the same the space was clearly his, partly from the combination of items, plus the polished cabinet beneath the table and partly because of the air of enforced precision that pervaded. They may have been in a rookery, but it was cleaner and more fastidiously-arranged than most salons.
There were but two chairs present, as though he expected only one visitor, or at least only one at a time, and he placed himself with ease into the seat behind the table, leaving the one in front of it obviously for Estella. She took it, bringing her legs up underneath her and letting her hands fall in her lap. She wondered how many people came to see him up here; how many even knew this was where heâd located himself. Probably not a large number, and most of those would be his agents, in the cases they needed to make reports in person. She knew solitude didnât bother him. It was funny, almost: he was much more often physically alone than she was, but it was she who felt so often lonely.
For a while, he simply regarded her in his usual way: steady, attentive to detail, and reserved. Though Rilien was an elf, and the reality of that meant that he was at best a second-class citizen anywhere in Thedas, he had never carried or conducted himself like he was at all conscious of the fact. His subtlety was not the kind belonging to someone who believed he needed to hide, or go beneath noticeârather, it was part of a certain kind of dignity, almost, and indeed nothing about his appearance as such was intended to deflect attention. Estella had always admired that about himâhow perfectly at ease and comfortable he was with exactly who he was. It wasnât simply a trait of tranquil, either, because sheâd met plenty of them by this point in her life. Rilien was aware of himself in a way most of them didnât seem to know to be anymore, and utterly assured of his own capabilities.
âYou are afraid.â It wasnât a question, but the tone in which it was delivered was the gentlest one sheâd ever heard from him, perceptibly different from any of his usual small variations. Anyone at all would be able to recognize it as concern, perhaps tinged even with affection.
It was strange to hear, in his voice, but not as strange as she might have thought. Shades of this had been present in previous conversations between them, and she recognized this as a new development only because of how much more apparent it was than usual. Estella dropped her eyes to her lap, lacing her fingers with one another and twisting her hands around idly. It scared her sometimes, how much of her he understood. But she trusted him absolutely, and that trust was perhaps the only reason why she made no attempt to deny his claim.
âIâm terrified,â she replied softly, swallowing past the lump forming at the back of her throat. âBeing one of a pair is nothing like being the only one.â She felt terrible, that sheâd even had the thought that she wished Romulus were still alive for that reason. There were other reasons, of course, better ones, and she felt those, too, but she hadnât failed to note that she was now responsible for so much more than she had been.
It had been overwhelming before. Now, she was drowning in it.
She shifted her hands so that the right one lay palm-up, and pursed her lips down at the mark. âI donât think I can be what they need me to be, Rilien. I donât think I can even pretend well enough.â She wanted to know his thoughts on the subject, because she knew heâd never lie to her about it. Heâd give her his honest assessment, and he wouldnât soften it to spare her feelings. She needed thatâthe assurance that what he was saying was true, and not adjusted to make her feel better.
From the periphery of her vision, she could see Rilien shift slightly, and the sound of rustling parchment followed as he removed one of them from the stack. He slid it with one hand across the surface of the table to her. It was a list, written in his precise handwriting, of twenty-five names, all soldiers who had died during the attack on Haven. âHow many of these people did you know? Can you recall their faces?â He was back at near-perfect neutrality; it was impossible to tell what he was driving at.
Estella lifted the parchment carefully, scanning over the list. Many of the names were familiar; those that were had accompanying faces that easily came to mind. Sheâd spent a lot of time with the troops, in part because on most days, there wasnât anywhere else for her to be. The day-to-day business of the Inquisition was handled by Rilien, Leon, and Marceline, really; in the end, she didnât have much use beyond closing rifts. But sheâd always been good at remembering things, especially faces.
âI knew most of them, yes,â she told him, a pained expression crossing her face. Her free hand rose to her sternum, and she rubbed at it absently, trying to soothe an ache with no physical remedy. Some of them, sheâd shared a drink with, or a story, or just a few minutes in march formation. Little details filtered into her recollection as well. The way Moira held herself, the way Thomas spoke of his daughter back home in the bannorn. The fact that Sigurd had liked dark beer from Nevarra over anything they had in Orlais. Fragments of conversations, snippets of memory.
It felt like she should have more than that, but all she had were pieces.
âAnd you cared about them, did you not? You mourn their passing?â Rilien looked pointedly at where her hand lay close to her heart, blinking slowly at her in an owlish fashion.
Estella didnât understand the meaning behind the question. âOf course I did.â Her brows drew together over her eyes, and she carefully set the list back down on the table. âOf course I do. Why? Does someone thinkâŠâ She wasnât sure how she wanted to finish that sentence, because she couldnât imagine anyone not mourning the losses. There had been so many, and all of it for⊠she grimaced.
âI do not mourn them.â Rilienâs words were measured, crisp, and exceptionally clear, almost as though he were taking particular care that they were understood. âLady Marceline does not mourn them. Neither does High Seeker Leonhardt.â He paused a moment, letting the words hang there. âWe recognize a loss, and perhaps, in some way, they are moved by it. But we do not mourn as you do. We do not know so many names, we cannot so easily attach even those names that we do to faces and memories the way you can.â
Rilien laid both of his hands neatly on the table before him. âThis is not a condemnation of us. Few people in the world can feel as deeply as you do for people they knew so little. Fewer still can find the strength to carry on in the face of such loss, and the almost certain prospect of its repetition.â Reaching forward, he returned the parchment to its stack, one of the shorter ones on his desk.
âBut you can. When the rest of us are thinking only in terms of how an act will serve the Inquisitionâs goals, you remember to ask how it will serve its people. That is what they need you to be: exactly what you already are.â
She found what he was saying extremely difficult to believe. She certainly trusted him, and knew that this had to be what he really thought, but that didnât mean she understood, and she was fairly sure she disagreed. âButâŠâ Estella hesitated, trying to find the words. âBut thatâs not it, though, is it? Maybe⊠maybe itâs required, but surely it canât be the only thing.â She shook her head emphatically.
âRilien, the Inquisition needs to be behind someone who can lead them to battle. Who can negotiate on their behalf. Who can inspire them, who can, I donât know⊠live up to their expectations!â She gestured expansively, trying to get at just how tall an order she thought that was. Her words came out louder than sheâd intended, but she wasnât precisely shouting. It was more panic than anything, really, which was a good reflection of her mental state.
The truth was, she wasnât even sure what heâd said about her was true. Estella didnât think she felt loss any more keenly than anyone else didâthe entire organization had been slowly working its way out of a sharp drop in morale for more than a fortnight. Asala still hadnât really emerged from her room since their discussion more than a week ago. Zahra was no doubt in terrible shape as well, or so she seemed to be when anyone could even find her to check. That she mourned was nothing special, and she flatly refused to believe that Marceline and Leon and Rilien himself did not. Heâd lost an old, dear friend, and while he might be able to convince other people that it didnât affect him, she knew differently.
Her instinctual belief in him and what he said was in desperate tension with things she knew to be deeply true of herself and others, and she wasnât sure which side of the fence she was going to fall off on. âHave you ever once seen me do anything right the first time? Or even the hundredth? We canât take those kinds of risksâI canât be important. Iâll get even more good people killed!â She stood suddenly, unable to remain seated, and paced back and forth, her motions jerky and abrupt. He was logical, all the time, and she needed him to understand the logic in what she was saying.
âYou will.â Rilien didnât disagree with her assessment, it seemed. âYou, in conjunction with the rest of us, will make decisions that will get people killed. Good people, as you say.â He stood with a great deal more deliberateness than she had, crossing slowly to where she was and planting himself in front of her. He didnât reach out to touch her or halt her movement; he was not known for his tactility, and now was no different. But he met her eyes and held them steadily.
âThat is the reality of the situation. No matter what we do, no matter who leads the Inquisition, people will die. If you lead, you will make mistakes. You will stumble and you will err. Perhaps you will do so more often than another would. But in every case, you will err with the best of intentions, with your heart precisely where it should be, and you will learn.â His eyes narrowed slightly.
âI have never seen you succeed immediately, but I have also never seen you give up. Remember that you are not alone. Trust myself and the others to guide you. Trust your friendsâand they are manyâto steady and ground you. And when you stumble and fall, stand again. You can, and you must.â
âIâŠâ Estella found that she didnât really have anything she could adduce against that. He made it sound so simple: trust her friends, donât give up. Keep moving forward. Those were things she could do, or at least she thought she could. She worried, still, about all of it, but⊠if he really believed that was all she had to do, thenâŠ
She turned her hand over, opening her fist and staring down at the mark. Sheâd always believe things would have been better if someone else had it, someone other than her. But no matter how much she wished, it wasnât anyone other than her, and she had to accept that. She was the only one now, and that meant something had to change, regardless of whether she was ready or confident or not. And he seemed to believe she could. Estella let her hand drop, and raised her eyes back to his.
Either way, it came down to what it always did: whether or not she could, she must.
âOkay. What⊠how do we start?â
There was a short pause, and Rilien almost smiled. His expression eased considerably in any case, becoming much less severe than the default neutrality he wore on most occasions. He nodded once, briefly, conveying somehow as much approval as other people spent minutes relaying with words. âWe name you Inquisitor, and in so doing, we inform the rest of the world of what youâve just decided. Then⊠we pursue our leads. There are things we know about the Elder One, but we must know more.â
She was immediately leery of the title, but in some way, she supposed it might actually rankle her less than Herald of Andraste did. At least Inquisitor implied only that sheâd been named head of an organization, not chosen by the bride of the Maker for anything. In fact, in that sense, it was vastly preferable. The rest of the world knowing wasnât exactly comfortable, but sheâd decided to do this, and there was no denying itâd be uncomfortable more often than not. Since she felt that so often anyway, she might as well prepare for yet more.
That didnât stop her from grimacing at him. âAll right. I⊠suppose we should get to that, then. Leon and Lady Marceline will want to know, right?â Estella suspected the plan had been something like this from the beginning, so she didnât expect the news would come as a surprise.
âThey will. They will also be waiting until after your lesson. Be present at the bailey in ten minutes, please.â Just as abruptly as their conversation had begun, it ended, with Rilien gliding past her to descend the stairs first.
It took her a second to process that, but then she was hurrying down behind him, wondering if she could get back to her quarters, retrieve her gear, and make it to the bailey in ten minutes at anything less than a full sprint. She also had no idea if he wanted full gear or just the wooden practice blade.
âWait, Rilien!â
He was, of course, already gone.