A Fantasy Reader

Habit took his feet south, put him on the Boulevard of the Ineffable Divine. He didn’t think Archeth would be back from An-Monal yet, but there was always Kefanin to talk to in the meantime. Ishgrim to leer at, if she chose to put in an appearance. And anyway, he reminded himself, a little sourly, it was his job to keep an eye on them all; it was the genteel pretence he and Archeth maintained – that his place as long-term house guest was paid out by informal security duties on her behalf.

That this amounted to not much more than being visible – and visibly Majak – about the place was not discussed. Nor were the small purses of silver coin that showed up regularly in the pockets of his attire, when it came back from cleaning and was laid out in his rooms.

He tried not to feel too much like a kept hound.

Truth was, the Citadel raid on Archeth’s household was the best part of three full seasons in the past now, and the way it had worked out, it seemed unlikely the same powers would try again. Menkarak and his kind had backed off. There was a ticklish equilibrium in place across Yhelteth these days, like some massive set of scales hanging in the sky above the city, one cupped, brass weighing bowl dipped over the imperial palace, the other riding the air above the raised crag and keep of the Citadel.

No-one wanted to disturb that balance if they could help it.

He felt it again – that same coiling restlessness, familiar but just out of reach.

Could always look for a real job, of course. Dragonbane.