They Were Roommates

All the difference. What did that mean, exactly? And for her in particular. Esmé had never really considered herself a moral person. Thief, daughter of criminals, so on and so forth. But she wasn’t a killer. That would probably change, and soon. The poisons and contraptions she was capable of making … Well, there was a time such a thing had threatened a whole district here in Kirkwall, if old bones such as their own dear Volkbert could be believed. Many dead, something about heavy poison gas turning disastrous and impossible to clear in the sunken streets.

Bad way to go, nothing righteous about it at all no matter the hand that pointed her to build such a thing. Esmé glanced up at Ceren, squeezing the hand on her shoulder. Would she do it anyway, if it meant her friends could walk into an enemy fortification unchallenged? In a heartbeat, without question.

”I dunno if it’s gonna be bad or wrong – that’s for Caro to worry about. It’s just different, and different is scary. Anyway, I’m looking forward to see–” Esmé halted mid sentence, freezing as a heavy boot cracked the door frame with a shower of dust. Her grip on Cer tightened then released entirely, in case the other woman needed to go for a weapon.

Then a familiar voice rung out, cheerful and boisterous and then suddenly given to swearing. Evidently, Genthus had forgotten Marcher ceilings were not built to accommodate his great height and horns besides.

”Oh.” She shrugged up at Ceren, embarrassed by her doubt. It was time to put that away. Esmé got back to her feet and slung her pack, still open, over one shoulder. She moved to the kitchen and began stuffing her salves and ointments into the bag.

”Just about. But we’re going to load you down like a pack mule, I’m afraid. Fewer trips to the stables that way.” She pointed, indicating a few bags that needed carrying. Finally, her gaze settled on a long shrouded bundle beneath her cot. ”And those too. I want to burn them tonight. On the road.”