Every other time that he had arrived at the city of Vagren, Renado had camped beyond the gate for at least one night. The Vagren curfew kept them out during nighttime hours and the vouch-only gate policy often delayed him even further. Halrum would stop by every few days to check if Irrith had any visitors, but Ren had waited several days once before gaining entry to the secure city.
On this trip to Vagren, they walked straight past the line of refugees and travellers. Lotha led them right up to the gate, ignoring the slaver’s booth nearby, and waited near the front of the crowds. A guard walked out under the fortified archway to speak with her and a moment later they were in.
As they marched down the street, another guard approached Ren at a brisk march. Asar went for his sword out of surprise alone, but Ren waved him to stand down. The approaching sentry was short, but had a large head of hair and a shaggy beard. He smiled and then asked tentatively, “Are you Renado?”
Ren slowed his pace and nodded to the man.
“Do you know Ira?” the guard asked next.
Now Renado came to a stop. He folded his arms and looked at the guard suspiciously. The man wasn’t here for trouble; he held his half-helm between his forearm and his chest, and hadn’t even noticed the short sword strapped to his waist. So if not the law, what is this about? “I know her,” he said.
“She wanted me to watch if you came to Vagren again,” the guard explained. Ren raised an eyebrow, then the man went on. “’Said you could find her at Tazadar Tonic.”
“Well thank you,” Renado murmured. He tossed the guard a coin, and the man smoothly caught it in his upturned helmet with a clang. He bobbed his head and turned back toward the Vagren entryway.
“Lotha,” Ren called over his shoulder. Though she had stopped with the rest of the group, she was still several paces ahead, irritably awaiting the conclusion of the conversation. Renado winked to Woodro, standing with Sarno and Virn to Ren’s left, and then looked back at Lotha. “If you see Irrith, tell her we can set an appointment in a few days. I have some business to attend.”
“Gods, yeah he does,” Woodro muttered, grinning.
Ren promised to catch up with his men at the Down Dunrall later that night—or the next day, as the case might be. He had never been to the Tazadar before, but found it easily enough with a few directions from passersby. Inside, he found Ira.
Quietly, Ren went to the bar. After he ordered a drink, he turned to watch the card table where she played. Of course, she was winning; Ren decided not to interrupt. He drank two rounds at the bar before she finally cleaned out the other players. As her personal guard packed up her winnings, Ren walked closer. Ira noticed him but said nothing—she was stacking up a dozen coins.
“I heard you were looking for me,” Renado said quietly. The other players had already left the table, but the common room was packed with men and women eager to enjoy their evening.
Ira shrugged. Her hair was braided back today, and her wide lips parted for the slightest of smiles. “I thought you were dead,” she said, without looking up. Then she met his eyes, “Or had moved on to a woman in another city.”
“Not dead,” Ren replied. “Not yet.”
“And is there another woman?” Ira asked, standing up. Torbin, her guard, had already concluded his harvesting from the card table and stood, just behind Ira’s shoulder, watching Ren.
“No, of course not,” Ren said smugly. While many men in his line of work—whatever that had become—sought companionship wherever they went and with whomever they wanted, Renado liked to learn something about a woman first, in order to have some reason to care.
Ira laughed playfully at his reply. “Guess I won’t have Torbin break your legs then.” Even though she said it humorously, Torbin visibly relaxed. Had he been ordered to attack Ren if the answers to Ira’s questions had been different?
Ren eyed the guard for a moment and then looked back at Ira. “Do you really think Torbin could take me?”
“Maybe.” She met his eyes with her bright grey-greens. “But if not him, then me.”
Ren grinned. Then he patted his sword as he had in many a threat before and said, with a wink, “Let’s take this upstairs.”
Though they had spent many hours chatting or drinking together, this would be the first hour they spent in bed. It was blissfully unclear who ‘won the fight,’ as they had joked about in the common room. After they were done their fighting, Ren put his arm around Ira’s shoulders and they relaxed against the headboard.
Months ago, before his business in Ith, Ren had flirtatiously withheld details about his life in the south, but had shared little. As they chatted now, Ira lit a roll of tobacco. Ren left out a lot of details from the loss of Sheld, but he told her he worked on a ship and lost everything there. Then, bitterly, he held out his hand for a drag on her tobacco. When she asked about his business in central Radregar, he smirked and said only, “We were hired to contribute in the downfall of the Mage Kings.”
She sat up and looked at him for a moment. Her smirk faded as she realized he was serious. She then snatched her roll back and puffed heavily on it. After a moment, Ren asked about her past. She shared it with him more openly than he had his own.
Born and raised in Ellakar, Ira’s father had been a lord. When she was fifteen, she had run from home and lived her own life in Dellton. She learned how to survive on the streets, and then how to thrive at many common room tables. She had been living in Dellton when Mount Lukar had devoured her home, spewing ash across every familiar sight, and deafening her for days. Ira had returned home in the aftermath. Finding nothing, she spent a few weeks in Old Wall, a ramshackle village of survivors in the debris of Ellakar. Failing to support herself gambling there, she had moved to Vagren.
The rest, she said, had “yet to be unfolded.”
Ren drew another lungful through the tobacco roll. “I don’t think your lordling father would have cared much for a ruffian like me.”
“Hah! I don’t suspect he would, no,” Ira said, smirking. She leaned closer and kissed him again. He could taste the smoke in her mouth, something new for him. Then she pulled away and leaned her messy hair back into his shoulder. “That’s why I ran away from him.”