RFC-Mini Arc 2: Elven Garde-10 (Patreon)

The sensible thing would be to give up. Cut his losses, devote himself to his work, make a few coins in his fights, and pursue his dreams. Forget about his ill-fated love. Involving himself with Kierra after she so clearly warned him off was a terrible idea. A road destined for a bad end.

If only love were sensible.

Callan told himself that he simply wanted a look as he spent his afternoons stalking her house, reading a book on building spells as he waited for anyone to go up the long drive. This girl who interested Kierra, she had to be someone amazing. She may be an initiate now, but all attendees of the Hall were required to take the year of standard classes, even prodigies. And for Kierra to be attracted to her, she had to be at least a peerless beauty.

Strong, confident, dressed in fine clothes and rich with culture. His imagination grew wilder the longer it was left without answers, cemented by his expectations. He couldn’t crush his feelings by himself so he hoped that seeing Kierra’s…wife, as hard as the concept was for him to grasp, would drive home his loss. He could be stubborn but didn’t have the capacity to struggle endlessly toward an impossible goal.

He saw a carriage with the symbol of a book open over some kind of magic circle come down the drive many times throughout the week. Saw the servants coming and going, especially the thrall. Spotted Kierra sometimes, staring back as she smiled at him, wondering what it meant that she didn’t chase him away. Then, one Restday afternoon, he saw someone else.

She was unremarkable at first glance. With her dark hair that barely reached her nape, loose pants, and sweat-soaked shirt, she didn’t fit the estates. What drew his attention was her manner. Normally, laborers in the residential district moved quickly, going about whatever business brought them to the affluent street. That, or moving quickly to escape where they felt out of place.

She moved slowly, leisurely almost. As if she didn’t have a care in the world. It made him curious enough to watch her for a while and he was shocked when she turned onto the dirt path leading up to the house.

It couldn’t be. She was the right age and people didn’t casually visit the estate so he felt reasonably certain she had a connection to it, but his target couldn’t be so far from his imagination. He still ran forward. Most likely, the girl was a servant and she looked approachable. She could give him some idea about who he was looking for, maybe even information. “Hey!”

The girl stopped. Closer, Callan realized that young woman described her better than girl. She couldn’t be more than a year or two younger than himself. His doubts only grew facing her. He wouldn’t call her unattractive, but he also wouldn’t call her a beauty. Her brows were too thick, her nose to wide, and the rest of her features far too plain. More handsome than anything else, the men’s clothes she wore doing nothing to help his impression.

She watched his approach with open curiosity. Not judgmental, which he gave her credit for, but clearly confused by his presence. “Hello?”

“My name is Callan Atkinson. May I have your name?”

“Ah, it’s Lou.”

Callan stiffened. “Lou? As in, Lourianne? Lourianne Tome?”

Her curiosity mixed with trepidation. “You need something for me?”

“…it’s you?” He had waited for a week, the Lourianne Tome of his imaginings becoming the human equivalent of a dragon, to be met with a woman with dirt smeared on her shirt and who vaguely smelt like the bad side of a farm?

“Try to sound more disappointed. That’s quite an attitude for someone ambushing me on my way to my front door. Again, you need something?”

“How? Why?” He couldn’t understand it.

“You’re not making any sense. Saints give me patience, why do the strange ones keep finding me? Must be Cosmo’s doing. Ah, another blessing. Hah, then I have no choice but to embrace this, mm.”

“What?” She wasn’t making sense.

“Your name was Atkinson, right? Mr. Atkinson? No offense but you don’t look like a little lord. Or a big lord.”

Callan bristled. “My family may not be nobles but we’ve earned our name through our accomplishments.”

“Whoa, calm down. Not an insult. A compliment, actually. Come on, Mr. Self-Made Man. If we’re going to talk, I’d rather we do it inside.”

“Wait—”

“Nope. I just spent the whole day wrestling monsters and I want a bath, now. If buildings with more than one floor intimidate you or something, you can wait here for me.”

“Hey!” She ignored the second time he called out to her, jogging up the path. Callan hesitated for a moment before running after her. “You can’t just ignore people!”

“You can and should ignore unreasonable people, Mr. Self-Made. And asking me to stand around and chat when I’ve got fur in places it shouldn’t be, ignoring the very comfortable couches and wonderful Herbanacle waiting for me, is the definition of unreasonable.”

Willful, like a child. A mockery of Kierra’s confidence. Whiny. Another spoiled noble? Someone else who lucked into what they have. The thought made him sick and he glared at her back.

The door swung open as they neared, the thrall standing in the doorway. Her eyes moved to him before she smiled. “Welcome back, Lou. And Mr. Atkinson.”

“You two know each other?” Lourianne asked, glancing between the two of them with growing suspicion.

“We’re acquainted,” Geo replied the same time Callan said, “Barely.”

“Oh, well you definitely have to come in. Anyone who’s barely acquainted with her has got to be of some interest.”

He followed her inside, noting the décor. He looked at the furs thrown over the couches and the prominent monster skull on the wall where anyone else might hang a tasteful painting, wondering if the woman was posturing or overzealous for her future as a hunter. Either way, it was distasteful. He spotted what he assumed was Kierra’s influence in the plants growing all over the room, larger pots in the corners and smaller vases on the tables and sills, bringing a smile to his face.

“Make yourself comfortable while I freshen up,” Lou called over her shoulder as she disappeared up the staircase.

“Don’t be shy, Atty,” the thrall said after he’d stood still for a long pause.

“Don’t call me that!” Nevertheless, he slowly dropped down on one of the couches. “Is it really her?”

“Master’s wife? Oh, yes. That is the one and only Lourianne Tome, the wife of Kierra Atainna. Not what you expected?”

“She’s…so simple. So...mundane.”

“Insulting the owner in their own home.” The thrall’s tail swished through the air as her smile widened. “I don’t know if you are brutally honest with your opinions or simply rude. But if you think my summoner is mundane, you must be blind.”

“Tell me about her.”

“I’m not yours to command. Tea?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, leaving the room while chuckling, returning after several minutes with a tea tray.

“You called her your summoner. What is that?” he asked as a steaming cup was handed to him, ignoring the beverage.

“Summoning is the art of forming contracts with beings from other realms than your native plane,” the thrall responded, pouring herself a cup and sitting across from him. “Many look down on the practice but very few are truly successful at it. It takes keen observation, diplomacy, and above all, determination.”

“Is that why…”

“You should ask Master yourself.”

“Will you stop—”

“Alright.”

Callan stopped, turning as Lourianne came down the stairs in similarly casual clothes, running a towel over her head. She dropped onto the couch beside Geneva, taking the cup from her hand and sipping it. “Ah, that’s the stuff. Now, Mr. Self-Made.”

“My name is Callan.”

“No need to get worked up Cal, it’s a joke. Really, you’re far too tense.” She gulped down the rest of the tea. “Ge—o. Get us a real drink please.”

“Of course, my summoner.”

Lou leaned forward as the thrall got up. “So, Cal. What are you doing stalking me?”