Lingering Glance (Patreon)

"Now, we may speak freely. Alessa, Hadrian, ${Name}," Mist says, enunciating each name clearly and precisely. It's as if he's putting them deep into memory. "Welcome to one of my abodes. It isn't much, but it gets the job done."

Lance's grey eyes glow blue under the lanterns. The bard adjusts his seat on the desk, perching with his hip leaning on the side. The real meeting begins.

*page_break  "So, which one of you knows Latin?"

The words hit you like a boulder. 

You tense without meaning to, and the room suddenly feels too small. Your fingertips turn cold while your blood runs hot, and you don't notice that you're squeezing the chair's arms until your knuckles creak. 

Alessa keeps her face perfectly still, but Hadrian leans on his chair and gives you a nervous glance. 

Silence.

Mist folds his hands back together. "Why the hesitation? Tarek is nothing if not a careful man; he wouldn't send you hunting for texts you couldn't understand. One of you knows the forbidden language. I doubt it's Alessa. Is it you, former Templar?" He turns to Hadrian. "Did you learn it while under their red banner?"