Ficly

Conflict: Long Odds

I wondered how to break the silence, but she saved me the trouble by getting up in my face and jabbing a gloved finger at my cuirass.

“Askya’s lapdog you may be, but you didn’t tell him everything.”

It was not a question, but I responded from sheer force of habit.

“I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.”

“Don’t ma’am me, it’s ridiculous. And on the topic of ridiculous, there’s no chance that you’re just a Swordmage. You fight like a Ranger.”

She’d noticed that my blade was guided by magic. That was as interesting to me as it was to her, I supposed.

“Uncle Askya was slightly less specific than he should have been, perhaps. But you are also more than just an Inquisitor.”

To her credit, she didn’t deny it.

“So we’re both more than we seem. It’s nothing to celebrate.”

I shrugged.

“My duty is to your protection, my lady. It is not required for you to take pleasure in my company.”

“Oh, for the – please, call me Odessa, just stop with the titles.”

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