"So what. Were they killed in a war?" Roni tilted his head back to catch the last drops his ale, then pounded it back to the table and waved for a serving girl. "Kidnapped by evil tribesmen? Sold into slavery?"

Krelian winced, and waited until the waitress had collected their cups before propping his elbows on the table and leaning closer to his friend. The tavern was so noisy he doubted he'd be heard, otherwise. "No, nothing like that. Or maybe - I've no idea what happened to my father."

"We hear that a lot these days, don't we?"

"The fortunes of war," he murmured, and shook his head when Roni arched an eyebrow. He was a warmongering fanatic himself - what right did he have to complain? "My guess is he was a soldier, or I would have heard more about him from the people who took care of me. They knew my mother well enough." And what a gift she'd left him, that knowledge that everyone knew her better than he did.

The same girl brought Roni another tankard, and a smile she directed at Krelian, but he could barely muster a proper response for her. He had yet to order anything - perhaps she was waiting for him. He waved her away and turned his attention back to his friend. "Good enough?"

A crooked smile cut across Roni's face. "She was trying to get your attention."

"Who?" Krelian followed his gaze, then quickly turned away when he caught sight of the girl who'd brought Roni's ale. "What are you talking about?"

The smile widened into a grin. "I can't believe you, Krel. How can you not notice?"

Krelian rolled his eyes and planted his chin in his hands, leveling a hard look at Roni. "You were saying?"

"Nevermind." Roni buried himself in his ale, taking a long pull and flicking a bit of foam from his nose. He glanced off to the side, likely at the serving girl, but took the hint. "Your mother. What about her?"

Everyone knew her. Everyone loved her. Would they have cared for me, if that weren't the case? Krelian sighed, drawing the breath out as long as he could. His friend's gaze was as piercing as ever, despite the ale. "I didn't know her, either." Roni motioned with his hand, prompting for more, and Krelian shrugged. "Does it really matter?"

"I told you about my family." Another pull of ale, and then the blue Fatima eyes nailed him. "We don't do that, in our culture, so 'fess up and consider yourself lucky."

Krelian snorted. Couldn't get something for nothing, could he? "She died in childbirth." He spread his hands and lifted his eyebrows. "The carving on her tombstone was especially nice, and that's all I know. Happy?"

Roni lifted his tankard. "Cheers."


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I have a theory about the backgrounds of these characters. The Perfect Works left them both blank slates. I'd like to work on this again some time.