“A friend of mine tells that I talk in shorthand and then smudge it.”
“You know how much I love your sister,” Bratwurzt said in a tone that was equal parts reverence and fear. “I would do anything for her. Whatever she asked.”
“She knows,” said Aurora.
“So you see my problem,” Bratwurzt pleaded. “I can’t just let you keep doing dangerous stuff like this. She’ll kill me. Maybe she’ll even bring me back so she can kill me again. So no more training, no more missions. I’m not tellin’ you nothin’ anymore.”
Aurora frowned–the Elvish way, the one where you furrow just your eyebrows and keep your lips still. “You don’t think I am capable.”
“Of course I think you’re capable!” Bratwurzt shouted. “Hell, you’re stronger and smarter than me when I was your age.”
“Is that saying much?” It was a genuine question, but Aurora realized it was the wrong thing to say the moment she asked it.
Bratwurzt sighed deeply and rubbed their temples. They weren’t used to having to be on this side of the argument, the responsible side, the side of reason and caution and all those other words that Cendrillion had stamped into their head. They didn’t want to be having this conversation, and the more their heart wasn’t in something, the less they could convince others to throw their hearts in with it.
For Bratwurzt, an argument was a lot like a duel. You learned and adapted to your opponents’ moves, targeted their weaknesses, kept on your toes to prevent a reversal. They’d learned to cross swords on the job, but crossing words had been their vocation for many years. It didn’t matter if Bratwurzt actually wanted to work with Aurora. No matter how fun it would be, there was one logical, safe outcome.
Try a new tactic, they thought. An appeal to emotion. You better wrap this up now, or you’re going to lose the argument.
Bratwurzt looked at Aurora, their red eyes suddenly soft and full of concern. Their tone was gentle, imploring: “She just doesn’t want to lose you again.” Then the killing blow: a sorrowful look away, down at the floor. “She almost lost herself to get you back.”
“Then teach me,” Aurora parried. “Teach me so I don’t have to lose myself.”
Bratwurzt was out of tactics, on the back foot, and Aurora knew it. She went in for her final thrust. “You know, in Evereska, bladesingers start their training in their second decade. In Menzoberranzan–”
“–we’re born with a sword in our hand,” Bratwurzt finished, their hands raised in resignation. “We breathe a word of this to Cendrillion and it’s over. For both of us.”
“I can keep a secret, Bratwurzt.”
When Bratwurzt looked at her again, they saw a determination in her eyes that was all too familiar. Both sisters were stubborn when they wanted to be, would grab hold of something and not let go until they were satisfied. Bratwurzt couldn’t deny that part of their hesitation came from their desire to not create a second powerful woman they couldn’t say no to.
“Alright,” they said. “Then we do this right. For starters, that cheap blade you found is way too small for you. And it reeks. Did you pull this off a corpse?”
“You told me corpses have valuable items on them–”
“And they also have junk. Now let’s go get you a real sword.”
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