Author's Preface
Jysarra paused as the dirt road gave way to cobblestone beneath her bare feet, the early morning sun having already warmed the old stones. She let the breeze coming in from the bay wash over her, her long hair and skirts flowing with it, both catching the light and shimmering like a thousand tiny stars.
It had been seven years since Jysarra had seen Brighthollow, and no matter how many times she laid eyes upon the city, it left her in awe. Its silhouette was exactly as she remembered: grand walls enclosing marble buildings that caught the sunlight like polished bone, and Castle Dawnguard perched upon the spur of rock that jutted out from the plain away from the bay.
She tugged at the cuffs of her sleeves, readjusting the loop between her thumb and forefinger, smoothed down her skirts, and made sure every ring on her fingers was positioned just so. Jysarra frowned at the state of her nails; uneven, cracked, and dirty. She forced a smile and tucked a strand of silver hair behind a pointed ear.
Up to now, no one on the road had recognized her, and if she was being honest with herself, she was relieved. Jysarra understood why she had been made the face of the faith, but it was a heavy burden to shoulder. Still, she bore it — for her sisters.
Dark Elves were, after all, accepted in Brighthollow and all of Dalmascus. But acceptance was not the same as love.
Pallid skin, violet eyes, and hair that flowed down her back like waves of liquid silver made her disarming to the public eye. Presentable. Beautiful, even. But the beauty was curated. And it came with a high cost.
And then there was the other thought clawing at the back of her mind, causing her heart to race whenever it found its way forward. She had not left on good terms with everyone . She remembered the day she left as if it were yesterday: a warm late spring morning much like this one. Only, there was no warmth in her parting.
"You're leaving me?" she cried.
Jysarra turned toward her. "We've been over this, Mairen."
"What… what about us?"
Mairen had taken a step towards her, arm outstretched as if reaching to pull her back. The silver bangle Jysarra had gifted her caught the morning sun. Jysarra’s jaw went tight, her chin dipping low and away, and her eyes closed as if to hold back a feeling she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, express.
"There is no us. There never was. It was a mistake."
Mairen’s voice had gone sharp. "Then you've made plenty of mistakes with me."
Jysarra had turned on her heel and began her pilgrimage. There had been nothing else to say.
She took a deep, cleansing breath. Today was a good day, or at least it should be, and her mind was actively trying to sabotage that. Jysarra adjusted her parasol to shield herself from the sunlight and continued down the road. She would need to check in with Silmariën at the Dancing Dell eventually, but for now she wanted to walk the cobblestone streets once more, before duty made such indulgence impossible.
She joined the slow-moving line into the city, noting the heavy presence of city guards and several soldiers bearing the Kiermann crest. Everyone was being stopped, questioned, searched, and assessed. When her turn came, she slipped her pack from her shoulder and offered her sheathed longsword to the nearest guard without being prompted.
“Name?”
“Jysarra Kil’rahel.”
“What’s your business in Brighthollow?”
“I’m returning home to the Dancing Dell.”
The guard hesitated, eyes narrowing. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but aren’t the priestesses all, well, dark elves?”
“Yes,” she said. “And I am.”
She did not have the patience today to explain why her skin was alabaster instead of obsidian. She had learned long ago that those who asked the question rarely wanted to understand the answer.
The guard’s gaze lingered a moment too long, then he glanced to his partner. A tired nod. Her belongings were thrust back into her arms, and she was waved along with no further courtesy.
She passed beneath the Gates of Morning into Morninglow, Brighthollow’s administrative heart, where the first thing anyone saw today was not the marble arch or the sunlit banners, but the graffiti.
THE FACELESS MAN FEARS NO WITNESS
The words were painted fresh in black pitch, smeared boldly across a stylized symbol—some kind of insect with flared wings and a pointed abdomen, angular and sharp. She didn’t recognize the sigil, but she knew the message scrawled over it. The Faceless were sending warnings now. And someone else, someone newer, was answering.
Only then did the city come into view as it should have been: Morninglow’s government halls on her left, and just across the broad street, Noontide, home to polished stone promenades, proud manor-houses, and upscale shops. The Tradeway curved ahead like a winding river of brick and color, running from the Gates of Morning in the east to the Door of Night in the west.
But the air was oppressive.
The city was dressed for joy, yet held under watch.
Public servants and volunteers moved about hanging streamers and arranging garlands of lavender, rosemary, daisies, wild roses, and golden sunflowers. Bright banners of crimson, gold, blue, and emerald fluttered from windows and balconies. The Midsommar festival was nearly upon them, no doubt the Maypole would soon rise in Green Market Square in the Eveningstar District.
It should have felt warm.
It should have felt welcoming.
Instead, it felt like a celebration being held on the edge of a breath.
Just inside the gate merchants had set up makeshift stands and trolleys to peddle their wares. Wood-carved toys, smoked meats, paintings, jewelry, and dozens of other storefronts filled the edges of the street.
As she wandered northward along the street, stopping occasionally to peruse a set of jewelry or get lost in conversation with one of the many artists about their paintings and the inspiration for their work, she caught a familiar scent that made her mouth tug into a bright smile.
Lilacs. Her favorite.
Jysarra turned from idle patron to hunter. It didn't hurt that she was able to see over a great many people due to her height, but the bright morning sun was still her unfortunate enemy. So she relied heavily on her nose to lead her.
She found herself drawn to a young woman with a flower cart tucked down one of the many alleyways branching off the Tradeway. Her chestnut brown hair was pulled back into a loose braid, which was tied off with a pink ribbon, and her skin was sun-kissed and glowing. She had on a plain white dress with lacey frills at the edges, worn boots that seemed far too big on her, and a red leather half coat that had seen better days. She was also currently involved in a rather deep philosophical conversation about how to know which flower to get a girl you like with a blonde-headed boy that couldn't have been more than ten.
“Shouldn't it be roses? My dad always gives my mom roses.”
“Roses are a classic choice, but roses also say love. Do you love this girl?”
Jysarra was absorbed in their interaction, not noticing anything else happening around her.
The boy blushed. “N-no.”
“A crush then?”
The boy nodded.
“Very well.”
The young woman grabbed half a dozen flowers.
“Daisies say affection, and I've never known a young girl not to like them.”
Jysarra watched the boy thumb a few copper coins in the palm of his hand.
“How…how much for those?”
The woman smiled, but before she could respond Jysarra laid a gold piece down on the trolley.
“A brave knight should be rewarded. Especially when the weapon he wields is flowers.”
The boy positively beamed at her.
“T-thank you!”
He snatched up the flowers and disappeared into the crowd.
Jysarra chuckled and watched him go before returning her attention to the flower girl.
“I would have given them to him for free, but that was very sweet.”
Jysarra dipped her chin, slowly pushed a lock of hair behind her pointed ear, and focused on the young woman's lips while a smile played on her own.
“That is very kind of you to say.”
“What could I get for you, my lady?”
Jysarra smiled widely now with a twinkle in her eye.
“Let's start with your name.”
Ten minutes later Jysarra emerged from the alleyway with a dozen lilacs, a name, Astrid, and where to find her later.
She threaded several of the flowers into her hair as she continued up the road, following the slow westerly turn it took. The Guild of Venturers lie on her right, the entire city block being comprised of the guildhall and its grounds. To her left was the King’s Road ascending to Castle Dawnguard while ahead of her, within the open courtyard, was the temple to the Morninglord, the Song of the Morning, and one of the three Spires of the Morning.
She contemplated turning down the King’s Road, but with the king and queen away across the Sea of Stars it would likely only be minor officials, Arcanist Malady Romilius, and Archduchess Katarina Kiermann, neither of whom she particularly cared to trade words with.
So she continued down the Tradeway with the rest of the crowd with a new destination, and an old friend, in mind. As Jysarra continued on, she brought the lilacs up to her nose and breathed in the sweet scent. They always reminded her of her early years on the surface after escaping the servitude of the Spider Queen. Her life had not necessarily been easier once her sisters took her in, but lighter. Happier. Lilacs had been in full bloom around the hanging gardens of the Dancing Dell, and she delighted in their color and scent.
Jysarra was so lost in thought that she almost walked past her intended destination. The Tradeway made its southwest turn toward the Eveningstar District. There, on the southeast corner, stood the Cat’s Grace Magic Emporium. Its proprietor, Jolly Fang, entertained a crowd of children. He conjured a dazzling illusion spell of a dragon while weaving a tale for his captive audience. His ears twitched every which way, clearly picking up on every little sound, and his calico coat was resplendent in the light of the midmorning sun. Jysarra walked up and leaned against the railing as Jolly Fang began his grand tale.
“When the world was young, and great heroes and marvelous monsters walked the land, there was a lonely little dragon with scales that glittered like rubies,” he extended his hand with a flourish, his palm full of red gemstones that sparkled in the sunlight.
“The lonely little dragon would see others with their friends playing, deer, foxes, and, of course, men. He would jump out to play with them, but they would scream.”
With a flick of his paw, an illusion played out before the huddled group of children. A spectral dragon the size of a house cat jumped out, eliciting several surprised yelps that turned into giggles.
“The deer ran. The foxes hid. The men shouted and threw stones. And the little dragon did not understand why.”
Jysarra caught sight of the children’s faces falling, a small, sympathetic smile tugging at her lips.
“And so the lonely little dragon watched from afar until one day, while rolling in the mud, for he loved the mud, and it kept his scales cool, he heard a soft giggle.”
Again, the illusory dragon sprang to life, rolling in an invisible mud pit like a wild dog until it shot up with an adorably bemused look, turning its head to and fro.
“He looked about and saw a small boy peeking out from behind a rock, holding a hand over his mouth to contain his laughter. The dragon was overcome with joy at the sound of the boy’s laughter and jumped up and down excitedly, sending mud flying everywhere. The boy jumped out from behind the rock and joined the dragon. And the boy laughed, and the dragon laughed, in that snorting way dragons do, and for the first time, he did not feel alone.”
An illusory boy joined the dragon, and they laughed soundlessly, though their mirth was infectious nonetheless.
“They walked together for many sunlengths, the boy and the dragon, and the boy told him about his home, how no one liked him, and the dragon was sad for his new friend. So he nuzzled the boy and the boy wrapped his arms around him and they were happy.”
Several of the children clapped as the illusory figures embraced.
“As the sun grew low in the sky the boy, at last, had to say goodbye and return home. They were sad for their parting, but the boy promised to come back on the morrow. As he walked home though, a great black wolf came from the shadows and looked to eat him until the dragon jumped between them with a mighty roar and a beat of his wings. The wolf shrank in fear and ran off with a cry.”
The children gasped and held onto one another as the wolf took form. Jysarra had to stifle a little giggle.
“The dragon and the boy walked then together, but the boy knew the townsfolk would not like a dragon. So the boy gathered every fur and blanket he could find, and wrapped his friend up tight until not a single sparkling scale could be seen.”
The children giggled at the sight of the furry dragon. Jysarra cocked an eyebrow and shuddered at the illusion.
“The boy showed his parents his new friend. They seemed scared, which made the little dragon sad, but when they saw how happy the boy was they smiled and brought them inside by the fire. The villagers, too, found themselves moved by the boy’s happiness with his new friend, especially when the little dragon would find a mud puddle, and they were happy for him. Then, one day, a great many howls rang out — and wolves crept from the shadows, their eyes glowing yellow and their fangs stained pink.”
Jysarra smiled wide, she knew the turn was coming, even as the children held one another or fidgeted nervously.
“The wolves snapped and growled at the villagers and they were scared. The boy threw rocks at the wolves, but they lunged forward at him. The dragon threw off his disguise, jumped between the boy and wolves, and let out a mighty roar and a great burst of flame from his mouth.”
The illusory dragon mimicked his words and the children cheered loudly. Jysarra couldn’t help but laugh along with them.
“The wolves ran away and the boy ran to the dragon and hugged him tightly. He had saved them. All the grownups came and for a moment the boy was scared for his friend, but they all joined him in embracing the dragon. The little dragon smiled and his tail wagged. He had friends who saw him and were not afraid. And from that day on, the little dragon no longer played alone.”
The children clapped and cheered.
“I see you’ve learned not to use actual fire,” Jysarra said with a smirk.
All eyes turned to her.
“Ah! We have a visitor. Boys and girls, this is Jysarra, the Pale-”
She shot him a look that froze his blood. He cleared his throat and took a few steps over to her.
“She is an old friend who is apparently still nursing an old grudge.”
“I walked away with only one eyebrow and singed hair.”
The children all giggled. Jolly Fang wagged a finger at her.
“To be fair I was ten and had just learned firebolt.”
“And I was one hundred and seventy-four and should have known better than to trust a mischievous little cat known for pulling pranks, including banishing my favorite moonstone ring to a demiplane.”
“You wound me, my dear.” he said in mock offense.
He turned toward the group of children.
“Come back tomorrow, dear kittens, for another thrilling tale.”
There were a few grumbles of disapproval until the dragon illusion let out its tiny roar and charged toward the group, scattering them into the crowd like deer fleeing a predator.
“Subtle.”
“It was effective, was it not?”
Jolly Fang padded up the stairs and into the shop, Jysarra following closely behind. The shop itself consisted only of the initial great room just inside the door, the rest of the building being the Tabaxi’s workshop and residence. Various types of arms and armor hung from the walls along with a half dozen different cloaks, full suits of armor on armor stands stood in the corners behind the counter which itself was filled with glass vials containing shimmering liquids in a myriad of different colors, rings ranging from simple bands of gold and silver to ornate settings holding sparkling gemstones, and a small library of spell scrolls.
Jolly Fang disappeared behind a beaded curtain mumbling something about not touching anything that she pretended not to hear. Jysarra drifted through the aisles of shelves like a leaf on a slow-moving river, taking her time to look over each piece that caught her eye. A pair of goggles shaped to look like owl’s eyes, an ornately carved pipe that resembled a dragon, a pair of leather boots with pointed toes, gold cuffs, and disturbingly lifelike wings affixed at the ankle, a pair of stones with caricatures carved in high relief, and a foot-long rod that more resembled a branch that had been broken off than a magical item that belonged here save for two words carved into it.
She picked up the rod, turning it over to examine it and letting her fingers glide over the elven runes.
“Túla.”
As soon as the word left her lips, the rod sprang forth from both ends into a pole nearly double her own height. Items on the shelves in front and behind her clattered to the ground loudly.
“What was that?”
Jysarra spun to face the sound of Jolly Fang’s distant voice and swept an entire shelf clean with the pole. She turned it over in hand, searching for the other command word in a frenzy as she heard padded footfalls quickly approaching.
“Vanwa.”
The pole shrank back down to size and she dropped it on the empty shelf next to her just as Jolly Fang emerged into the shop accompanied by the jingling of hundreds of beads swaying and bouncing off one another. His mouth hung open as he walked out from behind the counter and took in the full scope of the carnage Jysarra had wrought.
“How did this happen? I left you alone for not even five minutes.”
She shrank in on herself slightly and shot him a nervous smile.
“It was like this when I got here?”
The scowl on his feline face told her that was not going to fly.
She let out a defeated breath, knelt down, and started the arduous task of cleaning up the disaster that lay around her. Jolly Fang closed the gap between them, took a pair of bracers woven in a gold lace pattern, and placed them on the top shelf with one lying down and the other upright on its forearm cuff.
“This is clearly karma for my many years as an annoyingly mischievous child.”
“In my defense, who leaves a magic item with a command word on a shelf where anyone could activate it?”
“I suppose I’ve been naive to trust people not to utter a command word when they know it is a command word. My apologies, Jysarra, I was clearly in the wrong here.”
An eyebrow shot up and she smirked at him.
“Your sarcasm does not go unnoticed.”
“I would hope not as I wasn’t being subtle.”
She spent the next forty-five minutes carefully placing each item back on the shelves, having to stop occasionally when a customer would wander in or she’d get distracted by something she picked up.
“What are these?”
Jysarra held up a bag of deep purple and a golden marble that had rolled out of it.
Jolly Fang took the marble from her hand and threw it against the ground, shattering it. It exploded into a dazzling pillar of light. Jysarra instantly recoiled, turned her head away, and threw up her hand to shield her eyes.
“Thank you, so very much, for that.”
Jolly Fang laid a tankard over the shattered remains of the marble, swallowing the light.
“Yes, yes, Drow eyes. My apologies.”
“Was sunlight, yes?”
“Yes. My own creation. I call them sundrops.”
“They work.” She wiped away a tear from her eye. “The sun and I have a love/hate relationship. I want to love it and it hates me.”
He chuckled at that, placing the bag in an empty spot on the shelf.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be purchasing the rest then.”
The corners of her mouth lifted just enough to mock the idea of smiling at all.
He simply met her with his own toothy smile and with a swish of his tail he turned and stepped softly back behind the counter, his paws splaying against the glass. She walked over and bent down to look over the potions he had displayed.
“Have you seen your sisters yet?”
Jysarra didn’t answer. She didn’t even look up from perusing the various bottles of colored liquids, sweeping her hair over one shoulder to keep it out of her face, combing her fingers through it.
“I’ll take that as a no. Why are you avoiding it?”
Because part of me doesn’t want to go back.
Jysarra sighed. “I am not looking forward to the lecture I am sure to receive for the…length of my pilgrimage. And…”
“And?”
I feel less free than when I was the Spider Queen’s prized assassin.
“...Nothing.”
He bent down, grabbed one of the bottles, and set it gently down on the countertop. The liquid inside was a rich golden color that swirled around and seemed to have an inner glow.
“Another of your originals?”
Jysarra narrowed her eyes at him.
“Yes. I’ve been brewing while you were away and have made an enchanted honey-citrus saison.”
She tilted her head and her eyes watched the trailing effervescence that sparkled like diamonds.
“Enchanted?” She glanced up at him. “What does it do?”
Jolly Fang unstoppered the bottle, took a generous swig, and when he opened mouth light poured out of it. Jysarra threw an arm over her face as she turned away. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes and she swore under her breath.
“Sunlight? Again? I’m starting to think you don’t like me.”
He chuckled as he pressed the cork back into the bottle and replaced it in the display.
“Apologies, my lady. It was just easier to demonstrate the effects than explain them.”
His lips pulled into a toothy grin.
“What small fortune are you charging for your sunlight drink?”
“A mere four hundred and fifty gold pieces.”
She laughed deep and vibrantly at that, standing to clutch at her chest as amusement overtook her for a moment.
His tone went flat. “Why do you laugh?”
Her lips tugged into a smirk.
“Oh, no reason. Tell me, have you sold many?”
Jolly Fang rolled his eyes as he placed the bottle back under the counter.
“Will you be making a purchase today, miss?”
“Oh gods, no.”
Jysarra let her fingers dance along the edge of the counter as she started toward the door. She threw her head back over her shoulder with a wide grin.
“It was good to see you.”
“Likewise, my dear. Perhaps next time it won’t take seven years. And without the destruction?”
“No promises,” she said as she walked out the door.
It was getting to be late in the morning and the heat of the day was beginning to take hold.
Jysarra stepped out onto the street and let herself get swept up into the crowd heading toward the old city wall that separated the Eveningstar District from the rest of the city. As the gate came into view a new wave of anxiety rolled over her. She was running out of levers to pull that could provide a distraction. She wanted to keep going. To see Green Market Square with all the booths and vendors that would surely be setting up for the festival. To stop in at the Hostess of Fertility or the Fat Dragon Inn for a pint and something hot to fill her stomach. To do anything besides face the scrutiny and judgement that surely waited for her with Silmariën as high priestess.
She took a few more steps along the cobblestones, then paused. With a quiet sigh, she turned east again, threading her way through side streets toward the Dancing Dell.
She had put this off long enough, and no amount of avoidance was going to make the reunion with her sisters any easier.