of his youth, of the time before he had become a prisoner of the mierothi. It was not difficult. Such memories were few.
“I do not know,” Voren said. “It seemed I understood my people little, even back when I was among them. With nearly two millennia to set us apart, I cannot even begin to fathom what they might do.”
Draevenus tightened his jaw into a humorless grin, exhaling loudly through his nose. “I see.”
“I am sorry. I know that was probably not very helpful.”
“No, no, it was a truthful answer, which is more useful than baseless speculation. To be honest, I did not know what I was expecting.” He stood.
“Leaving so soon?” Voren asked.
“Yes. And I am afraid this will be my last visit for quite some time.”
“Why?”
Draevenus sighed. “It is difficult to explain. Something has begun, and I must now be about . . . other tasks.”
“I trust all is well?”
Draevenus ground his teeth. “We shall see.”
“I am sorry to see you depart,” said Voren, surprised by the truth in those words. “I have grown fond of these visits of yours. You, out of all your people, at least have the wit to carry on a decent conversation. And you have made a most . . . peculiar student.”
“True enough. Sadly, my education regarding your people is at an end. Though it was enjoyable while it lasted.”
“Well, I hope you learned enough to satisfy your curiosity. If I may, what was it, exactly, that you were hoping to discover?”
The question was tame enough, by Voren’s estimation, but seemed to impact Draevenus more thoroughly than intended. The mierothi’s eyes glazed over, looking through Voren into a world of introspection that could only be guessed at.
After a half dozen beats, Draevenus shook his head. “I tend to take the long view of things, Voren.”
Voren waited patiently for more. When it became apparent that no further explanation was forthcoming, he ventured softly with, “Our kind often do.”
The austere visage now facing him reminded Voren that, despite his youthful appearance, Draevenus was nearly as old as he. And the weighted throwing dagger, which Draevenus danced absently across the back of his knuckles, reminded Voren that he used to be the most feared assassin on the planet.
Voren gestured at the blade. “Planning on putting your old skills to use?”
Draevenus’s eyes flashed. The dagger vanished up a sleeve. “No.” Then, on the very threshold of hearing, he added, “Not if I can help it.”
“I see. Of course, I have found that, in many situations, such choices are often beyond our control.”
“Control. That word . . .” Draevenus shivered. “It can break the world . . . Bring the heavens crashing down . . . Burn the very heart out of you . . .”
Gods above and below! What could you possibly be heading into? Whatever it entailed, Voren did not envy Draevenus his journey. His own status as a prisoner of modest privilege seemed, at the moment, a paltry burden.
Voren reached for the glasses and wine bottle. “Here Draevenus, one more drink before you go?” It was, on short notice, the only distraction he could think of.
“No time now. I am sorry.” Draevenus turned to leave.
Voren, unthinking, held out a hand, as if to grab ahold of his companion. Companion? The idea that a mierothi— any mierothi—could claim this title in his mind drove the very breath from his lungs. In that moment, Voren realized that in nineteen hundred years of imprisonment he had not encountered a single other soul whom he would consider a friend. The thought of Draevenus’s leaving began tearing a hole in Voren’s long-held defenses.
“Draevenus?” he called tentatively.
The mierothi swung back halfway, raising an inquisitive brow.
Voren swallowed before continuing. “Be well on your travels, my . . . friend.”
Draevenus nodded. “Keep your head down, Voren. If I don’t make it back, before this is all over . . .” He trailed off, as if he