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Even the places where light shone were dark.
The half-elf stared at the wall as she lay on her front, head turned to one side. She winced as the felt the fresh wounds scarring across her back.
She closed her eyes.
"I have been such a fool."
She remembered the air as it was above, fresh and light, full of promise. She had only arrived on the island of Arelith a tenday hence. How much had changed in that time?
She had been single-minded in her purpose. They had all known that something was wrong; she, and all her fellows and friends who had known Darvin Evenwood so well. He had left for the island without telling them why, but he had promised he would write.
Darvin was a man who kept his promises, yet no letters ever came.
They told her it was foolish to pursue him, so Robin went alone. Was it because she felt better than them? Kinder or wiser than them? No... it was her heart that led her.
The half-elf recalled when Darvin first entered her heart. How she had concealed her blushes in her magical tomes and dared not to speak of her feelings. When he had said his goodbyes, her heart urged the words she wished to speak towards her mouth, but she pressed her lips shut, refusing to share them. What would telling him have accomplished, save to embarrass her? He would not have changed his mind.
In the weeks and months since his departure, her spirit sank in regret. She wished to return to those moments where the truth had not been spoken, so that she might be bolder, more daring. She stole away, paying most of what she had to secure passage to Arelith.
She had no leads, but she knew Darvin. She knew how he would respond to all that she faced. If she could act as he did, surely it would lead her to him.
She remembered walking the cobbled roads, searching, searching.
The voice.
The plea for help.
Darvin always helped. He was always kind and giving. And so the half-elf agreed, following the helmet-wearing woman through the caves.
She remembered the kobolds falling before her mysterious companion.
She remembered the scorpions scuttling close to her feet.
She remembered the people who appeared behind them, keeping their distance. Yet the half-elf did not know why.
One of the scorpions lunged forward, dragging the half-elf to the ground, where all sight stopped.
She remembered waking. The darkness. The faces. The bars...
Her companion did not wear a helmet now.
The half-elf eyes widened.
Two of the faces that watched her now belonged to Drow.
Fear gripped the half-elf's heart.
She took in the figures of her captors as her prior companion, Vierna, told the half-elf that she would serve. That if she did not serve, she would be offered up by others in sacrifice.
Then she saw it.
A yarting hung at Vierna's side, smeared with blood.
As the half-elf fixed her green gaze upon it with increasing intensity, she saw in her mind's eye as she had seen it before, in the hands of dear Darvin.
"Where... did you get that?" She spoke slowly, as though fearing the answer.
Vierna's lips curled into a smug smile. "A minstrel sought to try and kill me. A minstrel by the name of Darvin Evenwood. I killed him, instead.. and took his instrument as a trophy and a symbol of my triumph."
The half-elf's heart screamed.
"No! No... you didn't kill him! Tell me you are lying, that you didn't.... didn't..." The half-elf sank to her knees as she sobbed.
"How do I know his name then, my sweet Robin?" Vierna clicked her tongue. "I did wonder who those unfinished letters in his pack were directed towards. I suppose now I have my answer." The half-elf saw the bloodied pages, glimpsed at Darvin's handwriting upon them, but then they were snatched away. "Indeed.. but I don't think I'm interested in sharing them with someone who seeks only death. Now, if you served me.. and willingly, I could at least permit you the chance to honor his memory and share with you what he composed."
What choice do I have?
The half-elf remembered the ritual conducted to secure her. The spider at her neck. The blood. The doll in her likeness. She remembered the many faces she saw as Vierna displayed her, proud of her prey. She remembered the other slave she saw, the brief hope in her heart for someone she might be able to call a friend. She remembered his unmoving stares, as though he were a statue, and they haunted her.
She had struggled in her service. What else could she expect? She served the one who had taken Darvin's life.
But Vierna was right. She wished to honour him. But would he even recognise the Robin who lay here now?
She felt again the sting of the whip on her back, her eyes misting with tears.
"Darvin," she whispered in the dark, "forgive me."