Shadowguard

Wil's question startled her from her musings.

Everna pursed her lips. She didn't have an answer for that as even she hadn't a clue. She wasn't overly concerned with upholding justice and putting criminals behind bars, nor did she have a morbid fascination with gore and death. Law never appealed to her, and she had no desire to sit in the Courts and argue for interpretations and policy. The only thing that piqued her interest was the problem-solving aspect of it.

"Want? No," she sighed. "I was always told I'd be good at it. That anything less would be an egregious waste of my potential."

Throughout her schooling, her instructors hounded her with praise, so much to the point it drove her to the furthest reaches of her patience. They had high expectations of her, and their expectations of her future were higher still — and they all had differing ideas of what she should be. She was too intelligent not to be a scholar; too perceptive not to be an Inquisitor; too rational not to be an Arbiter. To be anything less would be to waste the gifts given to her by the gods.

"And what did you want to do?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said, though it was a lie. "I thought there was a possibility I wanted to be an Inquisitor and just hadn't realized it yet, but after all of this, I'm not so sure."

No, what Everna wanted was to be a bard, much like the friend of her parents' who frequented the tavern when she was younger. Sariel sparked her love of stories and her desire to learn to sing. She taught her to play the flute, how to sing, and how to read the strange language of music.

Her parents never approved, for what living could she make on bouncing from tavern to tavern, singing bawdy tunes and trilling on a flute for days on end? They indulged her just enough to appease her, but they strongly insisted those skills remain hobbies. She sang during the Harvest Festivals, and occasionally the town's children convinced her to tell the story of her father slaying Dulzraran, but that was all those talents were good for — entertaining the townsfolk.

Like all childish dreams, she grew out of it. She shoved her flute, her music, and her discarded manuscripts into a box and buried it deep beneath her bed with only the dust bunnies to keep them company. As everyone around her insisted, she put her talents towards more lucrative endeavors — all while surrounded by a constant, mocking reminder of why they insisted she do so.

"You're not as good at lying as you think you are," Wil said after a moment.

She blew out a breath. "It's nothing. Just a stupid childhood delusion."

"Which is?"

When she didn't respond, he nudged her with the toe of his boot. "You were the one who wanted to talk about something other than Shroud and I'm out here freezing my ass off, so get on with it."

After a few moments, a resigned sigh pulled from her lips. "No, I didn't want to be an Inquisitor. I wanted to be something far less ideal, as far as everyone else was concerned."

"Gods, you're as bad as the Inquisitors," he grumbled. "It would kill you to give a straight answer for once."

"Because every time I bring it up, people laugh. It's not something people consider respectable," she said. "I mean, honestly, would you take someone seriously if they told you they wanted to be a bard?"

A pregnant pause preceded his response. Again, Everna glanced at him from the corners of her eyes. She could see him working through his response, as if he were trying to come up with a way to say what he wanted without completely offending her. He had that same conflicted look while trying to console her after their return from Windhollow.

At least he didn't laugh.

"An actual bard, or what everyone thinks is a bard?" he asked after another moment of silent debate. "Because those are two very different things."

"I would think you'd have figured out by now that I have a little more dignity than Vina," she bit out. "But enlighten me. What's the difference?"

"The hacks have blown it out of proportion, but there is some truth to it. I've no doubts there's some freak out there who bedded a dragon. The problem is very few people know what a bard is, as you won't know a real one when you see them."

Her father said something similar once, and Sariel had appeared as a normal traveler until she graced the tavern with her heavenly voice. It was only after she was aware of her occupation that Everna noticed the more subtle signs.

Still, she snorted and said, "Now who's not answering the question?"

Wil lowered himself until he sat on the dock, one leg dangling over the edge and the other pulled to his chest, his arm draped over his knee. It was one of the few times she'd seen him sit. He usually kept on his feet, and often to the shadows, as if he expected an attack at any moment.

"There's a saying in Shadowguard that a good bard is a better rogue. They're jacks-of-all-trades, not just performers, magicians, and poets," he said. "They're spies, assassins, and thieves as well. What you're likely thinking of is a minstrel, which most people who claim to be bards are."

Whatever the distinction was, it didn't matter; people had no respect for either. They were laughing stocks — liars and cheats with delusions of grandeur and driven by an insatiable greed for fame and fortune. Had she not met Sariel, who was very much like the bard she'd read about in novels, she'd agree. She'd seen enough frauds perpetuating the stigma over the years. It was the easiest occupation to fake.

"Well, whatever I wanted to be, it doesn't matter. Like I said, it was a stupid childhood delusion. I've already come to terms with reality. If I don't die before all of this is over, I'll either end up back in the capital or I'll be stuck at the tavern until I get married."

The more she thought of it, the less either option appealed to her. She had no intentions of returning to the same Courts who threw her to the wolves, though she'd love to hear their justification for trying to kill an innocent woman in the name of appearances. Wasting her days in the tavern wore on her, and she hadn't realized how much she hated it until she'd spent more than a day free of her duties.

Her mother was right; she was getting too old to live at home, but she'd never had many options. It took her months just to convince her parents to consider the possibility of sending her to the capital, and it came with stipulations, both from her them and the source of her scholarship. She had to choose a legitimate academic pursuit and becoming an Inquisitor was the only thing that interested her at the time.

Looking back on it, she couldn't quite say why she wanted to go to the academy. Was it because her teachers insisted she was too intelligent not to pursue higher education? Or was she itching to get out on her own and it offered the easiest (though most expensive) way of doing so? Perhaps she truly wanted to be an Inquisitor until she arrived at the academy and discovered what it entailed.

"You say that like those are your only options,” Wil said.

"Because they are," she said.

"If you let them be, maybe. You always have choices."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, two and neither of them I like. Just like the choices that got me into this mess."

"You know what your problem is?" Wil asked as he climbed to his feet and fisted his hands inside the edges of his cloak. "You let everyone else push you around ,and while you complain about it, you don't actually do anything to stop it."

"And how, pray tell, am I supposed to stop it?"

"Stop thinking your only choices in life are to do what you're told. People only have as much power over you as you let them have."

She gritted her teeth. "What do you want me to do? Pack a bag and run away from home?"

"You've already done that," he pointed out. "The truth is, no matter what you do, people won't stop trying to thrust their expectations and desires onto you. Most mean well, but they forget one important thing."

"And that is?"

"They can make as many suggestions as they'd like, but that's all they are: suggestions. You're the one with the final decision, and you're the one who has to live with it, not them."

If only everyone else could see it that way, she thought.

His hand, gloved and speckled with snow, appeared before her face. "Speaking of decisions, you made one in Windhollow you need to see through. I think Dain and Adela would rather have you with them when it's time for them to head to the tavern."