![Image](https://i.imgur.com/LJYJjyf.png)
Her story of the Nuits―while grim―was unsurprising. They were rotten, through and through, and Baelin could only imagine that they commit all sorts of horrors. What had been a surprise―and a welcome one―was how unbothered she seemed at having killed one. Baelin’s lips curled in feral satisfaction. What a good end to a story. She should kill more of them. With how comfortable she seemed to be with wearing all those daggers, Baelin imagined she’d be a good sight better at it than him.
Baelin was still thinking of Nuits when she swatted his hand. He stared at it in surprise, brain taking a tick to catch up. Did she just… Stop that, she hissed, her voice spiking in a such a high pitch that Baelin jerked his hand back before he even realized what he was doing. It’s only pain, she continued, and Baelin couldn’t help but grimace. It wasn’t that, he wanted to tell her. Growing scales never hurt, per say. It only hurt when he started digging for the scales himself. No, they were―
His thoughts were abruptly cut off when Kelski grabbed his hand and pulled. Baelin stared at his ensnared hand and followed automatically behind her, his brain sluggishly trying to catch up with the unexpected change. Kelski pulled him further into the crowd, and Baelin could only manage to log what she said as he struggled to actually understand. She spoke of talking to release “it,” walking, fists, and daggers: it took Baelin until she’d pulled him clear across the square to realize she was talking about ways to relieve stress.
Feeling oddly touched by the gesture, Baelin found himself continuing to follow her, even after she released her grip. Kelski’s words shifted to a discussion of…a lot? A shop on the wall? Something she wanted to see. And a bathing place with a pool to relax in―that he understood. Baelin loved baths.
He tried to commit everything she said to memory, just in case she expected him to recall any of it. Baelin still couldn’t believe she hadn’t opted to leave him at the bench. Why would she…ah. His size was to her advantage. That made sense.
Kelski fell into step beside him, and Baelin found himself pulling his shoulders back and taking advantage of his full height. If she wanted a looming presence, then she’d get a looming presence. Especially if it meant a bath. The corner of Baelin’s lips twitched, thrilled at the idea. Gods he loved baths.
While the stalls surrounding the Dovecote’s square had been devoted to food, the stalls they now passed contained such a plethora of things that Baelin honestly couldn’t keep up with it. His attention snagged on weapons he’d never even seen before, gaze lingering on a blade mounted to a vambrace. But Kelski kept passing stalls as she talked: a shop near a courtyard, the “Riad,” opening a shop and staying. Baelin couldn’t say he really followed everything she said, but he tried. She was a businesswoman, and this was a place of commerce. That much he understood. Baelin’s own thoughts strayed as they walked, dreams of his own smithy sounding so much more distant than Kelski’s plans for expanding her jewelry’s reach. Because while she might be an accomplished businesswoman, Baelin knew nothing of running a business. He could smith―he knew that―but all the rest of it…
Kelski stopped to fill her flask, and Baelin scanned the beverages at the stall with curiosity. He couldn’t even begin to guess what the multi-colored juices were. Everything here was so…diverse. Foreign. It was insane to think that a place like this could exist, with the world being what it was. It was just…
Xyna’s gift to us all.
They had strolled into a section of pottery, and Baelin was utterly unprepared for the display. There were functional pieces, yes, but also works of such exquisite craftsmanship that Baelin couldn’t help but marvel at them.
“You don’t have to talk,” Kelski’s words jerked his focus back to her. Baelin glanced over, and his expression softened as she added, “But I might… just to keep us both company.” Between her amiable presence and the easy way she talked without demanding a response from him, Baelin was finding himself slowly relaxing. And so it caught him off guard when she spoke of how she was stolen as a child, sold into slavery, moved among cities and Svefra, and only just recently reunited with her brother. Baelin’s spine went increasingly rigid as she laid it all out. That was… Baelin curled his fingers in and rubbed at his palm, unconsciously tugging on his mark. He couldn’t imagine it. Even on his worst day, he’d never been traded for supplies. Baelin gritted his teeth and failed to hold back his low hiss.
What about you? He met Kelski’s sideways glance, and hesitated. What was there to say? Baelin couldn’t think of a single thing interesting about himself. He enjoyed his work, but that was about it. Dira graced him with her mark, but Kelski already knew that. What else was there?
But then her gaze tracked down to his arm―the scratch from earlier still inflamed, and now scabbed over where he’d broken skin―and he knew what he could share.
Baelin grimaced. He didn’t want to expose this. He spent so much time making sure no one saw it… but then she’d spotted it within ticks of meeting him, hadn’t she? What had been her words? That his eyes said he wasn’t human?
Maybe it will itch and hurt less. Baelin doubted it, but… he didn’t want to lie. She’d already seen his eyes and had understood what they meant. There was no use in trying to hide it. And Baelin couldn’t help but feel that he owed it to her, however irrational that might be.
Pulling in a deep breath, Baelin lifted his scratched arm for her inspection. He clenched his fist and twisted his forearm, forcing muscle to push the partially formed scale up against the scab until it broke free. As soon as he saw the tip, Baelin wanted nothing more than to reach over, pinch it, and yank.
He didn’t. Baelin left the incriminating tip right where it was. “A Dhani petched my mother,” he explained, blunt and flat, his voice barely above a murmur, “I don’t know who. I don’t know why. But I know it’sss not a good thing.” Baelin glanced back up and only managed to look at her for a fraction of a tick before he had to look away. He grimaced. “Maybe for a Kelvic, it’sss not a bad thing. But me?” He shook his head and dropped his arm.
Unnatural. Scales were not meant to grow from human flesh. His own body struggled with it, trying to force hard wedges out of pores only intended for hair. A mess of two clashing bloodlines failing to reconcile, with patches of skin devoted to nothing but a shoddy attempt at scales. No, Baelin wasn’t just unnatural. He was a petching joke.
Baelin stared at an ornate cup off to Kelski’s side, trying to focus on its painted swirls instead of sinking back into that familiar pit of self-loathing. The hate didn’t help anything, no matter how true. Pulling in a deep breath, he tried to let it go.
His arm still itched. Even worse now that he was thinking about it. Almost overwhelming, and his fingers twitched at his side with his desire to scratch it. He curled his fingers into a loose fist instead, rubbing his fingertips against his palm. And he looked anywhere but at Kelski, finding plates that suddenly seemed to deserve every bit of his attention.