rmand was uncharacteristically silent that morning as they strode out into misty sunlight of an icy spring morning. Everywhere there were signs of thaw and the quickening of the dormant earth. The patchy snow was brittle and thin underfoot. Returning birds were already exploring the shelter of the eaves for nesting. Normally this would have cheered Brigit, but Armand’s sour mood was oppressive.

She was relieved when they arrived at her parents’ house. The two of them shucked off their boots and coats in the narrow entry way amid the bright chorus of greetings from the neighboring room where people were gathering for breakfast.

“Good mornin’, Flowerbug,” Anluan rumbled. His unusual ebullience was a startling contrast to Armand’s dour mien. She blushed deeply at his childhood name for her, noticing a faint quirk of amusement on Armand’s lips.

“Good morning, father.”

“Wondrous things are afoot!” he continued as she dropped into her chair at the table. Today it was only her parents, Maeve and Armand. Their guests, Mashiro and Kazuma, were still away on business with the Order of the Crystal Palm.

“What’s going on?” she asked as fresh buckwheat cakes were being passed around the table. She stabbed a couple of them with her knife and guided them onto her plate. Their mealy odor elicited a ravenous rumble from her stomach.

“Master Bei has sent word that a delegation is starting out from Kryta and will travel over the mountains with our very own Celestial Sigil,” Anluan said, beaming with pride, “After all these years, we’re going to form a guild and the Blackwells and Ironfasts want me to lead it. Imagine me being leader of a guild.”

“That is wonderful news, Father!”

“And of course we’ll need Maeve t’ oversee all the transactions. We’ll be needing stone cut and timbers, proper-like for the placement of the Celestial Sigil,” Anluan announced happily, inviting the silent woman to join in his delight, “And we know you have a way with the dwarves and can convince them t’ do that.”

“Master Gaenor, I have told you many times that I would depart in the spring. You must look to another to do this work,” Maeve said patiently.

“But we have no other,” Anluan sighed, “Please, Maeve, we are counting on you.”

“There are any number of people from among Master Bei’s contingent who could serve in my place.”

“But you’re one of us,” Neave chimed in, looking hurt, “We consider you kin. Who better to speak on our behalf?”

“I’d make yeh an officer!” Anluan pleaded.

“Your future son-in-law is more than capable of handling my job.”

Armand dropped the pot of huckleberry jam with a loud clatter, scattering it in a runny heap over his buckwheat cakes.

“I what?”

Anluan chuckled good-naturedly. Brigit wondered what was up with him. It was unlike Armand to let his attention wander. Something was on his mind, something big enough to blot out everything else. She found this thought unsettling.

“I will leave and I will find Mog,” Maeve said evenly, “I must know that he lives.”

“If you go, I’m going with you,” Armand said darkly, then scowled at the mess he had made of his breakfast.

Maeve’s gray eyes flashed with something akin to malice. Brigit did not need to be a mesmer to detect the pain and tension that existed between them. It seemed odd that Mog’s best friend had never heard of Maeve. And for all the years Brigit had known Maeve, the woman had made no mention of having a lover, let alone indicating she had known anyone called Mog Ruith. It was simply odd.

“No one is going anywhere in a hurry,” Anluan grumbled, “The passes are still treacherous and I don’t have the people to spare, so you’re stuck here, lass.”

“Perhaps we could ask Master Bei’s people to keep and eye out for him? Mog has managed to survive this long, I’m sure he’s resourceful enough to come back,” Brigit offered.

“He thinks me dead,” Maeve replied quietly, “He has no reason to return.”

“But you hardly know him,” Brigit said, blushing immediately after the words escaped her lips.

“Perhaps it is you who does not know him,” Maeve said darkly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Armand demanded.

“Has it never occurred to you that perhaps there were aspects of his life within the temple he could not discuss?”

“You are from the temple?” Armand said after a stunned silence.

“I remember you,” Maeve said quietly, “You were the boy who arrived with the circus that performed during the seasonal festivals. I often wondered how a friendship formed between the son of vagabonds and the son of a lord.”

Brigit noticed Armand’s hands were trembling as he stared at his plate.

“And when you were a man,” Maeve continued, “you lay ranting and raging in the care of the Akestora and he stayed with you even as you swore at him and cursed his name and the names of the gods.”

“That’s enough,” Armand said bitterly, “I do not wish to discuss it.”

“Then perhaps you will respect my pain,” Maeve replied coldly, “You ask me to lay open my heart to prove that I have a right to mourn Mog’s absence. I make no such demands of you.”

Anluan and Neave looked askance at the two of them. Brigit was too late to warn Armand not to argue during a meal, knowing how much this upset her parents. This storm had been brewing for a while. Armand was uneasy around Maeve, but he was uneasy about a lot of people and Brigit had learned to tolerate his quirks.

“Apologize,” Brigit whispered to him, “She will let it drop.”

Maeve pushed aside her plate having barely touched her meal. She looked pale and gaunt that morning as she took her leave, apologizing to Neave and Anluan before departing.

“How was I supposed to know?” Armand stammered, “Did she ever tell anyone she was from that temple?”

“Nay, never a word about her past,” Neave said, her voice strained, “Fact is, the poor thing looked so hungry and tired when she arrived. Looked like she’d been running for weeks, all covered in dirt and tattered, but she weren’t wanting to go with the other refugees, said she wanted to start over.”

“How come you let her stay?” Brigit asked, “There must have been other refugees who asked for the same.”

“We took pity on her,” Anluan said, shrugging, “She’s quiet but she can be charming and convincing at need as one o’ them can be.”

Brigit winced when her father gestured at Armand.

“She was all alone,” Neave murmured, “She had no one, said her home and everyone in it was gone. I couldn’t turn her away, not in good conscience. She looked like she’d been crying every day of her life. Poor thing.”

“I’m worried for Maeve going off on her own,” Anluan sighed, “The dwarves say that something old has awakened in the world, something much worse than whatever those Charr tapped into the day fire rained from the sky. I wish there were some way to convince her, but she has her heart set on finding Mog. He could be anywhere. He could be dead.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Armand said flatly, “I owe her an apology in any event.”

Brigit squeezed his hand, grateful that just for once he was able to be less bullheaded. He rose and smiled wanly at her before going off in search of Maeve. Brigit followed him, determined to help smooth things over if necessary. It was odd knowing and caring about two people who were angry at one another. Maeve looked away when the two of them entered the parlor. She was sitting on her rocking chair that Anluan had personally retrieved from her cottage and placed beside the fire. Her long fingers were currently knotted around a red silk kerchief and her black hair spilled messily down around her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were red and puffy from weeping but she faced Armand with aplomb.

“Look, I know I can be an insensitive ***,” Armand said, sitting down across from Maeve on the tattered red couch. Brigit quickly squeezed in beside him while Maeve regarded him silently, “I’m sorry.”

Maeve sighed forlornly and nodded.

“I was unkind to you. We both miss Mog. We should not make his absence a point of contention. I accept your apology and offer my own.”

“Accepted,” Armand said as her gray eyes trailed over him.

“You know, I’m feeling lost here,” Brigit grumbled, “You mentioned Mog was a Lyssan Priest but you never mentioned anything about him being the son of a lord or staying at a temple. Why does everyone have to be so tight-lipped?”

“I wished my past behind me,” Maeve replied quietly, “I lost everyone dearest to me and I was ill-equipped to cope with the world outside the temple.”

“There are things I also wished left in the past,” Armand said with a shrug.

“But if Mog was your lover and you thought he was gone… well how come you didn’t leap on him and smother him with kisses the minute you were reunited?”

Maeve shuddered and began to weep while Brigit’s face burned with shame.

“I’m sorry, that was crass,” Brigit murmured.

“It was so strange to see him seven years after I thought him dead. His face was lined with care but his eyes were unchanged, so beautiful and deep. He gazed upon me and all he saw was a woman whose face he had never seen. How could I tell him? He had moved on. I did not wish to hurt him.”

“How is that possible?” Armand asked.

“I was the shadowed face of the goddess, the keeper of mysteries. I chose Mog to be my sacred lover, but he was never to gaze upon me unmasked. Now perhaps you understand why he did not speak to you of his time as a priest. To do so would force him to break his vows.”

Armand nodded, looking away with a thoughtful expression.

“What about you?” he asked after a while, “Did you just break a vow to tell me that? Why is it we can gaze upon you unmasked now?”

Maeve stared listlessly at her hands.

“When it became clear to me that I was the only survivor, I took it as a sign from Lyssa that she had turned away her bright face and left behind only sorrow. Without my twin, I am shattered and I can no longer serve the purpose for which I was trained or prepared. Such vows as I made are meaningless now.”

An awkward silence clasped the small room. Maeve stared into the fire while Armand was lost in his own thoughts.

“We have no idea where to even begin looking for Mog. Going off in search of him without any plan would be foolish. I’m going to side with Anluan on this one and ask you to stay here,” Armand said.

“I… I know a way to find him, but I would need someone who is capable of opening the ethers and gazing into that plane.”

Armand blanched.

“Master Bei is your best bet,” he said quickly, “He walked with me there, but I will not go again.”

“I see,” Maeve replied thoughtfully, a hopeful look on her face, “Such who can travel the planes are rare. It is not an art that is well understood nor widely taught, even in the days when Ascalon was mighty.”

“So, you’ll stay? Mog can look after himself. He’ll show up when we least expect it, spend your money, make a bunch of noise, polish off the brandy and find the best place to sleep it off. That’s just how he is. He somehow manages to land on his feet.”

“I hope you are right. I will write Master Bei and ask if he would help me find Mog. Thank you both.”

Brigit sighed with relief as Maeve rose and nodded to them politely before retreating to her room. Once Brigit was alone in the parlor with Armand she smiled at him. His face was grim as his chin rested atop a clenched fist.

“Sometimes you surprise me,” she said.

He shrugged.

“Yeah, me too. It’s funny how you think you know someone and then it turns out you may not know them half as well as you thought.”

“I would not fret about it. Mog is still your friend and I reckon he’ll make an accounting of himself when next you meet.”

“I suppose,” Armand said, rising stiffly, “and if he doesn’t I’ll see to it he will.”