"Ah, you made it," said Melia, as Werril opened the door. She kissed him quickly on the cheek, half shy and half secretive, then drew away. "Any trouble?"
Werril shut the door behind and heaved a massive sigh. Their hideout was a small set of rooms on the upper floor of a boarding house about halfway down the lowest northern spoke. "Gods-damned Red Blade," he said. "One of the cultists. I had to charm her to escape."
"But you made it, right?" asked Melia.
"Yes, but she saw my face. My magic..."
"Your magic isn't the problem." Sairen said, stepping up behind Amelia. "Your control is."
Melia turned. "It's wild magic, Sairen. By its very nature, it's not controllable."
Sairen sniffed.
"Worry about it later," Werril said. "I need a bath, and a good night's sleep, and I don't want to argue until sometime after breakfast."
"As you wish," Sairen said. "The job is done, and none of us were caught. Nobody followed you here?"
"No." Werril was fair certain of that.
"Then yes, we should discuss the risks and benefits of your sort of magic later on." The dark elf actually smiled. "At least you kept your wits about you."
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