“Ahehee’, azee’ baa nihi,” Dain murmured to Grivallt. The Ylveryan bowed low, and Dain returned it with a tilt of his head.
“The honored Master speaks the old tongue as well as any elf. I shall wait outside for when the Master is ready to depart again,” Grivallt replied, taking a step to the side of the door and moving just out of sight. It was not lost on Kre that he used the racial slur in place of the proper term.
Virryn paused for a moment, unsure of what to do next, but ultimately settled on playing the hostess. “Would the revered Master care for a drink? Perhaps a snack as well?”
Dain, unknowing that Beleg and Kre’s cover had already been exposed, played into it as he assumed he was expected to do. “Yes, please my dear. Then perhaps a bit of privacy while I converse with my servants here.”
With a quick nod, Virryn got to work on preparing a few sandwiches and pouring out an orangish liquid into some tall, fluted glasses. She set these out on the nearby table and knelt down in front of Dain. “If there is nothing else, I will be outside. Just call if anything is needed.”
Dain nodded curtly, looking the part of a disinterested nobleman that believed the woman to be far beneath his station.
Before Virryn could leave the room, Beleg stepped in front of her and blocked the still open doorway, “Grivallt, is it?” he said, keeping his voice low so as not to carry down the hallway. “Come in, please.”
Dain raised an eyebrow at Kre but they both knew that there wasn’t enough time to explain things. Grivallt stepped tentatively into the room and exchanged a similar look with Virryn.
Beleg firmly closed the door behind him and then gestured to Virryn by running his finger about the outside of his cupped hand. After a moment’s hesitation she nodded and retrieved the small vigil bowl and began to create the otherworldly humming from it.
“Well now,” Beleg chuckled as he hushed Dain’s attempt to ask about the bowl with a raised hand, “I suppose we should all just have a chat and get on the same page here.
“Dain,” he continued, “meet Grivallt and Virryn. They’re slaves to the weapon’s dealer that is running this tournament.” Beleg gestured at the two Ylveryan and Kre could tell he was debating on whether to say more about their specific situation or leave it at that.
“Honored friends,” he said, turning to the Ylveryans, “Dain is one of our company, and he is a true friend to the Ylveryan with no liking for the slave trade at all.”
Grivallt turned to his fellow slave and gave her a harsh look, “Tsinki’i! What have you told these people?”
Instead of looking ashamed for what she had done, Virryn smiled warmly and raised her hand slightly towards Grivallt’s face, “You have not called me your sparrow for many, many moons.” She brought her hand back to wipe the corner of her eye, “Even in your harshest tone, that makes my heart sing.”
Grivallt’s face softened slightly, but then the mask returned as he recalled that they were not alone. “It seems that there are some things that we should all discuss.”