Spill the Tea

Shadowheart’s glare could’ve frozen the hearth behind me. Arms crossed, posture stiff. Lae’zel stood beside her, relaxed in stance but razor-sharp behind the eyes, one hand resting on the hilt of her blade. Karlach leaned against the doorway, tail swishing, trying to look casual—but I could feel the heat coming off her curiosity.

"What did you do?" Shadowheart asked. Her voice wasn’t sharp yet, but it was honed.

I raised both hands, flashing a smile "I'm alive, and in one piece just like she promised."

Lae’zel’s eyes narrowed. "You bartered. With the witch."

I sighed. "I made a deal."

Karlach straightened, brows rising, tail giving a flick. Her voice was light, but there was an edge in it. "Alright, spill it, soldier. What kind of devil’s bargain did you shake on—and what’d it cost you? Please tell me it wasn’t your soul, 'cause I kinda like having that around."

I chose my next words very carefully. "The future harvest of the grove. That was the price. We’re to meet her there in seven days."

They fell silent.

I continued "The grove is hanging by threads," I said, stepping forward and letting the words come smooth and steady. "The goblin raids are hitting them hard. The druids are fractured—arguing, indecisive. The tieflings are exhausted and ****. Without help, they won’t last long. Without any help they’ll either fall or die on the road. Ethel offers a kind of support the grove won’t survive without."

Shadowheart’s brow creased, and her voice dipped. "And why do you care so much what happens to them?"

I looked to the side, toward the hearth, looking mysterious. "That’s the part I can’t say. Not yet."

Lae’zel snapped. "This is a waste of time."

"Maybe," I said. "But without the grove, there are no tieflings. And without tieflings, there’s no Dammon. No Dammon means no fixing..."

My gaze turned to Karlach.

"...You. And I can’t let that happen."

Karlach didn’t respond right away. Her shoulders sank, her eyes locked on mine.

"And I want Karlach on the team," I said with honesty.

[Karlach: Approval +5]

She blinked, thrown for a beat. Then a grin cracked across her face—broad and bright. "You smooth bastard."

Lae’zel let out a dismissive breath, but didn’t argue. That was as close to agreement as I was going to get.

Karlach broke the moment, stepping forward with a furrowed brow and that familiar gleam of fiery frustration behind her eyes. "So this is all fine and dandy, but let me get this straight—you can keep the others safe with your weird little rituals. That’s great. Seriously, good for them." She gestured to the others, then jabbed a thumb at her chest. "But what the hell good does it do me if I get fixed up, only to have that brain worm thing still squirming around in my skull? You can't even touch me without risking third-degree burns."

She raised her hand between us, heat rising visibly off her skin. "So unless you've figured out how to do your kinky, brain-calming ritual without turning your hands into barbeque... what then, soldier?"

I smiled. "Actually, I might’ve found a workaround."

I turned toward the hearth, snapped my fingers. "Ethel! We’re ready."

Green fire flared in the fireplace, curling high up the chimney. Smoke spiraled and with a puff and a loud clunk, a massive iron cauldron dropped into the center of the room. It landed like a drunk trying to sit down, wobbled, then stilled.

"Behold," I said, arms wide. "Our new hot tub."

Karlach’s jaw dropped. "You’re kidding."

"I’m serious. The water should dampen your heat just enough so that I can try the ritual. Might not be perfect, but it could buy us time."

She stared at the cauldron, eyes wide with wonder. "Really? You think it'll work?"

"Only one way to find out."

"Can we try? Now? Please?"

The mood cracked—just a little. Shadowheart huffed a soft laugh. Lae’zels demeanor relaxed.

"You’ll have to carry it," I said, deadpan.

Karlach laughed, a full-bodied, chest-deep sound that made her shoulders shake. "No problem, boss. I’ve carried heavier things for worse people."

Shadowheart gave a small nod toward the door. "Let’s get out of here. The air still stinks of her."

No one argued. We left the tea house, the door groaning shut behind us, like even the wood wanted distance.

We headed south. Past the gnarled roots and half-sunken stone, we found a patch of drier ground nestled beneath a sloping ridge. Far enough to feel safe.

"Let’s get some rest," I murmured. "We’ve got a long week ahead."