Herrin paced around the stable a few times then burst into laughter. “Fancy that! The Emihi hanging around in a disreputable bar, serving beer to habitual drunkards, thieves and rogues – and yours truly, of course!”

Tryls shuddered. “It is at least good to know that she is alive. You understand that this cannot be discussed openly?”

Herrin paid no attention. “My gods, some of the regulars will be distraught when they realise what they’ve been saying in front of royalty. She could have half of them beheaded!”

Tryls stood up and placed both of his hands on Herrin’s shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. “You cannot say anything about this. To anyone. Even Mirra herself, for the time being. Do you understand?”

Herrin fell silent, astonished at the elf’s actions. “Okay,” he said, stepping back. “Sorry old chap. Got a little carried away there.”

Tryls sat back down. “I am used to secrecy in this matter, where you are not,” he said quietly. “It has been necessary for too long, but it must remain so a little longer. The Emeh has a personal guard, the Briska, whose duties… well, let me simply say that they regulate the talk of the citizenry, ensuring that the only histories told are those that the Emeh condones. They may have followed me here, or found me through the Sebrimor’s sentence.”

“Hmph.” Herrin folded his arms and scowled. “Can’t say that I’ve ever been keen on people being told what they can or can’t talk about.”

Tryls looked at him silently.

“Herrin the  Queen-Maker…” Herrin grinned. “I like that. Let’s make it happen.”
© Kari Fay

(Author’s Note – Brought to you by the Three Word Wednesday prompts, Distraught, Habitual and Regulate.)

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