Malin – Portals
Malin
Portals
When Malin passed a bakery, two children in the alley beside it were playing with a wadded-up ball of trash, their hair cut close to the scalp and not enough covering for the weather.
A large man shoved his way through a smoke-filled door, and the children instantly froze.
Jace’s words of warning about stirring up trouble echoed in her ears. She pushed onward toward the tavern.
Next, she passed a side street lined with massive cages.
Inside, women, men, and children sat huddled together, looking completely broken.
Malin’s stomach twisted into a painful knot.
Remaining silent took every ounce of her self-control, but she made a silent vow to find a way to help them before she left this city.
She finally reached the four-story tavern. Through the grimy front window, Jacien sat at a corner table. Two local women were draped over him, leaning so close they were practically in his lap. He flashed a charming grin, letting one of them stroke his arm.
But beneath the relaxed posture, he was still on guard. He spotted Malin on the street instantly and shot her a deliberate, knowing wink.
The women noticed his diverted attention and glared at Malin through the glass.
Seeing their sudden, offended jealousy forced a small, tired smile to Malin’s lips, temporarily pushing back the dark horrors of the slave cages.
He was treating the tavern like a game, clearly using the locals only as a distraction while he waited for her.
She pushed the heavy door open and walked directly to their table. Jacien instantly snapped to attention, unceremoniously dumping the clinging women from his arms. “Hey. Malin. You’re here. Any luck with your teahouse?”
The women’s jaws dropped in sheer disbelief as Jacien didn’t offer them a second glance. He completely abandoned them, leaving the two locals fuming at the table as he guided Malin toward the exit.
“I just finished with my aunt,” she said, brushing a stray hair from her face as they walked. “I’m going to meet her husband at his office next. I thought you might want to know or come with me.”
As she walked back out into the cold, Malin cast a glance over her shoulder. The women’s glares were practically burning holes through her cloak. The corner of Malin’s mouth twitched upward in genuine amusement just as the taller one whispered a sharp insult that made the other snort.
Outside, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cobblestones.
Jace followed her back to the teahouse, where Bratha stood at the door, her mitten-covered fingers working a large iron key in the lock.
The woman’s eyes crinkled as Malin introduced Jacien, his hand warm against the small of Malin’s back.
“Jacien, here is my protection.” She almost laughed at the thought that she needed protection, but it was the truth. “Jace, this is my aunt Bratha.”
Tucking her key into the bag on her arm, Bratha grasped Jacien’s hand and offered a warm smile. “I’m so grateful you were able to bring my niece to meet me. I have dreamed of this day so many times.”
Jace met Malin’s eyes with a quizzical smile and nodded, “Glad I could help.”
“Therin’s office is just down the road. It won’t take long to get there. He’ll be in his office by now. It’s just a few blocks up.” She smoothed her tawny brown skirt and began walking.
The sun warmed the chill in the air, bringing more people out and about.
As they walked, Bratha greeted everyone: The butcher, the cobbler, the flower vendor.
They all seemed to know her by name and responded with enthusiastic grins.
As they walked, Malin noticed many people in colorful clothing, with delicate features, intricate decorations, and embroidery, while those standing behind them or apart looked downward in browns or blacks.
They never looked up, or at least that she noticed.
It was then that Bratha slipped a coin to someone dressed in black, and her hand was so quick that Malin almost missed it.
Then another. The receivers never looked up, but faint smiles touched their lips.
The quiet, subversive exchanges happened repeatedly, forcing Malin to study the town’s dynamics with sharper focus.
Beside her, Bratha met her gaze. “It’s better not to stare,” she said quietly.
“If the Overseers catch you, it’s a fine.
If you ask questions, it’s worse. Slavery is a way of life for us.
” Then she added in almost a whisper, “for now. Therin and I are hoping to change that, and we help how we can. We have freed many.”
Clenching her jaw, Malin nodded. She forced herself to keep her eyes forward, matching Bratha’s stride.
A few more turns and they arrived at a tall, narrow building with a plaque that read “Magister Tenb, Notary and Civic Agent.” The paint was faded, but the brass plaque was polished to a shine.
Opening the door, they were greeted by a burst of warm, dry air and the chemical tang of ink.
The cramped walls of the entry were lined with cubbies stuffed with paper and folders.
A young woman sat behind a tidy desk, shaping her nails with a file, while a steady tapping rhythm and movements of the metal typewriter sitting next to her caught Malin’s eye.
She didn’t look up as they entered until she saw Jacien, then her smile beamed.
The woman finally glanced up when Bratha cleared her throat. Her eyes were quick, dark, and more than a little tired. “Mrs. Tenb,” she stated in a flat tone. “Your husband is in.”
“Thank you, Marli,” Bratha replied with a honey-sweet smile.
Knowing exactly what the Elf was about to do, Malin shot him a stern look. “Behave,” earning her the expected wink and lopsided smile.
Jacien simply flipped a chair around and straddled it, directing his full, charming attention toward the young secretary.
Suppressing a sigh, Malin left him in the waiting area and followed Bratha down the hall.
The polished stone floors and walls crowded with old paintings and framed decrees made the space feel suffocatingly official.
At the end of the corridor, her aunt paused, squared her shoulders, and knocked twice.
A muffled voice from the other side of the door called for them to enter.
They stepped into a modest but orderly office, lined with towering shelves of books on politics, economics, and law.
In stark contrast, the black-stained wood desk dominating the room was completely besieged by paperwork, stamped folders, and a trio of legal pads.
Behind it sat a thin man with salt-and-pepper hair and the heavy, slumped shoulders of a career desk worker.
His muted grey suit was visibly frayed at the elbows.
Malin kept her expression neutral, though doubt settled like cold lead in her stomach.
What did her Mom expect this man to do to help her?
When he looked up and saw Bratha, his tight, serious scowl vanished entirely. “Noonbim,” he said, his voice carrying a shocking amount of warmth. Malin didn’t recognize the word, but seeing her aunt’s face light up with happiness confirmed it was a tender term of endearment.
Bratha rushed over to kiss his cheek. “Snooky. This is Malin, the niece I keep telling you about. Malin, this is Therin, my husband.”
Therin rose, smoothing his worn jacket, and came around the desk with an outstretched hand.
“An honor,” he said, a slight, nervous shake in his voice.
“I did not realize you were coming to visit. Bratha has shared all the letters your mother sent. You are a healer of some kind, right? What brings you to visit?”
Malin took his hand, finding his grip warm and steady. “Thank you. I have heard you might be able to help me with an important issue.”
Therin cocked his head, his eyes analyzing her with the cool precision of a physician. “Come. Sit. Bratha and I owe your mother everything. If I can, I will be happy to help. Tell me what you need.”
Bratha closed the door, sealing them in the quiet room.
They took the two empty chairs across from his desk.
Malin took a deep, centering breath, hoping this weary clerk truly held the answers her mother had sent her to find.
She spent the next few moments detailing Elowen’s failing health, the dream, and the necessity of the EMP, watching Therin hang on her every word.
“We know that Fellspire may have access to EMPs,” she explained, laying her desperation bare.
“We only need a small one, but without it, the Mellyrn Ministers are not hopeful. They have exhausted all the treatments there, and she is deteriorating. Queen Anariel has been working on political trade and agreements, but it has not been going well. We are running out of hope. Our only option left is to reach out to Fellspire and ask directly.”
Bratha made a soft noise of surprise, but Therin remained perfectly stone-faced.
“I have never heard of nanotech, but I know there are EMPs in the armory… Maybe.” He rubbed his chin, his gaze dropping to his desk.
“I wish I could help directly. My little region is small and out of the way. Anything of real power or secrecy is held in the Hold itself. But.” He looked up at Bratha, sharing a silent, knowing look.
“My brother is an Upper Synod. If he agrees, you will get what you need.”
Malin’s heart gave a violent thump. She hoped whatever this Upper Synod was, it would give him access to help. It sounded incredibly high-ranking. “Really? Can you take me to him?”
Therin checked the clock on the wall. “I actually have a meeting with him set for first thing in the morning. I can ask him when I am there.”
“I am afraid time is not on my side,” Malin pushed, her stomach twisting. “Is there any way my friend and I can go with you? Especially since I may need to get the Queen’s approval for any negotiations, it would be best if I could address it immediately.”