The woman sat outside the Grinning Fox, holding a metal mug out for passersby. She shook it, the cup’s meager contents clinking against its sides. She sat hunched on the side of the street, wrapped up in a cloak and thick woolen sleeves that shielded her hands from the chill of early spring. Her hood covered her face, but strands of white hair fell over her shoulders.

The pair of young men exited the tavern, turning to cross in front of her. She waggled her mug as they passed, and one of them paused to place a few coins into her cup before the men continued on their way, gesturing to each other with their hands. She eagerly looked inside the cup and gave the coins a satisfying rattle. They all were carved with a relief of the Serinese royal seal on one side, but one of the coins was engraved further, with an ‘X’ drawn through the seal.

The woman smiled and emptied the coins into her palm. She pocketed them and twisted to hang the metal mug from her belt. She pushed herself to her feet, staying hunched over as she hobbled down the street.

Ducking into a dark, narrow alleyway, she straightened and tossed the cloak off her shoulders. Underneath, she was slim with gentle curves, young and clad all in black.

Her clothing was tight, leaving nothing draping for anyone to grab onto. Her leather leggings hugged her thighs under boots that went up slightly above her knees. Her shirt, laced down the front, had a collar that sat high around the base of her throat, and left her shoulders and upper arms bare, the curve of her clavicles poking out from underneath the fabric.

“That’s not proper for a lady,” Sylvan always said, giving her one of his patented admonishing looks with narrowed eyes and a raised brow.

“Good thing I’m not a lady, then,” she always replied with a wink. Lark always snickered at the exchange.

She took the rebel coin out of her pocket and casually tossed it up and caught it out of the air. It was a sign that the coast was clear at the fort.

She made her way to the outskirts of the city, where the narrow streets and clustered buildings spread out to fields and stables. She kept to the shadows and approached the looming stone fortress. It had a lookout tower, but the windows of the fort and attached barracks were shuttered and dark. She wasn’t stupid enough to think it’d be completely empty of guards, but tonight they seemed to be on low alert. This would be childsplay.

She found Lark waiting in the darkened alcove of a servants’ entrance, tucked away picking at the dirt under his nails.

“Finally,” he said, shrugging off his cloak. He wore all black like she did, a thin quilted jacket open over his shirt and leather trousers. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”

She flipped him her middle finger. “You would, dickhead,” she said with a smirk.

Sylvan would have scolded them if he heard their language, but Lark only grinned and laughed. “Are we doing this, or not?”

“Never thought you’d be the impatient one, big brother,” she said, her voice teasing. They sidled along the fort’s exterior wall, and she drew a pair of knives, thick and sturdy for climbing, from her belt.

“We’re in enemy territory here, Arryn,” Lark reminded her. “I’d like to not stick around longer than we have to.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Lark hummed softly, feigning deep thought. “I must have left it at home.”

Arryn snorted, laughing a little. She looked up, and saw the small outcropping of stone that indicated a window ledge. She pointed up to it. “There’s where we’ll find what we need.”

Lark followed her gaze and nodded. “Lead the way.”

Arryn twirled her knives in her hands and slammed one blade hard between two stones. It stuck, and she tested its hold with her weight. “Alright, boost me up,” she said, and with a leg up from Lark, the pair started to climb.