Khazmine trembled at the thought of spending the night in the same camp as Major Barshaw, let alone in the same room. Water droplets that had collected on her still damp hair rained down as Khazmine shook in front of the major’s door. Sensing her reluctance, Lieutenant Mevralls leaned down to meet her boggling, glacier blue eyes with his own viridian gaze.

“It'll be all right, miss, I promise,” Mevralls assured the outcast with a pursed-lipped smile. He knew full well that Major Barshaw wouldn’t have extended the camp’s hospitality to someone she intended to harm, but Khazmine couldn’t know the same for certain. “Come find me first thing in the morning, and we’ll get you something to eat, okay?”

It broke his heart to watch the outcast’s ears droop as he motioned to leave. She was clearly frightened, but Mevralls didn’t seem to have the right words to comfort her. Lieutenant Mevralls ran a gauntlet through his hair and sighed before giving Khazmine some parting advice.

“Don’t be too offended if the major doesn’t speak to you,” Mevralls said while he forced another strained smile. “That’s just how she is. You get used to it after a while… Good night, Miss Khazmine.”

The outcast was still too nervous to offer more than a nod in return. A heavy wooden door creaked open with significant effort, and Khazmine found herself in a darkened room with only faint candlelight to navigate by. Major Barshaw lit only a single candle on a brass candlestick to light a titanic, hand-carved oaken desk nestled in the back of her quarters. She silently perused a mountain of stacked documents that teetered to one side, and never once looked up at the outcast.

“Thank you, ma’am, f-for letting me stay here,” Khazmine offered while still shaking like a dried-out thistle-wheat pod. Instead of a reply, the major deigned to make brief eye contact with the outcast before returning to her work. Something terribly important was clearly weighing on the major’s mind, and her half-breed roommate tried her best to avoid bothering the major further.

The air around her sagged oppressively as Khazmine located a small chaise with a stack of blankets on it, presumably for her to use. Khazmine managed to make a modest bed for herself in the faint candlelight and tried desperately to fall asleep, without success. The major’s lingering ether traces put Khazmine on edge, so much so that Barshaw could smell the scent of fear wafting in from the living room. Finally tired of the distracting odor, Major Barshaw sighed, stood up, and meandered over to the fitful outcast’s tiny nest.

“Sleep,” Barshaw whispered into the quivering outcast’s ear as she bent low over the chaise. Another hint of ether snaked around the room, but this time, it had a gentle, calming energy to it that lulled the outcast to drowse.

The lumbering giant remained in place like a looming sentinel until Khazmine dropped off to sleep, then trudged off to an adjacent room. She stopped to get a parting glance at the outcast, observed her sleeping form with a critical eye, and smirked once more to herself.

We’ll see, I suppose. We’ll see…

***

The familiar, distressing clatter of steel against steel roused Khazmine from slumber the next morning. She recognized the rattle of swords clashing back and forth from outside the major’s living quarters, most likely from the large training circle she’d spotted last night. Realizing that she wasn’t presently in danger of being attacked, Khazmine stretched sore and weary limbs to ready herself for this first day of work.

As Lieutenant Mevralls predicted, Major Barshaw was absent from the dwelling, and likely hard at work already. A twinge of guilt plucked at the outcast’s conscience as rays of light from the midtown sun clock cast their hour through the major’s open windows. Khazmine didn’t know how she’d managed to sleep for nearly half the morning, but the blast of sun rays didn’t lie.

A length of hempen cord and a leather pouch full of coins rested gingerly on the chaise at Khazmine’s feet. The cord was long enough for the outcast to fashion a belt for her overly large pants, with enough left over to hold the pouch at her waist. Once tied in place, Khazmine finally thought to count the jingling treasure.

Her eyes went wide at the surprising cascade of riches. Khazmine decanted twenty-eight copper fawns, nineteen silver does and three gold stags into her hand. It was a shocking sum for a pickpocket or a stray, so she figured that either fortune smiles, or there must be some mistake. The outcast licked dried lips at the prospect of spending such an unexpected windfall. Was it really all right for her to keep all this money?

Not wanting to offend her hosts by withholding gratitude, Khazmine plucked up the courage to exit Major Barshaw’s quarters and step into the sunshine to find Lieutenant Mevralls. As soon as she set foot outside, a panorama of shocked stares lingered on the outcast. The vast majority were from human soldiers, but there were a few Outsiders among them whose curious expressions scanned over the half-breed. Khazmine clutched at her ample clothing to ensure coverage and minimize the effects of the soldiers’ glares.

“Good morning, miss,” Lieutenant Mevralls greeted Khazmine as he strode in from the commissary to the east. The lieutenant had his hands full toting two containers of piping hot food and a flask of cold brambleberry juice for breakfast. “Care to join me?”

Khazmine followed wordlessly and tried to avoid catching anyone’s eyes. The pair found a shaded bench near the commissary to share a breakfast of sweet thistle-wheat cakes, a scrambled egg, and an honest-to-gods grilled ham steak. The half-starved outcast hadn’t enjoyed such a wondrous meal in ages. If there was any particular etiquette required, Khazmine was unaware of it, and she savored each bite with visible satisfaction.

“It’s a shame you didn’t like it,” Mevralls teased as Khazmine enjoyed her breakfast. “Perhaps I should have gotten us something different.” He’d spent their meal together sneaking bits of food onto her plate from his, while distracting Khazmine with details of what her job was to be.

“No, sir. It’s perfect,” Khazmine said as she brushed a thistle-wheat cake crumb from her face. “Thank you.”

“Well then, so long as it meets with your approval,” he added. In truth, Mevralls had eaten hours ago, but he made a show of treating the outcast to a late breakfast. With luck, his subordinates would see his “interest” in the half-breed and leave her alone. It was the best solution to ensure her safety that he could conjure, under the circumstances, but he wasn’t sure if it would work.

“I see you found your presents,” Mevralls grinned. “Sorry about the pants, they’re the best I could do. And you can consider that pouch a welcome bonus from the major and me. There’s a boarding house not too far from camp that would do for lodgings. No one wants to stay that close to the barracks, so the rent should be reasonable.”

“Why wouldn’t they want to stay near here?” Khazmine asked as she polished off the last sweet cake.

“Aside from the training noises at odd hours,” Mevralls noted, “the citizens don’t much care for some of our rowdier initiates and soldiers. I’m sure you’ve guessed by now that some soldiers may not be so welcoming. If any of them give you any bother, come find me, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, Khazmine departed from the barracks with a belly full of good food and spirits renewed for her next assignment. Lieutenant Mevralls had tasked Khazmine with acquiring lodgings and delivering the handsome leather pouch from Lord Farthing’s escapades to Harriet Cadlen in Merchant’s Quarter. The outcast was only too pleased to avoid the lingering stares of the Solanai initiates in the camp.

Khazmine’s first priority was to secure a place to stay for herself. As Mevralls had promised, a shabby little complex in Cheapside had rooms for rent, with a huge down-payment that sapped two gold stags from her purse. Sure, the landlord gave Khazmine a stern appraisal, but her money was just as good as a human’s or Outsider’s, so she settled there on the upper floor at the end of a dingy hallway.

The room itself had little to recommend, aside from a decently-large bed, two creaky wooden chairs, and a few dishes in a cupboard. Every surface was covered in a thin layer of dust, informing the outcast that her new home had not been rented for some time before she arrived. It was no matter, as Khazmine was grateful for four rickety walls and a proper roof over her head more than anything else. For the first time in ages, she had a home.

Once settled, Khazmine set out to find clothing in Merchant’s Quarter for herself that would suit working and leisure time. Not wanting to spend her entire fortune, the outcast ended up with two outfits for working and two for her off hours.

Lieutenant Mevralls had also mentioned training of some sort, but Khazmine didn’t have enough money for leather or studded armor of her own. She did find some sturdier clothes and a pair of boots to replace her ratty shoes, so that would have to be good enough. Khazmine changed into one of her leisure outfits and sauntered off to complete the final leg of her mission.

“Young miss, you’re all right!” Harriet exclaimed excitedly upon seeing Khazmine return to the bread peddler’s bakery unharmed. “What happened last night? I saw you shake them buggers off, but you never came back. Did they hurt you too badly?”

Khazmine winced as Harriet closed in to examine the darkening bruise on her forehead. With everything that had happened since last night, she’d forgotten the sting from the rock that Sir Natton had thrown at her.

“I had some help, Ms. Cadlen,” Khazmine shied away from the motherly smothering and produced the pouch full of stags for Tatty. “They told me to give you this. It’s all there, minus a couple stags for their trouble.”

“Is this really for me?”

“That’s what they told me, ma’am,” Khazmine insisted. Though the thought had occurred to her to pocket a few stags for her own trouble, Khazmine couldn’t bring herself to short-change this kind woman with two small children to feed. “Is it all right if I buy some bread? I know your auntie doesn’t like me inside.”

“Oh, aye, it’s just me today,” Harriet gestured for Khazmine to enter through the front door. “Auntie’s off to the Grand Cathedral for services this afternoon. I woulda gone, just to see his Lordship, but someone has ‘ta mind the store. In the future, if you come ‘round this time of day, you can avoid the ol’ bag entirely.”

Well, that’s certainly some good news. Khazmine smiled at Harriet as the bread peddler’s niece scurried about behind the counter to collect fresh bread to show the outcast. That old witch hates the sight of me, so I’ll stop by after my duties then.

“Here we are, miss,” Harriet beamed as she produced a huge cloth sack of baked goods for the outcast. “As thanks for savin’ me last night. An’ feel free to stop by for a few more, on the house, yeah?”

“Thank you, Ms. Cadlen,” Khazmine bowed gratefully.

“Harriet, miss,” she replied, “but you can call me ‘Tatty.’”

Khazmine smiled back at the charming red-headed woman and hugged the parcel of goodies until it crinkled gently under her pressure. A foreign warmth flooded the outcast as she strode on her merry way. She wanted to share this feeling and surprising bounty, and knew just the people who would appreciate it most.

Winding down through disused back alleys and away from patrolling city guards, Khazmine meandered to the Forbidden Ruins to see if those two children were about. There had been a break in the rain all day, and the twin suns shined through gathering clouds, lighting up the ruins like some sacred place of forgotten beauty. She waited until the next pair of guards passed through before leaving a portion of bread in a muslin square for the boys to find, just inside the ruins. With luck, Aranthus might spot the beige cloth and investigate.

Having successfully completed all of her tasks, Khazmine raced back to her room to stow her treasures and prepare for her first day of training. The lieutenant had mentioned an assessment of some sort, so she put on her sturdiest clothing and dashed back to the barracks to meet her instructor that afternoon, just as the midtown sun clock shone the hour.

Khazmine arrived on time at the training circle, but Lieutenant Mevralls was nowhere to be seen. Curiosity got the better of her and Khazmine reached into a red-painted vertical storage tube holding wooden practice swords to investigate her possible training tools. Khazmine didn’t know—she couldn’t know—the folly of her curiosity at that precise moment. As soon as she drew a practice sword from the red rack, a distastefully familiar soldier sauntered into the circle to draw his own practice blade.

“Fancy seeing you here, half-breed,” Mister Hallem grinned maliciously while he relished his good fortune. “Care for a spar?”