Not taking stock of its decrepit appearance, Amon entered the inn only to be met with a mass of unsavory figures. In her time on the streets of Kuvash, she knew quite a few of them from word of mouth. Plenty of them hunted her upon her arrival, and Amon did whatever was necessary to not fall into their grasp. Mobsters, bounty hunters, and even members of the assassins and thieves guilds all turned in her direction when she stepped through the door. 

A stocky man with a pig-like nose leaned in her direction from one of the many occupied tables, his cigar barely hanging onto his slim lips as he spoke. “Ye don’t look like one of our scouts or a new hire. Get lost, outsider.”

She looked to the bar, where no one sat despite a man standing behind it. He observed the room with a calm expression, yellow cat-like eyes landing on her form. He twirled his curled mustache, cocking his head to the side.

“You don’t look like a regular,” his voice was rich and even. “Might as well head back out the way you came.”

Amon huffed and walked to the bar, pushing the satchel in his direction. “Androsa sent these to you.”

He didn’t even look at them. “Great. Consider them delivered. Now go.”

She grit her teeth. “I can’t. A Valkyr told me to stay here.”

A tension settled over the room. Amon could sense more than a few folks readying their weapons. Her heart raced.

She stood still, evaluating her options. Whatever energy had possessed her in her fight with the Shadowfaen was long gone, lost in her walk to North Vil. And even if it was still there, she doubted she could win toe to toe with trained fighters and killers. Not in her current state.

“Look,” she tried. Maybe the bartender could see reason. “Shadowfaen are attacking the city. If I go out there, I’m dead.”

“And so, you bring that trouble to my doorstep?” The bartender huffed, turning away from her and cleaning some discarded glasses. “I don’t care much for outsiders coming around here. It’s bad for business. So, I reckon you’re better off going against the Shadowfaen than trying to find a place here.”

Anger warmed her body. She wanted to smack the glass out of his hand. Even smash it into one of the patrons glaring at her.

But she internally shook herself. No, violence was rarely the best option. Or, at least in this scenario, it was the most suicidal one. She needed to keep a level head or end up like that dignitary.

She winced. Perhaps too soon to think about that, she thought. Most likely, the man had not even passed through the Veil yet.

Amon pressed her left hand down on the counter, leaning towards the bartender. 

“Easy there, miss,” someone else called from behind her. She could sense several people shift in the crowd, readying themselves in case the bartender gave the go-ahead.

But she ignored them, keeping her attention solely on him. “Shadowfaen are probably worse for business. More Guardians and Valkyr will be patrolling the streets, which makes it harder to conduct your affairs, right, Faraldin?”

His expression remained impassive, though a twinkle shined in his eyes. “And what would you know about my affairs?”

Amon examined him, noting a faint shimmer against his tanned skin. A glamour…

She recalled the rumors surrounding the man standing before her, of the connection that may have bound them. 

“You’re the best of the best,” Amon said, watching him closely as she spoke. “But this empire has seen the mightiest fall on a whim. You need all the help you can get.”

His eyes flickered down to her hand, widening slightly before his jaw tensed. “Come with me.”

A part of her screamed at the prospect of following a stranger, but she would rather take her chances with him than the other Shadowfaen still rampaging in the streets.

Following him, they descended into a dark cellar. Amon briefly considered that this venture could mean her end. For all she knew, he would tie her up and sell her to any of the patrons upstairs. Aside from her brother, Amon was the most wanted person in all the skies. Perhaps she should have been more cautious up to this point, but… she needed to rely on something, even if it was the reputation of a criminal. It would be better than spending another handful of months living in the alleys.

No torture chamber awaited her in the cellar.

The area seemed chaotic at first glance, but the longer Amon examined the room, the more sense it made. Shoved in one corner was what looked like an office, with bookshelves lining the brick wall behind a high-back leather chair and a large mahogany desk filled with scattered files and papers. In the middle of the cellar stood a circular table with several chairs surrounding it. And the rest of the space was dedicated to piles of boxes upon boxes—most unlabeled.

Amon’s eyes drifted to a message board next to the table. Various maps and other documents were tacked on it, but what drew her attention were the portraits sporting bounties from criminals across the empire.

One of them was the man right in front of her: Faraldin Al-vashar — six-thousand gold pieces.

And just beside it: Pursina Kishpu-La’atzu — one hundred thousand gold pieces.

Amon swallowed, hard.

Faraldin tapped on her picture. “There is a pretty price out there for you, Pursina.”

She crossed her arms, trying to maintain a stern demeanor even though, inside, she trembled. What if this was a bad idea? What if he really did sell her?

“Now,” he leaned against the side of the board, “you should tell me why I shouldn’t turn you in.”

“Because you’re up there too. And if rumor has it right, I reckon it’s for the same reason as me.”

He raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. 

“High prices like that can only mean one thing: you have a connection to the House of Starlight.” Amon mirrored his posture, crossing her arms and lifting her chin in his direction. “And I can see your glamour. You should conceal it better.”

“I do, but it’s useless against those with that Mark. Powerful magick users, you lot.”

“I possess no magick. Just the ability to see things differently.”

“Maybe it’s something that will come to pass.”

Silence stretched between them. Amon examined the room again, her gaze repeatedly drawn to one of the few labeled boxes: Forbidden Books.

Faraldin broke the silence. “So, you want to work for me?”

“It’s better than roaming the streets. And I reckon you give some kind of payment.”

He nodded. “Free food and lodging along with a weekly wage. Keep any tips folks may hand you, as well. You work shifts in the inn and run whatever jobs I hand you, no questions asked.”

Amon took time to mull over it. More for appearance’s sake than anything else. She was ready to agree to sleep in the cellar if that’s all he was willing to offer.

But just as an added sense of security…

“House’s Promise that I won’t be harmed?” She tensed as she said it.

Yet Faraldin didn’t hesitate to hold out his arm for her. “I will do my best to keep you safe under my care.”

Reaching out with her left hand, she grasped his wrist. Pressing her fingers against his pulsepoint, Amon focused until her heart beat in tune with his.

“A promise is a promise,” she whispered in a language she still did not know the name of. 

Her Mark flashed, warming their skin. When she pulled away, a much smaller version marked his pulse point.

Faraldin flashed her a grin. “Now, why don’t we discuss your duties more fully?”

Amon sat in front of his desk while leaning back in the high-back chair. As they talked late into the night, she still couldn’t help but think it was all too good to be true.

And, in fact, it was. Even though Amon had a list of jobs to run and moved into a spare room, the next week, the unexpected happened.

The Wanderers returned for the first time in a decade.