The 36th Day of Valemord, 1251

The City-state of Vielrona

ALEA WAS NOT CERTAIN Arman’s idea was a good one, but curiosity nudged her into the Vielronan streets. There seemed to be an alehouse on every corner. How will I ever find it in this? The walk was cold but along the better lit of Vielrona's streets. She wrapped the cloak tighter around her shoulders and rounded a bend. The kerchief over her hair was less obvious that her jahi, but strange. Her two braids were pinned up around her head.

Cat's Run took up an entire block of buildings. The windows were large, casting gold firelight onto the rough cobbles of the street. The bubbling din of conversation swelled each time the door banged open.

She made out Kam's lively antics through the waving glass and smiled.

“Evening, Miss.” A broad man stood, one foot braced on the stairs as he held the door open.

She realized she stood just off the stoop in a daze and stepped in ahead of him with a quick thank you. Shivers erupted at the sudden warmth of the room. Arman's friends monopolized the rear corner of the largest room.

“Fates! The women-folk are outnumbering us!” Kam sat on the back of a bench, boots propped on the table.

Alea giggled and hung her cloak by their table. “This is quite the place.”

“Quite,” Wes answered. “I'm impressed Arman convinced you to come.” He nodded to her kerchief. “You could pass for a local girl.” The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and he wore his hair slicked back.

“Care for a drink? We have strict instructions to make sure you enjoy yourself,” Kam explained.

She laughed. “I think I'll start with something light. We don't normally drink unless it's a ceremony. Not to mention your tales warn against the effects of Vielronan alcohol.” She slid onto the bench beside him. “Where's Arman?”

“He's collecting our next round,” Veredy replied, sitting beside her with a bright smile. “You look lovely! I've always admired dark hair.” Her deep brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “Do you dance?”

Alea's brow rose. “We had many household dances—ring dances and the like. Do you do those here?”

Veredy's laugh was kind. “Gracious, no. We jig and have many a skipper. All are paired though. Did you ever learn them?”

Alea shook her head. Nerves were a knot in her stomach, despite the friendliness. Dancing had not crossed her mind. “I'm afraid I don't know a single step.”

“Kam doesn’t know the steps either, but that doesn't stop him. It's more important to enjoy yourself and move quickly so your toes aren't trampled than get the steps right.” She broke off and greeted Arman with a kiss.

He handed her a heavy glass and passed Kam and Wes their mugs. “You two better not thank me the same way.”

Wes grinned wickedly. “How else do you expect me to pay you back?” He took a deep sip of his drink. “Our dear Alea fears her dancing skills are not good enough for the noble patrons of Cat's Run.”

Arman snorted. “I'm certain her actual dancing skills surpass all of ours.” He fixed Alea with an impish look. “However, what we do here cannot fairly be called dancing.” As if called by his mention, a flurry of music cut through the conversation. Two musicians stood in the opposite corner. One held a brass pipe, the other a set of lap drums. A second series of notes began what Alea assumed was a song. Though charming, it was closer to a lilting scale, a series of skips. This is hardly dancing music.

Wes’s offered drink arrived, and she tentatively tried a sip. It was heady and sweet, but warmed her stomach.

“It's mead,” Wes explained. “Honey wine.”

Chairs were pushed back, and dancing sprung up in the center of the room. Veredy was right—there was little skill involved, but much enthusiasm. Kam was up in moments, putting the other dancers to shame with his cavorting. Alea laughed aloud and began clapping in time. Her drink was finished, and her body was tingling pleasantly. Arman and Veredy seemed lost in a conversation.

Wes nudged Alea gently with his elbow. “What say you? I'm not a very good dancer, but apparently, we'll be well matched.”

Alea felt her cheeks flush and she looked down. Panic warred with flattery. I had no idea he was interested! “Oh, Wes, I didn't know. I'm afraid I hardly know you.”

His laugh boomed. “Alea, my dear, I'm afraid you’ve deeply misunderstood.” He leaned closer. “Though your company is charming, I’d be far more likely to proposition Arman than you.”

Understanding dawned on her. She giggled in surprise and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

Φ

Arman was not a dancing man, but lively music had a habit of making his feet tap. He leaned back against the wall, one arm slung over Veredy's shoulders. He worried inviting Alea to a tavern would be a mistake. Instead of withdrawing nervously, however, she laughed. It was her second dance with Wes and her face was flushed. Granted that might be the mead.

Winter was normally a dark time, but during war it was often the only season that guaranteed peace. The relief was tangible across the city and he felt his own heart grow lighter. Dark ice and deep heat still echoed the Laen, but he forced it from his mind. Alea was learning how to be Vielronan and Kepra needed his help less, now that Alea was working.

Veredy’s brown eyes were alight, and one hand clapped in time on her leg.

She's as strong as I am, but far steadier. Kam did not exaggerate Arman's antics as a younger man. Driven, and curious, he always wished to leave the city behind. Now, that determination focused on building the best life he could. Laen and Alea and war aside, he belonged in Vielrona. He twirled a lock of Veredy’s hair around a blunt finger. The best life would have her in it.

He leaned down and nudged her cheek with his nose. “Thank you, Ver.”

She pulled away to peer at him curiously. “Whatever for?”

“For being here. Even when I've not been.”

“You’re drunk if you're speaking that way.” She grinned, jostling him with her shoulder. “I suppose I still can't convince you to dance.”

He made a face. “Go take a turn.”

She rolled her eyes and rose, skirts held away from the dirty floor. It was a two-pair dance, she and Alea trading partners several times as the music continued. She was a good dancer, as Vielronan dancing went and her long legs were as quick as they were strong.

“You are ogling, my man.” Kam's chest was heaving, but his smile was broad. “This is Celly.” Kam flopped down in Veredy's vacated seat and patted the bench beside him.

A woman stood a pace behind him. Her face was pink, but her expression reserved. She sat and held her arm out to Arman. “Celly Orean.” She was several years older than Kam, and confidence lent beauty to her simple features.

“Well met, Miss.” Arman grinned, recognizing her as one of the Guild's headmen. “I'm impressed Kam was able to interest someone as intelligent as you.”

“Perhaps I find his difference intriguing.” She flashed a witty smile. “May I buy your table a drink as thanks for letting me steal your most entertaining friend?”

“If I expect to make it home I should start drinking water, but I'm certain Wes will gladly accept.” He rolled his shoulders. Comfort flowed in the wake of warm alcohol, but he wanted to be sober when he spoke to Veredy.

Kam leaned closer to Celly and began another elaborate tale. Arman scarcely listened. The music tittered to a halt while the musicians accepted their own drinks and took a minute's rest. When Alea bid him a breathless farewell he only smiled and wished her a good night. Veredy returned to perch on Arman's knee and introduce herself to Kam's admirer. Arman rubbed a hand down her back. I’ve thought about this enough, I made every excuse I could and Ver was patient through everything.

“Do you want to stay later?” Veredy smiled down at him.

“I'd like to walk. I want to talk to you about something.”

One brow rose. “The air would be nice, I suppose.” She slid off his legs and he grabbed their cloaks.

Compared to the din of the tavern, the streets were still. Arman slid an arm around her easily. “It seems Kam found his latest lover. I'd worry about a dalliance with someone in the Guild.”

Veredy laughed. “Well, she seems as much a handful as he, albeit in a different way. Perhaps she'll settle him a bit. Fates know he could use it.” She leaned her head against Arman's shoulder with a sigh. “It’s such a journey, to see all of us change. Kam gained confidence—perhaps too much—and Wes is becoming a renowned smith. Even Alea changed in the month she's been here.”

Arman realized almost a month passed since the Laen arrived and shook his head. Those weeks seemed to change everything. “What about me?”

“Conceited, are you?” Her grin warmed the gentle barb. “You went from violent boy to brooding man within a few days. Lately, you’ve realized you can’t fix everything.”

“That’s partly why I wanted to talk to you.” He let the statement hang in the air for several moments while he gathered his thoughts. Walking in the cold certainly cleared any alcohol from his mind, but his nerves helped little. “You’re strong, and have a clear head when I get lost in my thoughts. You keep me centered. Fates know you're familiar enough with my moods. Ma no longer needs me about the inn as much, and Wes said the rooms beside his are empty now.”

Veredy stopped and pulled away. She took his hands and peered into his face. Her expression was puzzled, but a smile curled one corner of her mouth. “What are you saying, Arman?”

He squeezed her hands. “Ver, I—”

Cold slammed into him. It shook his bones and clenched his gut. Breath stuttered in his chest and his knees hit the cobbles with a crack. Cold fled, followed by burning heat. Blood filled his mouth, hot and sweet. His jaw ached. His own groans were faint to his ears like they were another's. Veredy shook his shoulders, but her words were unintelligible.

The screaming in his ears was not his. It was Alea's. He staggered to his feet. “I'm sorry, Veredy. I have to go.” Words tore from his throat. He stumbled into a jog then an outright run, leaving her staring, incredulous, behind him.

Φ

Crisp air burnt in Alea's lungs as she made her way along the quiet street. It was close to midnight, but many lanterns still glowed in the surrounding houses. Dancing was more fun than she ever expected, and with Wes felt safe. Even if she and Ahren only loved each other as friends, the wound from his loss was too raw for her to consider romance. Despite the cold, she enjoyed her new freedom. The city was peaceful, open for exploration.

She trailed her fingers along the cool stone of a cobbler's shop, humming the last dancing tune absently. I'll have Arman show me the gardens soon. Though perhaps they're all brown in the winter.

Boot falls as she passed an alley made her turn. The street was as deserted as before. “Hello?” Metal hissed against leather raising the small hairs on the back of her neck. “Who's there?”

Two men emerged across the narrow street. They were dressed in dark clothes. Alea was certain the scarves covering their faces were not for warmth. She stepped back until she felt the wall behind her. Whirling, she dashed toward a larger street several buildings down. Hard muscle tossed her to a halt as a third man emerged from behind a workshop. His hand clamped over her mouth as she tried to pull away.

She bit down hard and skittered away when he let go with a curse.

“Help!” She pitched her voice to carry, something Merahn did when she wanted her way. A fourth man arrived. Their clothes were unmarked. Vielronan green marked their irises. “I will not have her on my cart.... you endangered the city bringing them back.” Tomas' words echoed in her head. They’re fearful enough to attack me? Drive me out? She wondered what she would do to save her own city. Indecision froze her limbs. Perhaps they just wanted to frighten her. “Please, I know you're scared. I don't mean to threaten your city. Let me go and I'll leave. I promise.” She hated the fear in her voice.

“We can't afford that, girl. You get out, so does word those women were here.” The speaker drew his dagger. It was a curved, wicked looking thing, and Alea realized she saw it at Arman's stall.

Strange, what one thinks of when they're about to die. They intended to kill her, and her skills at hand-combat were serviceable, but not against four men armed with blades.

Another man burst frantically onto the street. Behind the twisted snarl, his features were barely recognizable. He threw himself blindly onto the closest man. Surprise seized the others only for a moment. Arman landed a blow to his opponent's temple and slammed the palm of his hand upward into his nose, driving bone and cartilage back. He whirled to face the next man. An arm came up to block, but he was too slow. The attacker's blow landed on Arman's chest. He staggered, but rushed forward, fists raised. His steps faltered, and he stopped, staring in confusion at the deep stain growing on his shirt. “Dammit.” His knees gave out and he fell face down in a culvert.

Alea stared. Run. Fight. She should have used the surprise of Arman's attack to overpower one of the men. Instead, her feet rooted in place. Arman shuddered once in the gutter, then lay still. Darkness churned in her mind. It was angry and roiling. It was despair. It was the loss of something as familiar as her soul. The world trundled past without knowing, without seeing the force building inside.

Now that darkness grew. She spent weeks wishing to die, but this was different. It was anger. It was hate. And hate gave her something to live for. They are monsters.