Snawks let out hissing screeches as they wheeled overhead, sun glinting off of brown scales and red tail feathers. Heat slammed down on the bazar from the heavens and damn near choked Ferda. Being covered in black clothes was great for stealth, but shit for existing in the desert. Still, being hot was better than being laid up for a week with a full body sunburn, every square inch of raw skin slathered in aloe. Or, that’s what they liked to tell themself when they had to sweat their ass off. Ferda snuck their hand into an unwary passerby’s pocket then headed for a nearby drink stand whose owner was known treated people kindly regardless of origin.

Things felt better with a cup of iced coconut water in hand. The butcher’s stall was on the other side of the market, but Ferda had tons of time before Papa would get home to notice their mistake. So, they spent the afternoon wandering around the bazar, searching for shade and interesting conversations to listen in on.

As they moved farther from the cheaper end of the market, the crowd turned from a mishmash of Woromirans, JaKennians, occasional Joranianins, and even some from the Nations Beyond the Reef into a sea of Shenaise faces. Threadbare clothes paired with stereotypical Central Cluster features could draw a lot of suspicious ire from the middle-class Shenaise that frequented certain areas of the bazar. Thing was, Ferda knew exactly how to present the image of a wretched but unthreatening foreigner, struggling under the might of Shenait’s sun. Someone that those mediocre snobs both expected to see and refused to look at. Under this derisive invisibility, people would talk about any-damn-thing like they’d forgotten Ferda had ears.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t a whole lot of people out shopping. Most of the fabric shops and cheap jewelry stands that were usually such great places to catch gossip were empty. Ferda had better luck around the vegetable stands, but it seemed that the war-time pay-cuts and rationing was beginning to squeeze the middle class out of their creature comforts.

The most interesting tidbit that Ferda overheard was from a conversation between two secretaries on a coffee run. Apparently, Ava Kasani intended to make her upcoming birthday party the entire city’s problem. Not only was she planning to parade through the city’s main streets (which were to be decorated in Kasani orange and grey) on the back of an exotic holephant, but also planned to set up multiple fireworks displays along her route. Finally, she’d commandeer the bazar’s central square for a private ball.

If the secretaries weren’t wearing pendants emblazoned with the Kasani scorpion as a sign of continued employment, Ferda might have thought the entitled excess on display was overblown gossip. Then again, perhaps they shouldn’t have been surprised about such a flagrant waste of money from the Kasani family. They’d made Malek, after all. Still, Ferda knew some people who would be interested in all the explosives that would suddenly be in the city, so the day wasn’t a total wash.  Letting out a disgusted click of their tongue, Ferda ducked into an alley that headed towards the butcher’s.

“I’m surprised to find you here of all places.” A large hand clamped down on Ferda’s shoulder and swung them around. The thief grabbed the thick wrist and turned on their heel along with the momentum. They snapped their leg out in a roundhouse kick powerful enough to knock joints out of place. It hit only air as their assailant dodged. The hand didn’t release its grip. “Ferda,” said the man, “it’s me. Calm down.”

Slipping out of their tunic, Ferda danced away in their undershirt before whirling around to get a good look at their assailant. When they processed his identity, they let out a scoff of relief. “Shattered hell, man. Don’t surprise me like that.” Bolin blinked jade eyes, the same shade as Taras’, then folded Ferda’s shirt into a crisp square and held it out. Ferda barked a laugh and took it, sliding the garment back over their shoulders. “The fuck are you doing, lurking around the shadows and grabbing people. You suddenly a debt collector?”

“Not typically. For today, however, you’re correct.” Bolin shifted his feet into a fighting stance. This wasn’t the first time Ferda had seen that stance and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. “I will be needing the stolen hand-break back.”

Ferda snorted. “Like I said the last time we had this conversation. If your boyfriend wants his shit back, he can come down here and take it himself rather than sending some toady after me. Not that you’re a toady, Bolin.”

Bolin shook his head. “I am.” Ferda opened their mouth to tell Bolin not to talk about himself like that, but the eldest Abate held up a hand to stop them. “It’s an honor to serve as the crown prince’s bodyguard.” As if he had any other choice but to continue the Abate legacy, if he wanted to keep being seen as half Shenaise instead of half Woromiran. “Even more so to be able to protect the man I love. Besides,” he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Me being Erol’s ‘toady’ that comes in his stead is the only reason our little arrangement works.”

“What if I don’t like our arrangement?” Ferda smirked and put their hands on their hips, using the motion to disguise the fact that they’d rolled onto the balls of their feet. They hated running from a fight, but Ferda had never been able to beat Bolin in a fair scrap. They’d escaped him plenty of times though. “Would it really be so bad for Princy boy to lose something for once in his life?” For something Ferda did to him to actually matter?

Bolin’s eye twitched. For a moment, Ferda thought they might have finally pissed him off enough to get him to let something slip. They’d been trying to get dirt on the crown prince for years, but Bolin had guarded Erol’s secrets as fiercely as he did the man’s body. Then, he took a breath and the breach in the royal sanctum sealed. “You shouldn’t speak of things you know nothing about.”

“Back to your misguided attempts to lessen the pressure on Serai,” Bolin reoriented. “You cannot keep committing crimes against the crown prince of this country and then trying to wave away the consequences under the guise of having played a simple prank. The only reason your hands are still attached to your wrists and your head to your neck is because I have cleaned up your messes. State mandated punishments aside,” the bodyguard crossed his arms, “you do not want the prince to come after you.”

“Oh, I think I do.” Ferda took a step back as they spoke, their lips pulling into a feral grin. “He pushes Serai around easily enough, so let him try his luck against someone with a little more bite to them.” While Ferda spoke, they palmed some of the grit that had collected on a nearby windowsill. There wasn’t enough of it to work as well as a handful of dirt, but it should give them some breathing room.

“Prince Erol has decimated entire battlefields with only me for back up.” Bolin said and matched Ferda’s step. “You would not be able to handle him if he truly decided to hunt you down.” Bolin was probably right, but that didn’t mean Ferda had to just roll over for his royal shittiness. “I don’t want anything nasty to happen to you,” the bodyguard continued. “Please, just return the hand-break.” He held out his hand. Ferda didn’t move. Bolin let out a sigh. “Listen, Ferda. Despite how he might posture, Erol would never actually harm Serai. You, on the other hand, are replaceable.”

“How do you figure that?” Ferda cracked their neck, activating the augmented muscles that had been magically grafted throughout their body. Taken from a moniger that Ferda had hunted themselves—as was Woromiran Tradition—the muscles would allow them to run faster and react quicker than any human would. There was no visualization bullshit here, just a flicker of thought and building adrenaline to kick the litany off.

“Erol has started muttering about pushing Serai to make new friends,” Bolin said. “Your criminal record is long enough to make disposing of you quite easy.” This was news to Ferda. They took another step back, chewing the inside of their lip. Bolin rolled his shoulders. “Are you really so set on doing this the hard way?”

Ferda drew in their courage with a breath and bounced on their toes. “You know it.” Like hell were they going to let themself be intimidated by their own cousin. They threw the dust in Bolin’s face and ran. “You’re it, bitch!”