Content Warning: This chapter contains depictions of domestic abuse and human trafficking/exploitation involving minors. Reader discretion is advised.

Morning came softly, filtered through pale light as Gale sat at one of the small tables near the inn’s front window. His sleeves were rolled back, his hands wrapped around a mug of tea as he watched the people outside, letting the warmth of the tea in his hands anchor his thoughts. Dorney was quiet at this hour with late-night patrons long gone and the heavy oak door to the cellar remained bolted. Only the creak of floorboards and the low murmur from the kitchen broke the stillness. Maren’s husband would be returning to an empty house right about now. But with no pursuers appearing overnight, Gale’s precautions had held. As long as she stayed put, there was no reason to believe anyone would trace her to The River’s Rest.

The heavy kitchen door creaked and Mary emerged from the kitchen carrying a small wooden tray with careful pride, setting it down on the table in front of Gale. It was a thick meat pie, steam curling faintly as it escaped through the small vent cut into the pastry top, carrying the rich, savory scent of pepper and rosemary. The pie crust was golden brown across the top and looked flaky at the edges.

“It’s a thank you,” she said quietly, leaning down slightly toward him. “Thank you for looking into those awful men. I can’t imagine how much worse things are than you’ve even told us.”

“I’m not trying to hide things from you all out of any deceit, Mary,” he reassured her. “It’s for your own safety that I’m keeping things quiet right now. If I kick the nest down, I can still leave town. It won’t be nearly so simple for you and your family, and as I told Tobias, in the worst case scenario —”

“I understand, Gale. I spoke to Maren last night and given what she’s shared, well…Tobias and I were already planning to pack a couple of bags, but after hearing her story, we stayed up later than we normally would’ve to do so. So again,” she nodded in the direction of the pie, “thank you.”

“You really don’t owe me anything, Mary. I have my own reasons for going after them.”

“Gale,” she stopped him quietly, “Tobias and I don’t know what we would’ve done if you weren’t here. This is the least we can do in support of your efforts.”

“Well, thank you,” he said finally, “it looks delicious.”

Mary smiled, satisfied. “Eat it while it’s hot,” she said briskly as she straightened. “And don’t you dare insult me by leaving crumbs.” She turned back toward the kitchen before he could reply.

Gale watched her go for a moment, then picked up his knife and fork, slicing into the pie. The pastry yielded with a light, golden crunch, releasing a puff of savory, herb-infused steam that filled the quiet corner. Beneath the buttery, flaky crust lay a rich, dark gravy packed with tender chunks of venison, wild forest mushrooms, and slow-simmered root vegetables. He savored the melt-in-his-mouth meat, wondering with a faint smile if this was the very buck he had sold to Weylan the night before. Whether Weylan had sent a choice portion over with Tobias’s order or Mary had been keeping a private store in the pantry, the meal was a comforting masterpiece. The rich, wood-smokey gravy and flaky pastry warmed him to his core. He ate unhurriedly, watching the town awaken beyond the glass; a baker shouted greetings across the road and early vendors set up their morning stalls.

When he finished his breakfast, Gale settled his cloak over his shoulders and made his way down to the stable yard. He found Echo rested and content in his dry stall, having made short work of his hay. Gale gave the dark gelding a fond rub along the inside of his ears—a favorite spot that made the horse lean gently into his hand—before tossing a copper to the stableboy for a job well done. Once saddled, Gale led Echo out into the morning chill at a deliberate, easy walk. He made sure to give the horse a proper walking warm-up through the town’s winding streets, keeping the pace relaxed to let Echo’s muscles loosen before any hard work. Echo’s bare, tough hooves clacked cleanly against the damp cobblestones, his broad forehead held low and relaxed as he navigated the awakening town without a hint of nervousness. The barracks lay near Dorney’s outer limits, close enough to trade gossip with the townsfolk if needed, but far enough to keep its own authority. Before he could deal with the garrison, he had a professional obligation to untangle. He had canceled his musical performances to clear his schedule, but depending on how things went over the next couple of days, Linnet would need to be informed of the change in plans in case he needed to leave town in a hurry. Gale guided Echo toward the Scrivener’s Guild once more, tying the calm gelding to the post outside with plenty of slack.

Given her original timeline of having the drafts completed by evening, Linnet had only come up with two of the three when Gale arrived at her office. He liked what he saw, and so rather than signing a formal contract for three silvers as originally discussed, he left her with more works in progress, stating that the ambiguity of the next few days would keep him busy and that he’d pay her an extra silver for the trouble if the sheets needed to be sent to him instead of having him pick them up in person. He was grateful that Linnet didn’t ask any questions, simply clarified the terms of their current agreement before accepting the changes.

Eventually, after shaking on it, Gale remounted Echo and rode toward the barracks in the upper district, the plans for the upcoming slave market turning repeatedly in his mind. Getting the barracks and the soldiers inside was the fastest way to get a handle on things without getting civilians killed. There was simply no need to involve untrained locals, and the faster they moved, the lower the chance that innocent people like Tobias and his family would get caught in any backlash.

His hand drifted beneath his shirt, closing around the heavy pendant resting against his chest. He drew it out at last, the royal crest catching the light—a symbol of authority he had forfeited years ago. By rights, the crown should have hunted him down and forced him to return it years ago. However, the more likely truth was that despite his betrayal, he was still trusted to keep it as a silent relic. If he kept his head down and never used this authority again, the crown could afford to leave him alone.

And yet, it was his only leverage. With the pendant, he could bypass the red tape, demand the captain’s immediate audience, and command authority without argument. Without it, he would face endless inquiries and tactical delays, which were all luxuries he could not afford with lives on the line tonight.

The barracks rose into view, squat stone walls bearing the marks of age and use. A Valmarese banner hung limp in the morning air. Two soldiers stood watch at the gate with grounded spears, posture alert but relaxed. Gale dismounted from his stocky bay gelding at the stone gatehouse and led Echo forward by the reins until he stood just short of the guards. Echo stood solidly at his shoulder, his dark brown eyes taking in the armed men without a flinch.

“I need to speak with your captain,” Gale said evenly. “Privately.”

One of the soldiers frowned. “On what business?”

Gale reached beneath his collar and drew out the heavy, blackened pendant, letting it hang from its chain. The royal crest pressed into its face caught the light. There were secrets that lay in the pendant, but to a common foot-soldier, all Gale needed them to know is that his crest screamed royal authority. There was no doubt that King Arkin would eventually hear of this breach, and that wielding unassigned royal authority would draw unwanted attention, but the situation was too dire for him to hesitate.

The guards stiffened instantly, their eyes darting from the royal crest to his cold gaze. Their boots cracked against the cobbles as they saluted him smartly.

“Inside, sir,” the second soldier said, his voice hurried. “I’ll fetch him immediately. May I have your name for the captain?”

“Gale.”

The first soldier stepped up respectfully to take Echo’s reins, offering to hold the steady horse. Echo merely gave a soft snort of acknowledgment, allowing the soldier to lead him toward a tie-rail while the second guard quickly gestured for Gale to follow him beyond the gates to await further directions. As he tucked the pendant back against his chest, Gale knew that no matter what consequences followed, this was how it had been meant to be used again.

The captain was older than Gale had expected, late fifties, perhaps, with iron-gray hair cut short and a uniform bearing the scuffs and wear of active field service. He assessed Gale in a single sharp glance before dismissing the guard.

“Out. Bar the door.”

As the heavy wooden bar slid into place, the captain walked behind his desk, resting both palms on the worn timber. “Show me.”

Gale reached beneath his collar, drew out the pendant, and laid the dark metal on the table. The captain leaned down, shifting his desk lantern so the oil flame caught the iron at a sharp angle. Deep within the fused delphinian iron, the metal seemed to refract the light, showing a faint, razor-sharp shadow flaring beneath the crown that revealed the silhouette of a downward-pointing broadsword.

The captain stared at the shifting steel for a long second, his jaw tightening before he exhaled slowly through his nose.

“An Arbiter,” he said quietly, stepping back from the desk. “I haven’t seen one of those pendants in ten years.” He looked up to meet Gale’s eyes with sharp, veteran caution. “No commander wants an Arbiter in his office uninvited. What kind of hell brought you to my doorstep, Gale?”

“A slaving operation running right under your nose,” Gale said evenly. “They play at legitimate trade on the surface with human trafficking behind closed doors.”

The captain’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze drifted toward a board behind his desk pinned with yellowed parchment, including a faded, hand-drawn sketch of a young girl and old patrol reports.

“We’ve known someone has been snatching people off the river road for years,” Vance said, his tone turning cold and flat. “My men have found abandoned wagons, blood on the turnpikes, and hit two of their transit camps out in the brush. But every time we squeezed the local scum in Dorney, we hit a wall. No names, no venue.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “And now you’re telling me the central hub is right here in the market district?”

“The staging holding cells are under the restaurant near the square,” Gale said. “I slipped inside last night for their preview. I’ve seen the girls in person, verified the guards, and extracted details on tonight's main venue.”

Vance’s hand closed into a tight fist against the desk. “How many did they have locked up?”

“At least a dozen captives,” Gale said. “And it’s worse than standard trade, captain. They’ve managed to secure an elf.”

Silence fell over the room, heavy and suffocating. Vance closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off a headache, before looking back at a large map pinned to his wall.

“An elf brings international eyes,” Vance muttered quietly. “If a high-value asset like that is being auctioned in Dorney, they aren't just passing through. They're liquidating.” He stood up and walked over to the map, tracing a finger down the river path where several red pins were clustered. “Where are they moving them for the sale?”

“A warehouse near the docks,” Gale said, stepping closer. “Patrons enter through a side door and descend into repurposed cisterns. They're moving the captives from the restaurant cells through the storm tunnels under the district.”

Gale joined him at the map, taking in the sheer density of markers across Dorney and its surrounding routes. His eyes caught the faded, worn edges around one specific pin near the northern road, dated eight years prior.

“You’ve been tracking them a long time,” Gale observed quietly.

Vance didn't look away from the map. His gaze remained fixed on that older pin. “Eight years ago, they took a transport off the turnpike. My daughter was on it.” His voice was low, devoid of self-pity, replaced entirely by the cold grit of an old soldier. “We recovered three survivors two miles downriver. She wasn't one of them. My wife passed three winters later still waiting for news.”

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Thanks for reading!

xoxo,

tsiagisel