Chương 95: Chapter 93. A Port Named Destiny (Morgana's POV) Part 1

Vethia. Port city and capital of the Marak kingdom. White stone buildings crowded the coast where the Syruval Sea met the Alyrian shores. The docks reeked of salt, fish, and exotic spices. Merchants haggled in multiple languages while dock workers hauled crates and barrels from ships that had traveled from every corner of the known world. Morgana leaned against a stack of crates, watching gulls circle above the busy port where traders shouted prices and sailors hauled cargo. Ten months had changed her.

The rough cotton of her dress felt natural now, and her once-soft hands had grown calloused from months of crafting – weaving baskets, carving trinkets, and sewing the intricate patterns the Veyshari were known for. Behind her, the Veyshari were preparing their ship for departure. The Viento Libre had been her home since that winter night when she'd left Arkhos behind. Now they were leaving, and she was staying. Mirko approached, his massive frame blocking the morning sun.

His beard was tied with colorful threads, and his eyes crinkled at the corners when he spotted her.

"Still making sad face?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Not too late to change mind." Morgana smiled despite herself.

"I've made my decision."

"Bah! Decisions." He waved a meaty hand.

"I decide to eat fish yesterday. Today, I want bread. Tomorrow?" He shrugged dramatically.

"Maybe horse." She laughed.

"I don't think you've ever eaten horse."

"Not important." Mirko leaned closer.

"Important is you belong with us now. Ten months! You speak our language, you make coin with us. My sister teach you medicines. Why stay in boring port?" The question hung in the air. Why indeed? The past ten months had been the freest of her life. With the Veyshari, she'd sailed to ports she'd only read about in books. She'd slept under stars so bright they seemed close enough to touch.

She'd danced around campfires, learned to haggle in three languages, and for the first time since childhood, she'd laughed – really laughed – until her sides ached.

"You know why," she said finally. Mirko's expression grew serious.

"Revenge make poor compass, cireaşă mică." Little cherry. His nickname for her since the time she'd eaten so many cherries at a market that her lips had stained red for days. Before she could respond, a group of Veyshari approached, led by Mirela. They formed a half-circle around Morgana.

"We bring gifts," announced an older woman named Drina, holding out a bundle wrapped in blue cloth.

"For new journey."

"I can't accept—" Morgana began.

"You insult us now?" Drina raised an eyebrow.

"After we feed you ten months?"

"That's not what I—""Good! Then take." She thrust the bundle into Morgana's arms.

"Clothes, herbs, charms. Things you need." One by one, they pressed gifts into her hands. A cooking pot. A knife with a bone handle. A small pouch of tea that "make bad men tell truth" according to old Petru with a sly wink. Then came Vano, a boy barely sixteen who'd taught her to weave baskets during long sea crossings. He shuffled forward, holding out a small cloth purse that clinked with coins.

"This is too much," Morgana said, trying to give it back.

"Is money you earn," Vano insisted.

"Your share from market sales. We save for you."

"But—"" Destul!" Mirko bellowed.

"Enough argument. You take gifts because we are family now. Family help family." Family. The word hit her harder than she expected. In a sense, they had become her family. Just like Adom and Sam. It felt... good.

"Thank you," she managed, her throat tight. The others drifted back to the ship after quick embraces and whispered good wishes. Only Mirela remained, standing quiet beside her uncle.

"Go prepare ship," Mirko told his niece.

"I talk with stubborn girl one moment." Mirela didn't move.

"I stay." He sighed.

"Fine, fine. Everyone so stubborn." He fixed Morgana with a serious look.

"Listen to me now. You good girl with bad plans. World bigger than revenge."

"Not for me," Morgana said.

"Yes, for you too." He tapped her forehead.

"You just not see yet. But one day, maybe." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden box.

"For when that day come." Inside was a silver ring with a red stone that seemed to glow from within.

"Veyshari blood ring," he explained.

"When you need us – real need, not silly need – you break stone. We will know. We will come."

"How?" Morgana asked, slipping the ring onto her finger. Mirko tapped his nose.

"Magic secret. You just remember – break stone, we come." Behind them, a sailor called something in Veyshari. Mirko nodded.

"Time to go." He grabbed Morgana in a bear hug that lifted her off the ground.

"Be smart. Be safe. No dying."

"I'll try," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. He set her down and stomped back toward the ship, leaving her with Mirela. The sorceress looked different in the daylight – younger somehow, though her eyes still held that ancient wisdom Morgana had come to respect.

"Last chance," Mirela said softly.

"Come with us to Southern Isles. Much sun, good food. No emperors to kill." Morgana smiled sadly.

"You know I can't."

"Can. Won't." Mirela reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment.

"Our route. Next five years. Where to find us, when." Morgana took the parchment, touched beyond words.

"I don't know what to say."

"Say nothing. Just listen." Mirela took her hands.

"Path you choose – darkness waits there. Not just for enemies. For you too."

"I know what I'm doing."

"No. You don't." Mirela's grip tightened.

"Remember what I tell you that night on boat? About blood curse?"

"I remember."

"Good. Because curse real. Very real." She leaned closer.

"But also remember this – where is darkness, can be light too. Choice always there." From the ship, a horn blew. Final call.

"I need to go," Mirela said. She hesitated, then pulled Morgana into a quick embrace.

"First friend I have who not Veyshari. Strange, yes?"

"Very strange," Morgana agreed, hugging her back. Mirela stepped away.

"If you change mind, use paper. Find us."

"I will." With a final nod, Mirela turned and hurried back to the ship. Morgana watched as the Veyshari cast off, their colorful flags fluttering in the morning breeze. Mirko stood at the bow, his great arms crossed. Mirela beside him, a small figure in her bright shawl. Others waved from the deck, calling farewell promises in a mix of languages. Morgana waved back until the ship turned toward the open sea. Until the figures grew too small to distinguish. Until the sails were just white specks on the horizon.

Then she turned to face the city of Vethia, her new gifts clutched to her chest. Ten months of peace was enough. She had work to do. The ring felt like a lifeline. But not one she intended to use. This was her path now. Alone. The path to power. The path to justice. The path that would end with her uncle's bl–" Kantu malla transporta?" a boy asked, gesturing at the pile of gifts at her feet. Morgana blinked, momentarily yanked from thoughts of imperial blood and justice. Rude.

"What?" The boy switched languages.

"Transport things? Good price." He patted his cart proudly. The wheels looked like they'd fall off if someone sneezed too hard.

"Oh. No, thank you," Morgana said. She lifted her hand, showing a small copper ring on her index finger.

"Dimensional storage." The boy's eyes widened.

"Magic ring! Very fancy." He watched with undisguised fascination as she touched each item, making them vanish one by one into the ring's pocket dimension.

"You from Sundar, yes?" Morgana paused mid-motion.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Accent heavy like stone," he said, mimicking her pronunciation with exaggerated thickness.

"I'm Kafi. I know all Vethia. Need guide?" Morgana looked at him properly for the first time. Maybe twelve years old, with sun-darkened skin and clothes that had been patched so many times they were more patch than original fabric. Sharp eyes, though. The kind that missed nothing.

"I don't need—""Yes, you need," Kafi interrupted confidently.

"New in city? Everyone get lost. Everyone get robbed. Maybe worse."

"I can take care of myself." Kafi snorted.

"Sure, sure. Like other foreigners who end up in harbor with throat cut." Morgana considered the boy. She did need information, and local knowledge was valuable.

"I'm looking for a place called..." She hesitated, remembering the name Mirela had given her.

"The Copper Lantern." Kafi's expression shifted subtly.

"Ah. You need that kind of guide."

"Can you take me there or not?"

"Can. Very expensive." He named a price that made Morgana laugh out loud.

"That's more than a week's lodging at a decent inn."

"Special tax," Kafi said with a shrug.

"What tax?"

"Foreigner tax. Sundar lady tax. Pretty lady tax." He ticked them off on his fingers.

"Also danger tax, because Copper Lantern not nice place."

"You're scamming me."

"No scam. Just business." He grinned, showing a missing front tooth.

"But for you, special discount." Kafi named another price, only marginally less outrageous. Morgana crossed her arms and waited.

"Fine, fine," he grumbled, cutting the price in half.

"Still too much." They haggled for another minute before settling on a price that Morgana suspected was still too high but couldn't be bothered to argue further about.

"Deal," she said.

"But half now, half when we arrive."

"Smart lady." Kafi nodded approvingly.

"Follow me." He led her away from the docks and into the city proper. Vethia was a maze of narrow streets and towering buildings. White limestone structures crowded together, connected by arched bridges that spanned the gaps between them. People flowed through the streets like water – merchants in bright silks, sailors with skin tanned dark by the sun, nobles carried in curtained palanquins.

"Watch step," Kafi warned as they passed a creature that looked like the unholy offspring of a crab and a seagull. It was picking through a pile of discarded fish guts with its beak-like mandibles.

"What is that?" Morgana asked, giving it a wide berth.

"Harbor crawler. Eat garbage, sometimes cats. Sometimes children who not listen to mothers." Kafi grinned at her expression.

"Joke. Mostly joke." They turned down a street lined with stalls selling everything from spices to magical trinkets. A woman with blue-tinged skin was selling vials of glowing liquid. Next to her, a man with three arms juggled knives while calling out prices.

"What do you know about the Copper Lantern?" Morgana asked as they navigated through the crowd. Kafi glanced at her.

"Information house. People go in with coins, come out with secrets." He lowered his voice.

"Or sometimes, not come out."

"That's reassuring."

"Why you need this place? Maybe I help instead."

"I doubt you have the information I need."

"Try me." Kafi puffed out his chest.

"I know everything about Vethia."

"Everything?" Morgana raised an eyebrow.

"Everything important," he amended. A roar from above made them both look up. A creature with leathery wings circled the highest towers, its long neck stretched forward as it searched for prey.

"Red Wyvern," Kafi said.

"City guard use them for patrol."

"They're smaller than I expected," Morgana observed.

"Not so small when they eating your face." They passed through a square where a man was performing some kind of magic show. He held up a bowl of water, whispered to it, and then tossed the contents into the air. Instead of falling, the water formed itself into the shape of dancing women who twirled above the delighted audience.

"Water mage from Talivar," Kafi explained without being asked.

"They make best street magic. Also best assassins." He gave her a sideways look.

"Why you need Copper Lantern? Assassin too expensive for most."

"I'm not looking for an assassin."

"Good. Assassins messy. Information better weapon anyway." He tapped his temple.

"My father say this."

"Is your father a guide too?"

"Was merchant. Now dead." Kafi said it matter-of-factly.

"Pirates."

"I'm sorry." He shrugged.

"Long time ago. Now I guide, sometimes sell things, sometimes..." He made a vague gesture that could have meant anything from "run errands" to "commit petty theft." They turned down a narrower street where the buildings leaned in so close they almost touched overhead, blocking out most of the sunlight. The smell changed – less salt and spice, more sewage and unwashed bodies.

"Bad area now," Kafi warned.

"Keep hand on coin purse. Also maybe knife."

"I think I can handle myself," Morgana said dryly.

"Maybe. But handle ten men with knives?" He shook his head.

"Even magic lady need be careful." Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. A group of rough-looking men watched them pass, eyes tracking Morgana with uncomfortable interest. She stared back, unflinching, one hand resting casually on the bone-handled knife the Veyshari had given her. The men eventually looked away.

"Good stare," Kafi whispered approvingly.

"Like angry cat." They passed a tavern where the sounds of a brawl spilled into the street, then a brothel with women and men lounging in windows, calling out offers to passersby. A street vendor was selling what looked like roasted rat on a stick. The smell was surprisingly... appetizing. A vestige from her cat days, Morgana assumed.

"Almost there," Kafi said.

"Remember deal – half payment now." Morgana handed over the agreed amount.

"If you're leading me into a trap, I'll find you." Kafi looked genuinely offended.

"I am guide, not thief." They stared at each other.

"Well, sometimes small thief, but never from customers." He pointed ahead.

"There. Copper Lantern." The building was unassuming – three stories of weathered stone with a single copper lantern hanging by the door. No sign, no indication of what business was conducted inside. If Kafi hadn't pointed it out, she would have walked right past it.

"They have what you need. Maybe." Kafi shifted from foot to foot.

"But remember, information has price. Sometimes money, sometimes..." He drew a finger across his throat.

"Noted." Morgana handed him the rest of his payment. Kafi counted it carefully, then nodded, satisfied.

"Need guide back to good area?"

"I'll find my way."

"Sure, sure. All foreigners say this." He pocketed the coins.

"When you get lost or stabbed, ask anyone for Kafi with broken tooth. I come rescue, only small fee." Despite herself, Morgana smiled.

"I'll keep that in mind." Kafi gave her a mock salute and melted into the crowd, leaving Morgana alone in front of the Copper Lantern. She took a deep breath, checked that her knife was easy to reach, and stepped toward the door. She immediately found herself into a haze of pipe smoke and dim amber light. The place smelled of stale beer, unwashed bodies, and something faintly metallic that might have been blood. Not an inn, despite appearances – or at least, not just an inn.

Tables dotted the main floor, most occupied by people who looked like they made their living doing things that shouldn't be discussed in polite company. A few card games were in progress. Money and daggers sat side by side on tabletops. The room fell into a brief hush as she entered, then resumed its murmur of conversation, now punctuated with whispers and sidelong glances. Morgana kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, spine straight, steps measured.

The way her father had taught her to walk into a room full of vipers.

"Look what the tide washed in," a man called out as she passed.

"Need company, sweetheart?" She ignored him, hand instinctively rising to touch the necklace beneath her shirt. The intricate gold and silver piece Sam and Adom had given her wasn't just beautiful – Mirela had confirmed it contained powerful protective enchantments, capable of deflecting even fairly strong magical attacks. A valuable gift. But not surprising, considering Adom had a hand in it. The boy was the smartest one she'd ever seen.

"Hey, I'm talking to you," the man persisted, grabbing her arm. Morgana stopped. Didn't turn.

"Remove your hand if you want to keep it." A moment of silence, then laughter from the man's companions. He released her with a muttered curse. She continued to the counter at the back of the room where a middle-aged woman stood polishing glasses. The woman had steel-gray hair pulled back in a severe bun and arms corded with muscle. Her eyes tracked Morgana's approach with the wariness of someone who'd seen too much to be easily impressed.

"What'll it be?" she asked, setting down the glass. Morgana leaned in slightly.

"I hear the copper moon shines brightest at midnight." The code phrase Mirela had taught her. The woman's expression didn't change, but her eyes narrowed slightly.

"We don't serve that here," she replied, continuing to polish glasses.

"Try the Bull's Horn down the street."

"I was told specifically to come here," Morgana pressed.

"By someone who knows the value of accurate information." The woman set down her cloth and gave Morgana a slow, deliberate once-over, taking in her travel-worn clothes, the way she held herself, the set of her jaw.

"And what sort of information would a pretty young thing like you be after? Lost boyfriend? Cheating husband?" A thin smile.

"Or maybe you're selling something yourself?"

"I need certain connections. Political ones."

"Political?" The woman snorted.

"Honey, do you know where you are? This isn't some noble's salon."

"I know exactly where I am," Morgana said evenly.

"And I know what you do here. So we can either stop pretending, or I can find another broker." At a nearby table, two men suddenly rose, shouting about a marked card. One flipped the table, sending coins scattering across the floor. Several patrons dived for the money. The argument escalated, a knife appeared, and within seconds the men were grappling, crashing into other tables. The barwoman didn't even glance their way. Neither did Morgana.

"Bold words for someone standing alone in a den of thieves," the woman said, leaning forward.

"Fancy accent, nice posture. Nobility fallen on hard times, is it? Or just playing at being dangerous?"

"Test me if you like," Morgana replied coldly.

"But I'm not here to prove myself to a mere gatekeeper." Behind them, the fight had grown to include four men now. Someone crashed into a shelving unit, sending bottles smashing to the floor. Still, the barwoman's eyes never left Morgana's face.

"A mere gatekeeper," she repeated, voice dangerously soft.

"You know, girl, a tongue like that can lead to all sorts of misadventures. Especially when you don't have the power to back it up." Morgana leaned closer.

"I have more power than you can imagine. And I'm tired of games. Either take me to your master or tell me you can't help. But don't waste my time with these petty intimidations." The woman stared at her for a long, tense moment – then abruptly threw her head back and laughed, a genuine bark of amusement that momentarily rose above the din of the ongoing brawl.

"Oh, I like you," she said, wiping away an imaginary tear.

"Stupid as a brick wall, but brave. Like a baby wyvern hissing at a dragon." She jerked her head toward a door behind the counter.

"Come on, then. Let's see if Madam Rook thinks you're as entertaining as I do." She lifted a section of the counter and Morgana passed through. Behind her, someone finally broke up the fight by dumping a bucket of water on the combatants.

"What's your name, fierce one?" the woman asked as she led Morgana down a narrow hallway.

"Lyra," Morgana lied smoothly, using the name she'd decided on during her journey.

"Well, 'Lyra,'" Tabitha said, emphasizing the name with obvious skepticism, "I'm Tabitha. And a word of advice – Madam Rook isn't as amused by bravado as I am. Try that 'mere gatekeeper' nonsense with her, and you'll leave here in pieces. Small ones." They passed several closed doors. From behind one came the sound of someone weeping. From another, laughter that raised the hair on Morgana's arms.

"I meant no disrespect," Morgana said, not entirely truthfully.

"I simply don't have time for games."

"Everyone has time for games here," Tabitha replied.

"The only question is whether you're a player or a piece." She stopped at a door near the end of the hall and knocked three times.

"And piece by piece is how they'll find you if you forget that." A voice from inside called something Morgana couldn't make out.

"One more thing," Tabitha said, hand on the doorknob.

"Whatever you're after – make sure it's worth dying for. Because in this line of work, that's always on the table." She opened the door, revealing a lavishly appointed office that stood in stark contrast to the dingy tavern front. Rich carpets covered the floor. Shelves lined with books and curious objects filled one wall. And behind a massive desk of dark wood sat a woman with blood-red hair and the coldest eyes Morgana had ever seen.

"Madam Rook," Tabitha announced, "this is 'Lyra.' She's looking for political connections and has a mouth that writes promissory notes her sword arm can't cash." The red-haired woman smiled, revealing teeth filed to points.

"How interesting. Send her in." Morgana stepped into the office, heart pounding but face carefully composed. The door closed behind her with a finality that felt like a prison gate shutting.

"So," Madam Rook said, gesturing to a chair across from her desk.

"First smart thing you've done today – not giving your real name." She tapped long fingernails against the wood.

"Now tell me what brings you to my humble establishment, and why I shouldn't have you thrown into the harbor for wasting my time." Morgana sat, back straight, eyes level. She took a deep breath and began to speak.

"I'm looking for a man." Rook's painted eyebrows rose.

"A man? Well, darling, aren't we all?" She let out a throaty laugh.

"Though some of us prefer women. Or both. Or neither, depending on the day." She leaned forward, resting her chin on steepled fingers.

"You'll need to be more specific. Men are rather common in this world, like rats and bad decisions." Morgana sighed inwardly. She would have to get used to this – the games, the innuendo, the constant circling before getting to the point. Politics in the shadows was different from the imperial court, but no less tedious.

"I'm looking for a specific man," she clarified.

"A former Star Knight of the Sundarian Empire. Sir Bedivere." Something flickered in Rook's eyes – recognition, wariness, interest.

"Sir Bedivere," she repeated, her voice suddenly neutral.

"That's a name I haven't heard in some time."

"He disappeared shortly after the death of Emperor Rayhan's brother, Prince Soren. My research suggests he may have come to Vethia." Madam Rook's expression shifted, growing more calculating. She tapped her long fingernails against the desk – a slow, methodical rhythm.

"And why would you, a young woman clearly far from home, be looking for a disgraced imperial knight?"

"My reasons are my own."

"Hmm." Rook sat back.

"And who exactly are you? Really?"

"That's not relevant to our business."

"Everything is relevant in my business, girl." Rook's smile didn't reach her eyes.

"But very well. Keep your secrets for now. They'll unravel on their own – they always do. You don't strike me as someone who stays hidden for long." She stood and moved to a cabinet behind her desk.

"Sir Bedivere. Former Captain of the Star Knights. Emperor's Champion. Hero of the Crimson Pass." She pulled out a small key.

"Quite the fall from grace, wouldn't you say?" Morgana's heart beat faster.

"Then he is here?" Rook unlocked the cabinet and removed a folder.

"Information has a price in the Copper Lantern. Especially information about men like Bedivere."

"How much?"

"Oh, I don't want your coins." Rook laughed softly.

"Not for this." Morgana took a deep breath.

"One moment." She twisted the copper ring on her finger, reaching into the pocket dimension it connected to. After a moment of concentration, she withdrew a small velvet pouch. Rook watched with undisguised interest.

"Dimensional storage. Expensive toy." Morgana placed the pouch on the desk between them.

"This should cover it." With a raised eyebrow, Rook opened the pouch and tipped its contents onto the desk. A crystal the size of a plum tumbled out, glowing with a soft blue light. Inside, something that looked like smoke swirled and eddied.

"A spirit crystal," Rook breathed, surprise evident in her voice. She picked it up carefully, examining it.

"Where did a girl like you get something like this?"

"Does it matter?"

"I suppose not." Rook held the crystal up to the light.

"Do you know what this is? What it contains?"

"A bound spirit. At least three centuries old, based on the color."

"And you know what information brokers use these for?" Morgana nodded.

"The spirit can be released to serve as a spy. Immaterial, invisible to most. Perfect for gathering information. Typically bound to serve three tasks before being freed."

"A rather valuable trade item." Rook placed the crystal back in its pouch with surprising gentleness.

"Where did you learn about such things?"

"I read a lot." That earned an actual laugh from Rook.

"I'm sure you do." She slid the folder across the desk.

"Sir Bedivere arrived in Vethia approximately eight years ago. He came on a merchant vessel from the Eastern Shores, traveling under the name Darin Shaw." Morgana opened the folder. Inside were sketches, documents, and what appeared to be transcripts of conversations.

"He spent his first few weeks drinking himself into oblivion at various establishments around the port," Rook continued.

"Ran out of money quickly. Tried to find work as a mercenary, but his reputation – or lack thereof – preceded him. No one wanted to hire a disgraced knight with a drinking problem." Morgana flipped through the pages, scanning quickly.

"And then?"

"And then he made the mistake of borrowing money from the wrong people. When he couldn't pay it back, he was sold to cover the debt." Rook's voice was matter-of-fact.

"He now belongs to a man named Cassius Thorne." Morgana's head snapped up.

"Sold? As a slave?"

"Technically, as a gladiator. Thorne runs the fighting pits in the southern quarter. Very popular entertainment. Very profitable." Rook gestured to a page in the folder.

"Bedivere fights under the name 'The Fallen Star.' Quite clever, really. His matches draw substantial crowds."

"This is barbaric," Morgana whispered.

"This is Vethia," Rook corrected her.

"Outside the Empire, the rules are different. Sundarian sensibilities don't apply here." Morgana stared at a sketch of a man in a fighting cage, face obscured by a helmet but stance unmistakably military. The Star Knight who had once taught her to hold a sword, reduced to fighting for the entertainment of criminals and merchants.

"How do I find him?" she asked.

"That's all in the file. Locations, schedules, security arrangements." Rook leaned forward.

"But I should warn you – Thorne doesn't part with his property easily. Especially not profitable property like Bedivere."

"I'll handle Thorne."

"Will you?" Rook's smile was razor-sharp.

"A girl with a fake name and a dimensional ring, against the man who controls half the criminal enterprises in Vethia? That should be entertaining." Morgana closed the folder.

"Thank you for the information."

"A word of advice." Rook's voice stopped her as she stood to leave.

"Whatever game you're playing – and yes, it's obvious you're playing one – remember that Vethia has its own rules. Break them at your peril."

"I'm not afraid."

"That's your first mistake." Rook's eyes were cold.

"In this city, the fearless die young and the cautious grow rich and old." Morgana tucked the folder into her belt.

"I'll take my chances."

"Before you go..." Rook's voice stopped her again. She was studying Morgana intently now, head tilted.

"Those blue eyes. That face. I knew I recognized you." Morgana tensed.

"I met you once, at the Imperial Harvest Festival. You were just a child then – what, eight? Nine? Standing beside your father, General Soren. You've grown well, Lady Morgana." The blood drained from Morgana's face.

"You're mistaken."

"We both know I'm not." Rook smiled thinly.

"The Emperor's niece, daughter of the general he had executed for 'treason.' Tell me, does your uncle know you're alive? I was under the impression he'd been quite... thorough... in eliminating your father's line." Morgana's hand drifted to her knife.

"If you tell anyone—""Put that away," Rook said dismissively.

"Your secret is safe with me – for now. That crystal bought you that much."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because dead girls don't pay for information, and I suspect you'll need more of my services before your business in Vethia is concluded." Rook tapped the spirit crystal.

"Besides, your uncle and I have our own... history. I have no love for Emperor Rayhan." Morgana slowly lowered her hand.

"Some advice, though." Rook opened a drawer and pulled out a small object.

"If you're planning to move around this city – especially near the fighting pits – you'll need better disguise than a false name." She slid a half-mask across the desk. It was made of dark leather, simple but well-crafted.

"Blue eyes like yours are uncommon in Vethia. Hide them." Morgana picked up the mask.

"Why help me?"

"Call it an investment in an interesting future." Rook shrugged.

"Or perhaps I simply enjoy watching players who change the game."

"I'm not playing a game."

"Everyone's playing a game, Lady Morgana. The only question is whether you know the rules." Rook's voice grew serious.

"Bedivere fights tomorrow night. If you plan to reach him, you'll need to move quickly. His last opponent nearly took his head off. I doubt he'll survive many more matches." Morgana slipped the mask into her belt alongside the folder.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. Finding Bedivere was the easy part. Getting him away from Thorne..." Rook made a cutting motion across her throat.

"That's where most people end up dead." The door closed behind Morgana with a soft click that somehow felt more final than a slam. She stood in the dark hallway, folder clutched to her chest, heart racing. This was bad. Really bad. She acted like an amateur, and someone already knew her identity. I need to be more careful. She told herself. Now she just had to free him from a gladiator pit controlled by one of Vethia's most dangerous men. Simple.

Morgana nodded to Tabitha as she passed through the main room of the Copper Lantern, the weight of the folder heavy against her hip.

"See you soon, fierce one," Tabitha called after her. Morgana didn't respond. The less she interacted with these people, the better. She pushed open the door and stepped back into the narrow street, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the daylight. They were waiting for her. The man whose arm she'd threatened, flanked by five others. They formed a loose semicircle, blocking her path. Behind them, other pedestrians quickly moved to the opposite side of the street or ducked into doorways. No one wanted to get involved.

"Well, well," the man said, stepping forward. His breath stank of cheap ale.

"Wasn't done talking to you." Morgana glanced past them, calculating escape routes.

"I was done talking to you."

"Didn't like how you embarrassed me in front of my friends." He gestured to the men behind him.

"I was just trying to be friendly. Offer you a drink. See where things might lead."

"Nowhere," Morgana said flatly.

"It would have led nowhere. You should be grateful I didn't waste your time or mine." She took a step forward.

"Now, if you'll excuse me—" His hand shot out and gripped her arm again, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

"I don't think—" There was a sound like canvas tearing, followed by a wet thud as his hand hit the street. The man stared at his wrist, now ending in a cleanly severed stump, blood pulsing from the wound. It took three full seconds before the pain registered. When it did, his scream echoed off the buildings.

"I told you you'd lose it if you touched me again," Morgana said calmly, as the man fell to his knees, clutching his spurting wrist.

"You should have listened." Two of his friends rushed to his side, one tearing off his shirt to wrap around the stump. The man's face had gone grey, his screams fading to whimpers as shock set in.

"What the hell?" one of the others demanded, eyes wide.

"Are you a mage?" Morgana smiled. The wind charm Mirela had sewn into her bracelets—what had she called it? A scythe ward—had worked perfectly. Small enough to be hidden, powerful enough to sever flesh with a single activation.

"Maybe I am," she said, letting her smile widen.

"Want to find out what else I can do?" Two of the men immediately backed away. One turned and ran. The handless man swayed dangerously, close to passing out.

"She's lying," said one who remained, a tall man with a scarred face.

"That was an artifact. I saw the flash."

"Definitely an artifact," agreed another.

"Mages eyes glow when they use magic." Morgana kept her face impassive, but inwardly cursed. Of course there would be people in Vethia who could tell the difference.

"Artifact or not," she said, "there are more where that came from. I suggest you pick up your friend before he bleeds out, and leave." The scarred man drew a knife.

"Or we take what you have. Artifacts like that fetch a pretty price." The other two still standing produced weapons of their own. Morgana reached for her knife, calculating her odds. Three armed men, possibly experienced fighters. With the artifacts she had, she could definitely take them, would she have to kill them? It would be bad to have to run from the local authorities for murder.... They were approaching. Closing in three... Morgana pushed the trigger of the bracelet. Two... The necklace started to glow.

One... The first man dropped before she could move. One moment he was advancing, the next he was face-down on the cobblestones, a boot on the back of his neck. The newcomer moved so fast he seemed to blur. He caught the second man's knife hand, twisted until something snapped, then drove an elbow into his throat. The man went down gagging and retching. The scarred man managed to get a swing in, but the newcomer sidestepped it easily. What followed wasn't so much a fight as it was a methodical dismantling.

The newcomer blocked, dodged, and countered with precise, economical movements. Each strike landed with the wet sound of breaking bones or tearing flesh. Through it all, Kafi stood to the side, bouncing excitedly.

"Get him, Raz! Break his stupid face!" The scarred man tried to run. The newcomer—Raz, apparently—hooked a foot around his ankle and sent him sprawling. A quick kick to the ribs flipped him onto his back, then Raz planted a boot on his throat.

"Apologize to the lady," Raz said pleasantly, as if discussing the weather. The scarred man gargled something unintelligible.

"Louder. And with feeling."

"S-sorry," the man wheezed.

"Won't happen again."

"Good." Raz removed his boot.

"Take your friends and get lost. And leave the hand." He pointed to the severed appendage still lying in the street.

"Think of it as a lesson in manners." The remaining conscious men scrambled to help their fallen comrades. The one who'd lost his hand was barely conscious, mumbling incoherently as they dragged him away. One paused long enough to grab the severed hand before they disappeared down an alley. Raz dusted off his hands and turned to Morgana, giving her a slow once-over that ended in an appreciative whistle.

"Well," he said, "the brat wasn't lying. You are something to look at." Morgana's eyes narrowed. She glanced at Kafi, who was grinning broadly.

"You know this person?"

"My brother!" Kafi announced proudly.

"Best fighter in lower city. Uses Fluid like water." Now that she looked, Morgana could see the resemblance. The same sharp features, though Raz's were more defined, his jawline stronger. He was maybe ten years older than Kafi, tall and lean, with the long, corded muscles of someone who fought for a living.

"I was handling it," she said.

"Of course you were." Raz's grin was infuriatingly confident.

"That's why they were about to gut you."

"I had a plan."

"Let me guess—lose more pieces of them with that fancy artifact in your sleeve?" He shook his head.

"That only works until someone's fast enough to get past it. Or until you run out of charges." Kafi tugged at his brother's sleeve.

"Told you she'd need help. Knew there'd be trouble. Could smell it."

"You could smell a profit," Morgana corrected. Kafi grinned, unashamed.

"Need help, can pay for help. Fair, yes?" Raz laughed.

"The boy's a capitalist to his bones. I've tried to beat it out of him, but..." He shrugged.

"Some things are just in the blood." Morgana looked between them. Raz had killed at least one of those men, she was certain of it. The one who'd caught an elbow to the throat hadn't been breathing when they dragged him off. Yet here he was, chatting casually as if they'd just stopped for tea. The casual violence of it was... unsettling. Even in a place like Vethia.

"I had it under control," Morgana said firmly. She wasn't about to explain that the protective necklace she wore would have repelled their weapons. Let them think what they wanted. Raz studied her for a moment, then shrugged.

"If you say so." He nudged his brother.

"Put your hand away, brat. The lady doesn't want our services." Kafi reluctantly lowered his hand, but his expression remained hopeful.

"Maybe other services? What you looking for at Copper Lantern? Maybe we help."

"No," Morgana said.

"Thank you, but no."

"Sure? We know Vethia very well. Know people, know places."

"I'm sure," Morgana replied, starting to walk past them.

"Good day to you both."

"Your choice," Raz called after her.

"But Vethia eats foreigners who go alone. Remember that." Morgana didn't look back.