I bite into a piece of bread topped with cherry jam and reflect on my life.The coin bag hidden in my freshly expanded cache in my floor is growing. Faster than I ever thought possible, but still painfully slow. To accommodate my books and other items, I widened the hole in the gravel and dirt under our home. I had to buy a large sheet of waxed cotton to line the hole. Then I used timber ends I bought cheap to line the hole and keep its boxlike shape. I am excavating a second cache inside the bottom of our large cupboard in the kitchen. This one I am building with Moss, so he knows where it is and how to make one if he ever needs it. I should tell him where mine is but I don't trust that he won't give some of the coin to our father.

It has been one week and two days since I helped the Hackberrys. I assume all must be well with the orchards. Moss and I are happily sweetening our bread with the jam they gave us, after eating our thin broth. We are eating a midday meal early so we can head out to the woods. My brother's reddish brown hair is falling in his face and he has to keep shaking it back while he eats. I envy the silky smooth texture. The color treatment in mine makes my hair a mismatched thickness, and a dullness stays for a few days after.

"We need to cut your hair, cub."

"Nope."

"You're going to get sticky jam in your hair."

His response is to shove the rest of the bread in his mouth. Then he stands and moves to the bucket near the fireplace to clean his dishes. At least he didn't stick his tongue out at me or stomp off, this spring is maturing him. He makes his way to the washroom and latrine we are fortunate to have inside. Probably best neither of us smell like sweet food in the woods. I finish washing my own dishes and my hands, when there is a soft knock at the front door. Touching the dagger in my dress pocket comforts me even though it is unlikely to be any of the Stendal crowd of bullies. It's the middle of the day and neighbors are around. I quickly move to our door and open it.

Wringing her hands and looking upset is our neighbor, Mrs. Parkstone. Her husband works for city maintenance unit, repairing walls and streets mostly. She is home alone most days, since their only son is in training for the guard. Tears are seeping out of her blue eyes. "Oi, Sweetbriar! I don't know what to do."

I reach out and touch her arm. "Tell me what's going on." Making my voice as soothing as possible. She is excitable but not usually like this.

"It's Hemp! He took ill! Sudden like!" Before I can suggest a healer, she clutches my hands. "Right after he ate!"

"I don't..."

"I told him not to eat pies from traveling vendors. But he brought two home... and now." Her eyes go between angry and terrified and back again. "The mushroom look wrong."

"Did you eat any?" I understand why she came to me now. She shakes her head. "Any color jump out at you?" I free myself from her hands and rush to my shelf near the door with my healing pack.

"No," she sobs. "The gravy has it all brown. But the tops are bumpy and strange."

"Moss!" I shout. "Going to Parkstones!" I hear him holler an affirmative back and jog out the door.

When I rush into their home, Mr. Parkstone leans back in his chair at the table breathing hard. His skin is white and looks clammy. "Hi, Parkstone, I'm here to help you." My voice is calm but my hands are shaking.

Setting my bag on the chair next to him, I take out my waxed leather gloves and slip them on. I dig into the pie in front of him. I see the mushroom right away and it isn't good, but I check thoroughly for other plants that can be bad. It's most likely a Dragon Boils toadstool. It doesn't look a lot like a morel but some people don't look close enough. The fresh color being more red than brown should have been a warning! I pull out a small mortar and pestle and the necessary herbs.

"Hot water, Mrs. Parkstone, fast as you can." I focus on mixing the right quantities and crushing them well. I see her shuffle to the fireplace to retrieve the water I hope. Removing a heavy cloth roll full of tiny pockets, I place it on the table and carefully unroll it. Small glass and wood vials fill most of the pockets. The violet marked bottle is the one I need. I find it and add two miniscule drops to the mixture. A small silver coated spoon is also in a pocket and I pull it out. The man is wheezing now. I spare a peek and sweat pours down his face and he is gripping his middle. His dark brown eyes are rolling around frantically like he cannot focus, or is seeing things we can't see, everywhere.

"Here, Miss." She has a kettle at my elbow with a towel wrapped around the wire handle.

I take it, careful not to burn myself. Adding just a bit of water to the mixture, I stir it. The strong scent of mint, herbs, and the acrid scent of douring oil fill the room. I keep stirring until the strong oil scent fades just a bit and the water cools enough to not burn. I hand the bowl to her.

"He has to drink it all. Don't spill any!" I tell her. Her eyes are wide, showing too much white around the pretty blue. Her hands seem to be steady. "You will have to force him. It will not taste good and his breathing is bad."

She bites her lip but she nods. I move to his other side and help push him straight up. She tilts his head back, and with surprising ruthlessness pinches his nose closed and braces his head with her elbow. He flinches but doesn't fight her hold as the liquid pours down his throat. The bowl is empty and headed to his stomach in seconds. We both take a deep breath. That was easier than we both expected. I start cleaning up my gear. It is just a waiting game now. He probably didn't eat enough to die but he certainly would have been very ill. I send a prayer up to Lithops, the mason god, that he watches out for this man of his.

"How long?" she asks softly, brushing his hair back from his face. His head is still dropped over the back of his chair, his body slid down a ways. His eyes are closed.

"He should show improvement in moments. An hour or so at most." I've only treated one other case of poisoning by Dragon Boils, a man poisoned on purpose by his wife. Of course he cheated on her. If I would have known that when Lars brought him to me, would I have let him suffer? Honestly, he did suffer quite a bit. He was sick much longer than Mr. Parkstone. I don't want that for my neighbor. What else can we do in this instance? "You might put a cool wet towel on his forehead for now. And give him mint and chamomile tea tonight, and in the morning."

I wait with her until his breathing and color improve. As soon as he speaks she berates him about the pies. Before I leave, I make sure they understand I need to know where the mushrooms came from exactly. I don't want to interrogate the man tonight but I will need to spread the word. Possibly get the idiot responsible in trouble. Those mushrooms could certainly kill a child.

"I kin tell you, Sweetbriar," she tells me. "It's that travelin' idiot who'd sells junk, brews n' pies near Eastpond Inn. Wears silly faded purple boots."

That is more than enough to pass on to the guard. Not sure they will do anything, I will also have to spread word in the markets. Maybe the guilds? I don't want anyone else to suffer. If I see this idiot, as she called him, I might just kick him myself. Turning to leave I wonder if I'm happy or sad that Sorrel doesn't take his drinking that far out of the city walls.

By the time I get back to our cottage, I have to change fast so we can head out. I have several pair of pants now, ones that fit better too. I wear a pale brown dress that is a bit short over the faded green pants. Both newly acquired from Ol' Harry's piles of used clothing. Sometimes he removed lace or nicer bits from the clothing to sell separately, and I figure that was why the skirt on the dress was short and the hem subpar. It didn't matter. Moss and I have several more changes of clothing now. I'd found decent used boots for Moss but none for myself yet. Lacing my boots up, I'm glad they are still in decent shape. I don't need a mirror to know the dress looks awful but at this point that might be a benefit. Stendal had been right outside Ol' Harry's when my brother and I exited.

Moss sticks his head into my room. "You ready? I promised Quince a fish delivery today."

"Since he loaned you his old fish trap, I suppose we should keep that promise." I push off my bed and we make for our bags and supplies. "You're still fine to run the traps on your own, right cub?"

"As long as you are careful on your own," he grumbles.

My body zings with anxiety and excitement. Soon I will be in a whole other world. I pray to the goddess that I find plenty to sell today and that Moss' traps are full. We might one day dig ourselves out of Father's drunken poverty. I cannot wait to be free. For my brother to be in school and the cottage to be mine.

Pol and I walk into the lane towards the west gate. Moss and I spent late afternoon selling our fish, forage, and my crop. While doing so we spread word about the traveling vender selling poison mushroom pies. Sagely managed to trip me and whisper that I needed to just "give in" to Stendal. I was only steps from the Bakery and Moss was within sight. No one seemed to have noticed though. There was no need to tell my brother since it was over. Fortunately I hadn't purchased eggs yet, and the evil, blonde ass was nowhere in sight. I have to figure out a long term solution. I doubt I can avoid him forever. Still, even after that creepy encounter with Sagely, I was able to sleep a bit before meeting Pol, thanks to my brother doing all the clean up. Even with the short nap, I still had to drink an extremely strong and honeyed cup of tea before heading out this evening.

The moon is barely a sliver tonight but bright and close. Pol is wearing a splash of color tonight, if a tunic in an excessively dark blue counts as a color. If it wasn't against his black cloak and pants, I might have thought it was black. He's been quiet so far this evening, because of my lengthy and unpleasant day I was willing to follow suit. Not enough to make me sad; I have a goodly amount of items to sell tonight. I even found a roost of a lavender jay that had molted, allowing me to grab a dozen beautiful long wing feathers and a few shorter ones. Hopefully they are worth money, since other feathers have sold well. My goddess stars at home and in the woods bloomed heavily so I had plenty of those. Another, larger gold snake shed and more interesting stones. I stifle a yawn as we walk under the old south gate.

"Apologies for boring you, little dove." Pol is looking down at me wearing a lopsided grin.

Startled, I stop. "I'm not bored..." I snort, "Did you call me little dove?"

He had stopped and turned towards me. Still grinning. "Yes."

I can feel my forehead wrinkling and I'm pretty sure my eyes are showing irritation. "Why? Do I smell like the birds?"

He bursts into laughter. I look around but I only see a man asleep against a shop to our right. At least I hope he's asleep. "No." he answers. His voice is still colored with laughter. "It just seems to fit you. And we should avoid your real name out here."

"I'm not little, or a bird. Why can't I pick my name?"

"You just can't. That's not how nicknames work." He grins wider and the tone of his voice is lighter than usual. Maybe I can put up with a stupid nickname. "And compared to me, you are little." His hands move up and tug at my hood, pulling it forward where it had slipped. "As for doves," he pauses, eyes lingering on my face and his grin fades into a notably fainter smile. "There are many meanings attached to doves. Messengers, as you know. Peace, purity, luck, and many other things." He taps my chin gently. "It just fits you."

"If you say so," I say not sure what to think. With a shrug I start down the lane again.

"I do." He falls into stride beside me. "Fen and the others will call you Dovie. It's a generic term used for," he pauses. Loudly. "friendly, women who are not rogues, prostitutes, or wives."

I think back to the times I've had to fetch Sorrel from a tavern. The term "dovie," or possibly "lovie," had been thrown around at the serving women as often as "darling." My nose scrunches at the idea of being called something like that. I force my nose straight. Stop belittling those women, cabbage-face, I reprimand myself. They work for their pay the same as I do. Just because I prefer mud and bloody hands better than a hand on the ass, doesn't make me better. "Fine." I finally bite out. Another yawn leaks out.

"I know you lose this time for sleep but you have to make it up somewhere." His profile is serious. The smile and lightness gone for the moment.

"I'm trying."

An arm stops me in my tracks a few feet from the corner of the building we have to go around. Pol holds me still. A loud "whoop" and the slap of shoes quick on the lane reaches my ears. Laughter and shouts get closer, then a man burst around the corner. He's waving a feathered hat around over his head like a prize. He is young, around our age. On his heels another laughing man, unsteady on his feet. They don't seem to notice us as the race by. An older man who looks furious rounds the corner giving chase. His voice is slightly accented when he shouts, "I'll run you through if you damage my hat! You bastards will be strung up!" He passes by as well.

They all disappear behind a shop. Then the shouting fades. I shake my head. What kind of idiots risk imprisonment to steal a hat? I turn to Pol to make a comment but see a stiffness in his body that wasn't there before. Almost too soft to hear he says, "Fuck." In a second he has my back pressed against the shop's rear wall. He presses his body to mine, pinning me there. "Don't say a word. Play along."

Before I could suck in a breath to say more than a word, his mouth descends on mine. My protest or question, everything becomes unimportant. Forcefully his firm lips cover mine and he kisses me. A thrill surges through me. He is careful to keep my hood up as much as possible, as his lips move across mine. One of his hands is resting on my hip, and I realize my own hands are on his shirt. His tongue presses for entry and I open my lips. I don't have to playact, as heat sweeps up my body. A startled moan is caught in his mouth. His teeth graze my upper lip before his tongue dives back into my mouth. It explores and fills me. Cautiously I touch his tongue with mine. His grip on my hip tightens and a low sound comes into my mouth from his throat. Giddy, I realize I'm affecting him. Or he is a very good actor.

"Ah, Sumak, did you find yourself a lady love finally?" An arctic voice calls from the lane. I tense but Pol gives me a gentle squeeze and then brushes a hand to my cheek, as he begins to pull his mouth from mine. Reminding me to play along. "Or have you finally sunk to fucking whores in back alleys."

I grit my teeth but Pol laughs. Loud and cold the laughter that travels through the dark. He turns pulling me until I am visible but a step behind. "That's Shadow or Adept Sumak to you, Cy." Pol's voice is as harsh and cool as the man who spoke first.

Four men stand across the lane from us, near a torch but they have their backs to it. None of them are small men, but none like Pol. One is standing a step before the other three. Probably the leader of the group and the speaker. He has no hair at all, his pale skin reflecting the torchlight perfectly. The shortest of them, who also looks like the heaviest, tosses a magelight up and turns it on. I blink at the sudden light, then I blink again because the short fellow is absolutely covered with dark brown hair. Tufts escaping his sleeves and the neck of his shirt.

"So formal, Shadow. Then you should use my full name. It's disrespectful," the front man says. His voice is higher than expected, with his thick muscles in an average male frame. There is also a subtle snake-like hiss in his "s" sounds. Bizarrely he also sparkles slightly.

"Ah," Pol mocks, making his voice rise. Taunting the man in the cruelest voice I've ever heard from him. "SsssCy, I don't have to show you that respect. The code puts me above you in every way." I can't see his face but I suspect it matches the cruel tone. He raises his left arm slightly. "Should I remind you of the code?"

The man actually hisses. Then men shift behind him, showing their discomfort. After a long, quiet dozen heartbeats, all four bowed their heads. Pol grabs my hand and yanks me forward, my hood falls down. He waves a hand at me as we pass them by. "Davillia and I have a room awaiting us. And much better company to keep." He drags me away quickly laughing.

My head is spinning. I jerk my hood back up. What just happened? Why did they bow their heads to him? A bit of fear flutters through my insides. The cold power and dominance he showed when outnumbered by those men is terrifying. And frighteningly exhilarating. Pol kept a hold of my hand leading me through night darkened lanes. Who is Davillia? He said the name in a way that indicated familiarity with him and the pale Cy. I look towards Pol and notice we are not headed to the market. In fact we are near the Dark Row, the sounds now easily carrying to my ears. I try to slow down, to get him to slow down. He squeezes my hand twice. Like it's something I should understand! There is also tension in his hand. That more than anything helps me hold my tongue and keep up.

He walks up to a stone house. It is narrow but looks in better repair than the ones he used to live in. Similar houses are on either side. One is all lit up, music and laughter leak out the windows with the light. A magelight at this house lets me see that the door is a bright pink. It is the oddest door color but it looks beautiful. Pol knocks and almost immediately a man opens the door. He is massive, barely fitting in the door. He's bald and missing his right ear. The clothing he wears are some of the fanciest I've ever seen on someone not noble or working for a noble. Pure white shirt with a black necktie of some sort, yellow velvet vest and pants, and shiny black shoes. The yellow is stunning against his light brown skin.

"Kole," Pol greets the man. "We need a moment of your mistress' time. If she's busy, we can wait in the kitchens."

"Sumak, sir, follow me." His accent is thick and reminds me of a man my mother helped years ago. She had told me he was from Salix. A tiny kingdom on the other continent that kept very much to themselves. One of the lands closest to the mysterious and legendary Dragonlands. I want very much to ask him questions as he leads us into an expensively decorated hallway. Knowing I shouldn't is only slightly keeping my tongue still.

Glancing in a lavish mirror hung on the wall stops me though. Fuck. I'm not in the mirror. Me. I lock my feet pulling Pol to a stop. Shoving my hood off, I stare at long blonde curls, a pert upturned nose, large and wide rich blue eyes, and so much face paint I want a washrag. Goddess. My fingers trace my face and it feels as it does everyday. It doesn't match the image in the mirror at all. My eyes drop and I notice a fat pendant of gold hung around my neck. Reaching up I can feel the necklace, so it is real. A handsome face and dark curls appears above my shoulder.

Pol's soft chuckle tickles my ear. "I've never enjoyed hearing 'Fuck, me' so much in my life." I didn't even realize I'd said it outloud. His fingers move to the chain holding the pendant on. "Though the circumstances could be better." He pulls the pendant off and away. My reflection is my own again. Disappointingly me. Flushed tan face with my brownish hair pulling loose and sticking about my head.

"There. All better and lovely." Pol places a hand on my shoulder and turns me towards Kole again, who waits patiently. The man seems unphased by my sudden change in appearance. "I'm sorry that I had to use that on you. That man cannot be trusted."

"You mean Cy?" I ask. Kole directs us through a door before striding off. Pol pulls me into a room with comfortable looking chairs and a bench in that same yellow velvet that looks soft as a cloud. He indicates a chair with a pink cushion for me to sit on. I sit without further prompting. The cushion is fluffy and the satin it's made of is decadent to touch.

He grabs both of my hands and crouches down in front of me. "Forget you know that name. Forget all of their faces." His voice vibrates with emotion. I can't tell if it's anger, or fear, or something else. "I'm so sorry. Please act as though it never happened."

"I will." He moves as if to stand. "If you answer a question about it." At my words he freezes still holding my hands.

His jaw muscles tense and release several times. The corners of his mouth are turned down and his eyes tell me how unhappy he is. "Fine. One question only."

"Who is that man to you?"

He glances at our joined hands. Taking time to answer the least he can, I'm sure. Finally he says, "An extremely dangerous man who wants my position."

Oh. There are crazy rumors that rogues fight for power. Sometimes to the death. That their kings always have to fight their way to the top. Though whether they really have a king is debated heavily in the markets. I know they have a king because Pol mentioned him once, years ago. The idea of Pol having power Cy wants fits with all the behaviors I witnessed. I hope Pol doesn't have to fight him. He didn't seem fully human, and he doesn't seem... honorable. If that is a word that applies to any rogue. Other than Pol.

A lovely, musical laugh sounds from the doorway. I jerk my attention there and see the face I was just wearing. Only so much more exquisite. Her pale skin is flawless and much of it is showing as it pushes from the top of her pale yellow gown. My hands want to touch the material so badly. "Pol, I never thought of you as the threesome type." Her voice is perfect too!

She sweeps into the room and Pol stands to meet her. A warm chuckle slips from him as he takes a hand she offers. "Davillia, forgive my barging in."

I try to stand but my foot is on my skirt and I fall clumsily back into the chair. Shifting my skirts, I struggle to my feet. Davillia glances at me but doesn't laugh at me. She smiles politely. Her blue eyes are bright, and they return to Pol's face. "You know my door is always open to you."

Her statement makes me wonder at their relationship. I'm pretty sure she is an expensive prostitute. Maybe even a consort. Glancing around the room, I wonder if gardening is the best I can do. Then I look back at her perfect features and her slim hourglass figure and I know I would never be this successful as a prostitute. Not even half as much. I twist my hands in my cloak, a child waiting for the adults to finish talking.

"Still, I wouldn't ask for your help if it wasn't urgent," he says. She looks over his shoulder at me again. He follows her gaze, as if I had been forgotten. "Perhaps we should talk elsewhere for a moment." He locks eyes with me. "I'll be right back. Please stay here."

They exit the room, not waiting or expecting a response for me. A bit angry at being left behind I stalk over to the cushioned bench and try it out. It's divine. With a quick look at the closed door, I sprawl across it. The velvet is lovely against my cheek and it smells of jasmine and lemon. This is so much more comfortable than my bed at home. My eyes catch on a shelf across the room. Between a pink crystal cluster and a golden fish sculpture is a grouping of books. I rise and dart to the shelf, burning with the need to touch and read. The first two books had titles on the spine in a language entirely alien to me. The third is more promising. Titled Plucking Roses. Throwing a glance towards the door which was still closed tight, I slid the blue leather book free. I flip quickly past the imprint and blank pages. Blessed Goddess forgive me! The pictures on the page are exceedingly detailed pictures of male and female bodies. In uncomfortable and improbable positions. The two pages are titled "Two men and one garden" and "Thorny tunneling." I cannot stop myself from turning to another page. I notice not all the nudes are human on the first page, as there are wings involved. "Bird feeder into false flight" is written at the top. I close my eyes but the explicit pictures are still there. Two males are contorted together at the top of the next page. At the bottom a female joins using her mouth and then her breasts. What... why? Gods is this real? "Two snakes into snakes burrow away from the garden." Another page. "Goddess rose worshiped" and "Sun greeting the rose." Next page is just two female figures together and it's titled "Buds and flowering." The page facing it is two females and a male twisted together. "Watering all the flowers." Holy mother of the green god. That can't be physically possible.

Slamming the book shut I shove it on the shelf and run back to the chair I started in. Far away from the shelf. My hands are shaking and my heart is threatening to give out all together. It's not like I don't have a vague idea how sex works. At least I thought I had a small grasp. Clearly there are oceans more to know, worlds more. And I don't want to know more! Except I do. My eyes lock onto the blue book spine. Can I sneak another look? I've lost all concept of how long Pol and Davillia have been gone. Also no clue how long they will be gone. I inch forward on the soft cushion. Why would a woman want to do that to a man? Let alone two? Maybe the next page explains it. It's possible. What if I just borrow it? I would bring it back. Could I borrow it without asking her? Surely with all her money she could just buy a new copy.

The door opens and my body jumps, slipping slightly off the chair. It's Pol alone entering the room. He freezes on the threshold, eyes narrowed on me. I clasp my hands and school my face. He glances from me, to the shelf holding the books. Shit. Of course! They are the only books in the room and there are no plants to distract me. A dark smile curves his mouth and he saunters to the books. I swallow down a lump the size of a goat and watch him stroke the spines, reading the titles.

"Ah, I need to get to the market." I try to distract him. It is really important I get there tonight. So I'm not even within a hair's width of lying. "When can we go?"

"Soon." He plucks the blue covered book from the shelf and I fight not to hide my face behind my hands. He spends some time flipping through the pages. His smile widens and is higher on the right side. A shiver traces along my spine. "Oh, my naughty little dove," he says so softly I almost can't hear it across the room.

"What?" I try for a curious tone, but I have to try twice before I get the single word out. His eyes are golden edged when he lifts them to me. The brown lightens so much, and warms my skin. My skin prickles in a way that tells me I'm probably turning beet red.

"How many pages did you 'read' before you put it away?" A deep laugh rolls out of his mouth sending chills across my skin. The chill fights with the heat of my embarrassment, making my body feel out of my control for a heartbeat or three.

I look away from his too warm gaze. "I don't know what you are talking about." Having not fully read any of the pages, it feels somewhat truthful.

He walks towards me, book, Plucking Roses still open in his hands. "Did you make it to 'Dahlia delights' or 'Jumping the toadstool?'"

It takes everything in me to not rip the book from his hands to see what those were, while simultaneously hiding behind the fluffy, yellow bench. "Should I know what you're talking about, Pol?" No a lie, just a question. I'm getting good at this!

"Perhaps you didn't make it that far. Did you see the 'Goddess rose worshiped,' my little dove?" he says my nickname with a purr. Jolting up in my seat, I remember the pictures from that page. For a moment the male figure has Pol's face. Something clenches low in my body. "Ah, so you liked that one."

He is looking between the book and me. "It..." I start, then have to readjust my seat and breathe to continue. "It wasn't what I thought it would be."

A chuckle rumbles through his chest and he smirks at me. "Oh, I'm sure it wasn't." Again with that purr! What does a grown man make that sound? Why does it sound... good, I think?

I'm about to yell at him when the door cracks open and Kole peers in. "Note for you." He says.

Pol's entire demeanor changes. He crosses the room in a few strides and shoves the book back in place. Then he hurries to take the paper from Kole. He quickly glances my way. "Time to go to the Market."

Relieved in a multitude of ways, I jump up and move to the door. "Don't you need to say your goodbyes to Davilla?" Pulling up short next to Pol, I realize my tone is mean. Angry? Definitely, I am angry. Probably because I'm so tired and all of this dramatic rogue business.

Another miniscule smirk twists his lips. How does he do that? He pulls up my hood before I think to. "I already did."

It takes a moment for me to remember my question. I guess I won't ever see her again. Good. My mind turns back towards that blue book. That is not the kind of knowledge I need. Focus on earning gold. On Moss. That cools my thoughts and I follow Pol out of the elegant house of lust and money. I hope the rest of this trip is uneventful. I'm not entirely sure I can survive more danger, intrigue, and whatever was happening before Kole's arrival.