Byton city, the capital of Midaelia, rose in tiers along the course of Lockefell river. An extraordinary network of canals, crafted by Royal sorcerers and sorceresses of a time long gone, divided each of the districts. The upper district was Farren's destination today.

From where she led her mount up the ramp to the higher districts, the Royal Palace could be seen looming over the edge of a crest, right along the wall of the huge dam constructed across the river. Every year during the rains, the floodgates would open, and the canals would truly come to life in their full force, nothing like the tame, humble streams they were now.

As always, Farren kept her ears trained to catch anything exciting, but nothing seemed to catch her attention. Only the news of a shipment of spices going missing on its way from the isles rode the whispers of the common folk.

Well, ships sink all the time. Farren didn't think much of it.

The Henris manor towered before her. Ornate vines adorning the marble pillars in front swayed in the wind. The air of the upper district was calm and laden with the scent of flowers-- free from the clamour and stink of poverty of the lower tiers of the city.

The estate guards let her pass after a fleeting glance at her uniform.

An old manservant answered the door, and the fear of humiliation gripped her again.

What if they threw her out from the front door?

Nonsense. You're wearing the uniform of the Midaelian army, idiot.

"May I speak to Lady Tassya Henris?"

The old man gave a friendly nod. "Right this way, please."

The parlor he led her into was larger than her entire house. A grand chandelier shimmered overhead, its gold hue glinting off the spotless marble floor. Even here, in the hushed gossip of the servants, was the same news, but in more detail-- an entire fleet of ships transporting spices from the isles had gone missing.

With a jolt, Farren remembered the Henris family business-- import of exotic spices from the Brihurst Isles.

"The Lady has been ill for some time, so she receives guests in her chamber. If you'll follow me," said the old man and led her down a hallway before a pair of huge, mahogany doors left ajar.

Lady Tassya, Alastair's older sister, was seated on an armchair, talking to a young woman who was in tears.

"...we, the Henris, are ever by your side, whenever you need us. You have to be strong, and keep moving forward-- and get the business on track once again," Lady Tassya was saying to the woman, her voice soft and calm.

"A shame," said the servant quietly beside her, "ships gone missing, and her husband was on board. Not even a month since their wedding... Haven't you heard?"

So that's what everyone is talking about. Farren felt a stab of pain, seeing the young woman sob.

After she was gone, Lady Tassya beckoned her inside.

There it was, nervousness clawing at her once again.

Lady Tassya, stunningly beautiful despite the signs of weariness in her demeanor, was a woman in her thirties, and the oldest of the three Henris siblings. The resemblance between her and Alastair was obvious, although unlike her brother, she was not full of malice and nowhere near as arrogant. Her brows furrowed, noticing Farren's uniform, and she gestured to her to take a seat.

"How may I be of assistance?" Her voice was calm and gentle. So very different from her brother.

Delivering the bad news to her felt awful all of a sudden-- something that hadn't bothered her all her journey from Kinallen. What she had been worried about was getting kicked out from the front doors. Conveying the message should have been the easiest part.

Realizing she would not be so good with words at this moment, she simply handed her the sealed envelope.

Lady Tassya's face ashened, looking at the words upon the parchment. "Alastair?...no, this has to be a mistake!"

Farren had never wanted to empathize with Alastair, yet Lady Tassya's helpless face nearly made her reconsider. Although, she had little choice in the matter.

"There are witnesses to the incident, Lady."

Lady Tassya sank back into her chair, her face in her hands. "Our Al, a murderer? No, this-- this is madness," she said, her voice shaking, on the brink of tears.

"He is being held captive on the basis of suspicion," Farren said before her mind could process what she was saying, "and he may be released, if he's proven innocent. There is... considerable doubt about his involvement, I must admit."

Farren slapped herself mentally. Am I really trying to comfort her? Alastair's older sister, of all people?

She will probably throw me out this instant.

A pair of cold, thin hands grasped hers, and Farren found herself looking into the tearful eyes of the head of the Henris family. There were shadows underneath her tired eyes, her breaths coming in laboured gasps as more tears spilled down her cheeks.

"Please," she said in a shaky whisper, "if...there is anything you can do-- anything at all-- please save my brother. If there is indeed doubt, I beg you to make sure you're apprehending the person who is truly responsible."

I wasn't paid for three months because of your dear brother.

But it didn't seem Lady Tassya had any idea what her dear brother did outside of home. Farren wanted to hold a grudge against his whole family, yet it seemed to slowly crumble. It seemed pointless, almost childish.

The woman pulled away, wiping her tears. There was a moment of silence where she drew herself upright, her expression forced into a neutral one.

"Forgive my outburst,” she said, her voice now firm and even, "I am not so blinded by my affection as to forget the laws of this land. I do not know what evil has taken over him to attempt something like this, but if he is truly found guilty...” Her voice wavered.

“...Spare him no mercy."

Farren managed a nod, both shocked and fascinated by the shift in Lady Tassya's tone.

When she had completed her assigned task and walked out of her chamber with a rather heavy heart, the old servant was not there to show her the way out.

✦✧✦✧

Once Farren strode down a few hallways and turned a few corners however, she once again in her life realised how stupid she had been. She should have waited for the servant to turn up and show her out.

All the hallways looked the same, and she was lost.

The particular wing she had wandered into seemed to be deserted, for there were no maids or servants in sight, as there had been when the old man had led her to Lady Tassya's chambers.

"Well, fuck!" she exclaimed, mostly because she was lost, and partly because no one was there to hear.

She was proven wrong the next moment, when hurried footsteps sounded behind a door to her left, and the handles turned.

Farren didn't know what triggered it, the years of experience at the Silver Knife square, or not wanting to be caught swearing out loud-- but she leaped to take cover behind a dusty suit of armour as soon as the doors flew open.

Dion Edsley walked out, followed by a man who looked awfully similar to Alastair, except older. She recognised him as Alfred Henris, Alastair's older brother. Both men cast searching glances down the hallway.

Farren's breath hitched in her throat.

"I'm sure I heard someone there," said Dion.

"Nonsense," growled Alfred, "no one's got any business shouting profanities outside the door. I would have thought a spy is supposed to keep quiet."

Not accidental ones, thought Farren, clamping her hands over her mouth. When Dion cast a glance toward her hiding spot, her body went numb. Could he hear her heart, which was now performing a very complex sort of acrobatics?

They went back inside, the doors shutting with a soft click.

"Now why the hell did you take so long to show up?" Alfred's voice came muffled from behind the door.

"While your brother is the one in chains, they're keeping an eye on me too," said Dion, "one sergeant in particular. Fear not, he'll be taken care of soon. Got a Vasaen to take him down in the middle of a raid. A heroic death, you could say."

A Vasaen. Farren clapped her hands over her mouth to cover her gasp.

Sweet, sweet Draedona, Sarge was right in his suspicion after all, but he's as good as dead. Knowing Linder, he'd probably be glad, though.

Slowly, Farren crawled on all fours across the flagstones, and placed her eye against the keyhole. Alfred Henris sat in an ornate armchair with his back facing the door, and before him, Dion.

Sound of hushed conversation reached her, over the deafening thuds of her own heart.

"...till that damned night-archer spotted me in the dark and shoved Alastair out of the way. For months I've been with the insufferable prick, put up with his whims," Dion was saying, "and a bloodsucker ruins the kill. I shut him up though, for good. And as for your dear brother, you can be sure the folk of Kinallen will beat him to death-- if he doesn't starve first."

"Don't call that pile of filth my brother," snarled Alfred, "Father screws some low-life maid, and we have to pay for his deeds-- cover it up and divide our inheritance with his bastard. Heaven knows why I didn't just drown him in the canal when I still had the chance."

Farren's eyes widened more, if that was possible. She hadn't realised she was being literal when she referred to Alastair as blue-blooded bastard.

A chuckle. "You don't want to get your hands dirty, sir," said Dion, "and with that being taken care of, I must inform you that Captain Reylan is getting impatient. You have your family matters sorted out, your business rival's shipments destroyed-- just like you wanted. Now's the time you hold up your end of the bargain."

So the missing ships... Farren's head was reeling. How far had Reylan, or rather, Emric, spread his poison?

"Tell Reylan to wait some more. This kind of information about the royal palace isn't easy to obtain. I'll need an insider, possibly someone from the Royal Guards. Someone who'd know the complete layout of the palace," said Alfred.

A screeching of chair legs suggested Dion had got to his feet.

"Well, how you obtain that information is your concern now. Just so you know, sir, if Captain Reylan doesn't have his answers soon, I can't guarantee whether the Drisian marine fleet would spare your ships," he said, a smile creeping into his voice. "Nevertheless, I wish you success. May the seas fare you well."

Farren was on her feet at once. Boots in her hands and barefooted, she sprinted down the hallway, left, and right, and ahead, and didn't stop until she reached the back garden.

"Are...are you alright?" The old servant from before approached her there, much to her relief.

"Yes, I just--" she said between gasps, "lost my way."

✦✧✦✧

In the backroom of a run-down tavern of the lower district, Farren changed into the less conspicuous clothes of a peasant girl; a plain white blouse, umber skirt, and a sheepskin cloak thrown over her shoulders.

Stashing her uniform and weapons behind a crate, she took the crystal dagger out, the translucent blade shimmering in the dusty sunbeams crawling through the roof. There was no way she could let a Royal Guard get their hands on it, not after what she'd heard at the Henris manor. The dagger falling right into Reylan's grasp was the last thing she wanted.

She needed to trick the Royal Guard, Miveresk, even if he came back with an order from Lord Rhilio himself.

And what she intended to achieve could be achieved at one place only.

"Silver Knife Square, here I come," she muttered under her breath before slipping into the dark alleys outside.

✦✧✦✧

Those who would come to visit Byton for the first time, usually spent days marvelling at the meticulously constructed network of canals which latticed the entire city, and joined together at the south end to form a single stream once again.

Farren had done the same, until she discovered the charm the dark and enchanted alleyways held in their winding courses and shadowy nooks-- all in account of her association with the most notorious part of the city.

And in her thoughts, Farren must've been rather carried away, because she noticed only now that she was being followed.

Her stomach churned. Had Dion noticed her presence after all?

Someone was right behind her in this dark, dank back alley. Light, measured footsteps across damp cobbles, gently drawn breaths and a soft rustle of a cloak against leather armour.

She'd been in trouble far too many times to not trust her instincts.

Farren's hand went to grasp the dagger at her belt almost by reflex and in a blur of motion, she was at the stranger's throat.

Her eyes widened upon seeing their face, and she did not know whether to be terrified or relieved.

"...Good day to you, Sarge."

Linder stood at the daggerpoint, expression far too relaxed for a man with a blade so near his throat. He appeared unarmed.

"I know this looks wrong, but I've been trying to catch up to you for hours now-- for a matter I wanted to discuss," he said, hands up in submission, "and what was I to do? You never take the main road like good folk, lurking only in alleyways."

"Do... I look like good folk to you?" said Farren with a strange feeling of déjà vu.

"You will, once you kindly remove that dagger from my throat, my dear Corporal."

For a moment they stood like that, with Farren pressing up the tip of the blade just below his chin, and him looking terribly calm about the whole being-held-at-knifepoint thing. He was quite literally one sneeze away from getting stabbed in the neck, Farren wouldn't even have to move a muscle.

"Look," he said again, "I'll be honest with you-- if I didn't have a mine to take care of and an assassin to track down, I would've been on my knees, begging you to end my misery right here."

Is this what he's into? Ah well, who am I to judge?

With a click of her tongue, she slowly withdrew the dagger and slid it back in its sheath. "Bet it's all that coffee that makes you so bitter about life."

Linder ran a hand through his hair. "Ah, yes. You're right about that. Perhaps I should... try something sweet for a change."

A sly smile tugging on his lips, he took a step forward. "Care to volunteer?"

Farren was suddenly grateful for the shadows in the alley that obscured her flushed face.

"You know you are high on caffeine when you mistake salt for sugar," she countered, and found her back pressed up against the cool stone wall of a dilapidated house. One more step, and Linder would have her pinned against it.

And he did just that, putting both his arms upon the wall on her either side.

With a gloved hand, he raised her chin, his thumb slowly brushing against her bottom lip. He watched her intently, mischief and amusement playing in his eyes. The original purpose for his arrival was tossed somewhere unimportant-- if there had ever been one.

"Should we start from where we left off back on the stable roof?" he said in a hoarse whisper.

Her eyes darted down the deserted alley. Her heart gave a lurch at the... possibilities.

"Why not?” Farren whispered back, sliding her arms around his neck. She might be the one pinned down, yet in moments he would become the one entrapped, if she could have her way.

In her twenty three years of life, Farren Clearstrike had done quite a bit of flirting. Not to imply all of it was well-executed, however. The results ranged widely from sweet kisses and steamy nights to jealous suitors chasing after her with rapiers-- for their ladyloves were enamored by the charms of this common soldier, rather than their riches. That is to say, she was fairly experienced in that field, for better or worse.

Yet it was astounding how even a slightly suggestive word from Linder, his sardonic smile, one stolen glance from those stormy grey eyes could make her heart race and knees weak.

He leaned close, and Farren shut her eyes with a sigh. He swept back her cloak and pressed his lips against her bare shoulder. A jolt went through her, not believing he was actually doing this.

Either this was a trick, or he was too high on coffee to care.

In Linder's case, it could be both.

"You are a pretty thief after all," he muttered against her skin, and his other hand came to rest upon her waist.

Farren breathed a laugh as he trailed light kisses up her neck. "I know hollow praise when I hear it. Do you expect me to believe you find me ravishing in these worn out peasant's clothes?"

"Hollow praise? Don't say that," he shushed, sending shivers down her spine. "Let me be the fool who sees beauty in the mundane."

Before she could come up with an answer to his foolish romanticism, however, he cupped her face with his hand. He was so close she could see the faint scar left by the arrow that had grazed his face during the fight in the woods. In the pale light of the alley, his grey eyes glinted silver.

"Eager, are we?" He smirked and closed the gap between them.

And here she was, about to kiss the very guard who had once put her in shackles. Linder, Rhilio's mercy-- he had no business having a secret rendezvous with a street rat.

Was there anything real in it? Or was it naught but a game, played only to distract oneself from life's other, dreary aspects?

Whatever it might be, Farren wanted it. Just as much she'd wanted the poisonous deal with the Lord of Despair and the hot irons to burn marks upon her skin.

She closed her eyes, anticipating the feel of his lips against hers-- only, it never came.

"Sweet, sweet revenge," he whispered in her ear instead, then leaned away with a devilish grin. "Now we're even."

Farren's eyes flew open, lips still puckered up like a fool, hardly believing how she'd been betrayed. “What--”

Linder took one of her hands which still clasped his collar, kissed the knuckles and set it down. “This is what you get for pickpocketing me.”

"By the Gods, you're awful!"

"Awfully underestimated, you mean. Two can play this game," he said, pulling his hands off the wall and releasing her. He let out a shaky breath, ran a hand through his already mussed hair and cast her a longing glance. "Ah, Farren, be angry all you want. You have no idea how hard this is for me too."

She only glared daggers at him, pulling her cloak upright.

His eyes were now thoughtful. "To tell you the truth, if I were to kiss someone-- I wouldn't do it in secret, hidden in some piss-rank back alley."

"Then where?"

He smiled, gazing into her eyes, looking a bit carried away.

"I'd kiss them in a fair green meadow under a cloudless blue sky. Or beneath a tree after the season's first rain."

“Green meadows and blue skies?” Farren gawked. “Who woulda thunk you were a poet beneath all that armour?”

He pulled away and straightened his collar. "Now, no need to look at me like that, I'm simply describing my personal taste, silly as it might be."

"Yes, silly indeed. Too sickly sweet for my tastes anyway," Farren huffed, pushing herself off the wall. "Now assuming you aren't here to seduce me, what are you here for, exactly?"

Linder's face took on a serious look now. "About your plans for that dagger. You mentioned you were going to give Miveresk an impression of having that dagger, in case he comes back."

"And so you tracked me down."

"That I did, rather easily. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I've come to understand how the minds of folk like you work."

"Folk like me?"

"Exactly, the not good folk," he said with a smirk, "you plan to visit Silver Knife Square, for where else would you get shady sorcery done for cheap? And thus..."

He felt the side of her satchel for the hard edge of a wooden object. "You've brought your mask, and changed into common attire."

"Draedona take you," she said, "can nothing remain a secret from you?"

Linder answered her with a satisfied smile. "Now, tell me if I got the final piece of the puzzle right," he said, "your plan is to make a counterfeit, give it to Miveresk, make a fool of him-- he gets mad and ruins your whole career. Possibly your life, too."

"Well yes-- for the first half," she said, "but I hadn't thought that far ahead."

Now that he mentioned it, trying to fool Miveresk, Sir Troth's younger brother no less, seemed a rather daft thing to do.

"Your plan is terrible," said Linder with a grin, "count me in."

Farren eyed him suspiciously. "Never thought the righteous and honest Valerius Linder would partake in such underhanded dealings."

"Flexibility is key," he said slyly. "You'll be surprised in how many aspects of life does that apply."

And Farren knew there was no use trying to poke his true intentions out of him. For that moment, Farren resisted telling him what she'd found out in the Henris manor, purely out of spite-- for he would act even more smug after knowing his suspicion had been correct all along. All in good time.

"Shall we go?" He offered her his arm, looking aggravatingly pleased at not only having guessed her plans, but also getting his ...revenge.

Without further ado, she resumed her quest for Silver Knife, with Linder at her side-- looking like an oversized raven in his dark attire, a smudge of black among the many colors of the city. Gods, this man's wardrobe must truly look like an abyss.

After a few stolen glances, however, she concluded she rather liked ravens a lot.