I wake with a throbbing in my head. The sun has yet to rise, bathing my dusty room in a pale blue light as the sunrise grapples to break the horizon. Despite the brawl between light and dark that happens in the sky, chatter has already begun in the street outside of my solitary window as merchants prepare their cargo for travel. In the Kingdom of Vaya, the port that kisses the shore mere blocks away is the lifeblood of the city and the towns that surround it, providing prosperous trade with Kingdoms overseas that provide aid against the tensions forming with my home Kingdom of Cherin. 

It was only a matter of time before the King became greedy enough to try and seize control of Vaya, even knowing their powerful Navy is no match for his Army. Having control over one port, Crasian which lies to the north of here is not enough to satisfy him now. He has gone truly mad since taking his new Queen. Here, I thought him too in love with my mother to ever remarry. Even love has an expiration, it would seem. 

Even through the closed window, the entire room feels stiff with salt as if the boards themselves have been soaked with seawater, clinging to the fabric of the sheets and everything else within this city. My entire body feels like one colossal bruise as I force myself into a seated position, testing my weight against my legs before attempting to stand. The bottle beside my bed has only a few mouthfuls of amber liquid remaining, despite having its wax seal broken only the night before. My tongue feels like cotton and blood thickly crusts my nostrils from my work yesterday, reminiscing of the Witch's vengeance. In the end, she still burned. As good as it felt to cleanse the world of one more blight, she wasn’t the one that I needed. Two years later and I have yet to track down the Witch responsible for my family's deaths. I will burn every last one of them if that is what it takes for me to have that retribution. 

The tunic that I passed out in is stiff with blood that soaked the entire front of me and my nails are still black from the substance. I vaguely remember disemboweling the Bitch while she struggled to slit my throat with her jagged knife, ruining my clothes in the process. I yawn and stretch out my sore muscles before making for the tiny bathroom attached to my room. I take my time bathing the filth from my skin and hair, taking in the steam of the hot water as it cleanses the grime away. It has been nearly a month since I returned to The Salty Geisha and my room has not been touched since then; Madmoiselle Marceline has grown accustomed to my lifestyle and knows that I will always return, though she could have had it cleaned for me, at least. The Witch I was hunting was quite elusive, so I took my time taking her apart and burning her piece by piece in atonement for the annoyance she caused me. 

I slip into some clothes that I find still folded in the drawers of the soggy wooden dresser, smelling slightly of mildew and heavily of salt. I retrieve my belts and secure them around my waist before heading downstairs, ensuring that the door is locked before leaving. When I first arrived here, The Salty Geisha was nothing but a whore house catering to the desires of the Naval officers and local trash. One too many times have I been mistaken as one of the employed ladies here, so the worst of the trash no longer loiter in the halls of the old tavern. To my credit, the inn has turned around since then and more customers flood in each night despite the changes. Less scum and more Military Officers bring their business these days. 

The lobby is quiet this morning considering the commotion that my return caused just a few hours ago and the bar is now peaceful and sparkling clean. I pull up a stool and tap on the counter to draw the attention of the person behind it, casting me a dirty look as they buff a scuff from the polished wood. 

“Glad to see you could get the blood out,” I remark, gaze drifting to the seat I occupied when an idiotic man thought I was too drunk to notice him grab my ass. There are still a few dents from where his front teeth broke against the edge of the bar, which would be the cause of Silas’ glare this morning.

Silas presses his tongue against his cheek and throws his cleaning rag into the sink that is visible behind the counter as though the object had caused the offense rather than me. “You know I’m not on duty yet,” He growls, fixing me with his pale stare. Even with the scars and tattoos that trail his face and neck, Silas is attractive in his own way. Many of the local women find his appearance more intimidating than the soft faces found wearing the Naval uniforms of Vaya, but part of his job here is to keep the Geisha ladies safe from overly aggressive customers. He hasn’t needed to toss anyone out in a few years since I showed up, which I think he doesn’t mind as much as he lets on. 

“I just need some water. I’ll get it myself, if you insist,” I lean forward and drum my fingers against the table, turning to gaze out the windows that face the front of the inn. The vast dining area is vacant and will remain so until night falls and all of the Sailors and Naval Officers come in for their evening pints. There has been talking of war brewing lately, which makes them drink more than usual, flocking earlier and leaving later than is typical. It’s good for business both for the inn and for me, as well. Liquor makes for loose lips, and that’s precisely what I need to divulge information. 

“You’re hardly a guest anymore, you can get it yourself next time,” Silas grumps and rolls his eyes but turns to procure a clean glass from behind the bar, bringing it to the water tap and filling it to the brim. “Stop bothering me with stupid things.” 

“You said yourself, you aren’t on duty right now,” I reach a hand out to stop the glass that he slides down my way, not taking my eyes off of the dragon that curls its long body along the side of his partially shaven head. Though most of his body is covered in the artwork, the dragon has been my favorite since I first laid eyes on it. Judging by the chosen placement and the way he keeps the long hair at the top of his head pulled into a neat bun in order to display the black ink properly, it’s his treasured one. I drain the glass in a few gulps before continuing, reaching to wipe a dribble of water from my chin. “Are you going to the market this morning?” 

Mademoiselle Marcelline is the owner of this place and she takes particular pride in her Geisha girls and the food that they serve from the kitchen. Much like her favored Geishas, Marcelline sleeps throughout the day in preparation for the city's lively nightlife, when the majority of her clientele pour into the bar to drink their troubles away beside beautiful women. From experience, I know that there will be an ample amount of fresh seafood being sold from the good weather the city has been receiving, which makes today the perfect opportunity to restock for the kitchen. Since there are only a handful of employees and Silas is the only one who lives here, he is often tasked with Market days as repayment for the board.

Silas fixes me with an impassive look, the weak beams of light from the sunrise pouring through the stained glass to decorate his dragon in hues of purple, green, and blue. He folds his arms across his broad chest, muscles bulging beneath his tunic. “‘Let’s go together!’” He says with fake enthusiasm, rolling his lilac eyes. “Is that what you expect me to say? I’m still angry with you for denting my bar, you know.” 

I run my index finger around the rim of my empty glass, tipping it on its sides as I spin it around precariously. “Aw, come on,” I say, pursing my lips innocently. “I’ll treat you to anything you want. You’re going anyway, so what’s the harm in letting me tag along?” 

A muscle in his jaw jumps at that and he slams a hand on the bar beside me, reaching to swipe the glass from my grasp. “‘What’s the harm?’” He echoes, raising his brow. Once confiscating the glass from my reach, he points a finger to one of the scars that run jaggedly across his jaw, stopping abruptly at his chin. “That’s what you said when this happened. I still blame you for it, you know.” 

It was nearly a year ago that one of the Fenimore Boys jumped from an alley to blindside me, but I managed to duck behind Silas just in time for him to receive the knife instead of my temple. Enraged by the slice to his face, Silas slammed the guy into a wall and cracked his skull, rendering him unconscious but still alive, annoyingly enough. From an outside perspective, it seemed like he was protecting me from the gang member, so any onlookers quickly spread the word of my new bodyguard. I just happened to have run into him on my way back from a job so we walked back to the Inn together that time, but now I look for any excuse to drag him into the role.

 Of course, I remember the event vividly, though I pretend not to since it serves me well in the long run. Aside from the Fenimore gang, this city is filled with people who have grudges against me, and even if the majority of them are justified in their anger it can be obnoxious trying to go out during the day knowing that someone could be waiting for me to repay their vengeance. Silas stands as a deterrent from some of these encounters because of his appearance alone, so any chance that I get I slip into the city with him to avoid such confrontation. Even The Chassueers don’t mess with him, which is all the more reason to let them believe he’s my bodyguard. 

“You love your scars, don’t pretend to be miffed,” I flash an innocent smile as Silas rounds the bar despite his griping and I slip from the stool to follow him to the kitchen. The rest of the staff won’t begin arriving until later in the afternoon, so the lights remain off as Silas retrieves a small wagon from the backdoor. “They make you look ruggedly handsome.” 

Silas remains ungrateful as I prop the back door open for him to wheel the wagon out ahead of me, simply grunting in response to my flattery. I take the opportunity to comb the knots from my long locks with my fingers, already dry from my bath. I coax it into a topknot, allowing a few strands to frame my face as I trail Silas around the front of the building to the main road. As expected, the cobblestone streets are bustling as the sun begins to break the horizon, but the foot traffic parts subconsciously for Silas and his cart as we make our way to the pier.

The air is saturated with the scent of the sea, leaving my freshly cleansed skin feeling immediately heavy and slick again. As we wade through the crowded streets, my hand rests against the hilt of my sword habitually, my eyes searching each face that we pass by. It would be rare for any Chasseurs to begin making their rounds so early just for the market, considering that it isn’t an unusual event. Though they are the most vexing to deal with due to their stiff regulations that I constantly overstep, they are the least of my problems on a morning like this.