In the stables to the east of the base, Faine opened the useless wooden gate keeping Tyvni in her enclosure. Too many times had the young dragon scaled the side of her pen and scratched the solid wood to splinters. Picking small pieces of wood out between her claws while sitting on the straw floor of the stables used to be one of Faine's most esteemed time-wasters.

A leather halter strapped against the green scales of the dragon's face; arranged carefully around the many spikes growing back off her scales and buckled by the dragon handlers. Two mortal boys that served no purpose other than to feed, provide water, and avoid losing an arm or a leg to a hungry beast that felt they didn't get enough during their meal.

Faine pulled against the lead, a frayed rope, and tugged Tyvni to the middle of the stables. The other dragons—hidden by the wooden doors to their pens—huffed hot air, growled, shook out their scales, and squirmed altogether. They couldn't stand when one received freedom and the others, the unlucky beasts, didn't derive the chance to roam.

Another terrible occupation by the two stable boys that had since disappeared since Faine arrived in her flying leathers. In a wooden bucket, she stuffed a whole chicken, plucked of feathers and skin, a turkey leg, goat ribs and loin, and a single cup of oats. Tyvni, after eating hours ago, was more than pleased to stick her head inside, not to eat the oats, but push them off to get to the meat.

Faine frowned at the beast. "You need your oats," she protested. The dragon wasn't listening. "That's why you were the runt, you know. You would only eat what you believed tasted good. You need everything to grow larger than the other dragons here."

She placed her hand against the side of Tyvni's large body, shifting her weight to one hip, but the dragon merely crunched the goat ribs between her sharp teeth and moved onto the next. She'd always been a slow eater, even after being the runt of the litter. Faine remembered the day affectionately; Zebulon had stolen dragon eggs meant to go to the high elf family to go through extensive years of training, all leading to becoming hunters.

Instead, Rising Eternity raised the beasts and kept them for themselves. As they grew, all hatching around the same time, it became clear that Tyvni would not grow as large as the others. She was too slow, didn't fight for her food, and constantly faced scrutiny from the other, stronger dragons. It was through Faine's coddling that she reached this point of survival.

"She won't listen to you, you know."

Faine looked up from where she was gathering Tyvni's saddle, smaller than all the rest. Standing in the large open doorway of the stables was Nalea Havise, an elf. Master of seduction and gathering information, yet sweet and on the quieter side.

She smirked at Tyvni and made her way into the stables, her noticeably curvy hips swaying back and forth with each step. The young dragon was too focused on pushing through the oats to care that Nalea was running one of her teal hands along the spikes on her head, nor did she mind the presence of anyone that wasn't a stable boy. The runt she was, but it brought out the fighter in her against the mortals.

"Dragons aren't fond of listening, apparently," Nalea went on. "As you can tell from my own."

They both looked toward Nalea's dragon, a male with purple scales that often reflected blue and green in the sunlight. He had his large head leaned over the side wall of his pen, crushing the wood underneath, and batted bashful eyes at Nalea in hopes of being released to explore the grounds of Rising Eternity's base. At one point, they had roamed free.

"If I recall correctly, your dragon was the reason they're forced to remain locked in these pens except during flight and a brief walk during the day," Faine mocked.

Nalea laughed. "I'll never forget the day Zebulon's skin turned a shade red brighter than his feathers." She walked over to the side wall of the pen and patted her dragon's wide, square snout. From the shape alone, it was a hassle to get a halter on him. "I'll also never forget my dragon kicking off all the roof tiles and then finding his spiked tail stuck in the chimney."

As if he understood what she was saying, Jaddris, her dragon, huffed hot air through his nose and attempted to nip at her. She tapped on his snout and walked back over to Tyvni, tossing in a raw beef loin for extra portions. Lucky, as Faine was hoisting the saddle over the dragon's back and didn't feel like getting stepped on when the beast disagreed.

Bones crunched as Faine began buckling the many straps to secure the saddle.

"Off to complete your new mission?" Nalea asked.

Surely everyone had heard by now. "You mean becoming a member of Silver Willow? Of course, it's not like Zebulon will give me an extra day to prepare." Faine didn't have the time, anyway.

"He really is trying to ruin your life. Four months to go and he can't seem to let you escape, not quite." Nalea leaned against the side of the stable, arms crossed over her broad chest.

There was something captivating about Nalea, the precise reason she was so prodigious at her job. Part of the skillset was fitting the bill to what men in the land found attractive, and she was it. Faine had curves, subtle and easy to distinguish in the right outfit, but Nalea never faltered when making herself appear like an hourglass recently wiped clean of all dirt, grime, and fingerprints.

Her soft teal skin invited others in, rather lured them in the way a geas did to mortals. Men dreamed of the ocean when they looked at her hair; not for its color but the waves down her back. Their eyes roved over her like a ship sailing over those waves—down, down, down. But it was the hazel eyes, the full lips, and the freckles sprinkled across her nose that gave Nalea all the advantages when she spied.

The men and women in the land, faced with Nalea's charm, didn't stand a chance. There was a reason she was one of the best spies in Rising Eternity; only after twenty years of service. She knew what she was doing, and through her body, got that information out of those that weren't in the business of giving it up.

"I believe he's torturing me, in a way," Faine said once she kneeled down to buckle aleather strap on Tyvni's smooth underside. "First, he forces me to join Rising Eternity in order to save the love of my life after he was caught spying on this crime guild. Then, he kills him anyway and leaves me with a hundred-year deal I never wanted." She scoffed and shook her head. The entire situation was shit.

"It'll get better from here," Nalea tried to reassure. "Four months to go. If I know of anyone that can complete this mission the fastest, it's you."

Faine arched a brow and smirked. Sticking out from behind Nalea's voluminous locks were two elongated and sharply pointed ears. She was full elf and looked it. Her fangs were sharper and whiter, and her liking towards fancy clothes and broad jewelry fit the high elf family as well. Elves received favor in the land but frowned upon in the right sense. Some believed them to be spoiled, others believed them to be of the higher class. Faine wasn't sure what side she landed on. Didn't care, frankly.

"If I finish this mission with one day left, Zebulon will spring another on me. That's what he does. If that mission is to jump off a cliff, I might have to do it."

Nalea rolled her eyes. "Come on, don't be so negative. Focus on what is before you, not what he plans to do later. I can give you any information you need for this to go smoother. I'm the one that filled out the report in the first place."

"Fine," Faine obliged her. She finished strapping the last few buckles and secured them tightly around Tyvni's body. "Tell me about Ilian. What did you observe from him?"

Nalea's grin stretched slowly and revealed her fangs. "He likes when you whisper sweet-nothings in his ear. Mortals are into that, things that scare them." She made her hazel eyes flash with amusement and Faine shook her head, but was thoroughly entertained. She'd forgotten to take his ring off last night and during her...distraction with Kaspar; had noticed it on her hand when she fisted the sheets. By then, it was too late to take it off and when she looked at her knuckle, found it there still. "He likes soft kisses and when you put your hand underneath the collar of his shirt to touch his chest—"

"Besides that," Faine interrupted. She squeezed the illustration out of her brain with a brief shut of her eyes. "What did you observe from him as a person?"

"He's a hard worker, he doesn't trust easy, he's a sloppy spy when he's drunk but a damn good one when he's sober. He's not opposed to immortals and actually took a feliram into a private room later that night. He doesn't appear to have any mortal kin, though. But I can't say that's not common in the line of business he's found himself in. I never got the chance to ask him how he weaseled his way into Silver Willow, but maybe you can figure that out," Nalea explained. Her answer was quick, as it always was.

Faine recalled Ilian's behavior at The Black Apple. He watched her every move, asked all the right questions hoping to throw her off, and tried to find a fault she hid so well. It came close; he was suspicious, but Faine gave him the strongest but safest alcohol she knew to help him forget there was something amiss in that restaurant.

He had called her beautiful...in a way. If he had a thing for felirams compared to the other immortals, that could work in her favor. She'd used seduction many times to get what she wanted, but never with a mortal man. For a second, too brief for her to reconsider, she wondered what it might be like. Every other beast near her size had found its way into her bed or another.

"You don't think he's a pity hire?" Faine asked.

Nalea's brows drew in. "I don't think so. Not with the way he carries himself. There's something more to him I couldn't quite place in our short time together."

Examining Tyvni's wings before flight, Faine ran her fingers over the silky membrane, tracing the dark veins underneath her fingers. Only once had she come out to the stables to find a tear in Tyvni's wings and that was when she was too young and too small to fly. A quick stitching and healing ointment, and the scar left behind couldn't be recognized by any stranger. Faine ran her fingers over it, next to the claws at the top of the wings, and smiled at the memory.

How foolish that night had been. Out of fear of losing her precious dragon at such a young age, she slept in the pen with her. It had taken hours, long after she fell asleep, but she woke to the pressure of Tyvni's scales digging into her gambeson. They slept like that the remainder of the night, huddled against each other, and had been inseparable ever since.

"He's confident," Faine mumbled, taking her own observations into account. "And he knows what he's doing."

Nalea didn't object. "That might be the case. The only way you'll find out is if you see him again. Tread carefully, he's not afraid to kill."

"How do you know that?" Faine hoisted herself into the saddle just as Tyvni, with nothing else to eat, licked up the oats at the bottom of the wooden bucket. At this height, she had the vantage point of seeing over every pen wall to the dragon on the inside. An array of colors, haunting eyes, and scales stared back at her. Some poked their heads over the top to watch the lucky departure of a fellow beast. Bidding farewell to a pack member.

Nalea took the bucket in her hands and filled it for Jaddris.

"He didn't hesitate to kill two imps in the alleyway. They were bullying him for being mortal, and when one shoved him against the wall, he slashed their throats within the blink of an eye. He's quick; undetectable. Be careful."

Faine wasn't certain how she should feel about that. She knew to be careful with everyone she came around, but mortals were different. Their lives were ending as soon as they began and the few young years they had were full of fight to avoid disease or accidental death. The prick of rusted metal and they fell over. Someone sneezed in their direction and they caught an illness of their own; dying days later.

Immortals had many luxuries they took for granted. Mortals carried everything on their shoulders and cared about the little things. They didn't hold grudges for fear of that person dying the next day. They smiled at those that frowned in their direction; they laughed when the situation didn't call for it.

They killed when they didn't see another way out. When others were lucky, while they were not.

Faine was learning more about Ilian in this one conversation than she had in hours while watching the mortal man speak with the fladline at a restaurant that was much too expensive for the taste of many. And the wallets. There was much still unaccounted for but she would figure that out later.

She took the reins in her hands and steered Tyvni to the door of the stables. The dragon rustled in excitement. Faine waved back at Nalea, bidding farewell, and with a quick kick into Tyvni's flank, her wide wings beat them into the air, shaking the world underneath them. Her sidekick and the one that got her out of every dangerous situation, Faine looked down at her moss green dragon and smiled. They'd get through this. Now or later.

Nalea was right. She needed to focus on what was before her, not what Zebulon planned to do next.