The Brass Boulder was on the other side of Olhathas, towards the salt mines but farther north and swallowed up within the business district of the city. Faine and Ilian walked past the rundown building three times before they spotted it nestled within two stone structures and small enough to be as noticeable as a shed.

Not a single sign led to Brass Boulder, neither did anyone in the neighborhood. Their first sign to be extra cautious—if no one knew of the business, yet it was well known in the business district and a reputable creator of all weapons, it was contradicting to think no one, yet everyone, knew of it.

"Clearly, no one has cleaned up in a while," Ilian pointed out, the first thing he said to Faine since the night before.

He pointed to the tossed-out food, trash bags, spilled ale, and vomit splattered against the side of the stone building that barricaded against Brass Boulder. The remains of a goat carcass ripped to bits by rats and larvae reeked of rotting decay. Faine scrunched up her nose, wishing for mortal senses instead of the over-analytical ways of her body.

"I hope it smells better inside," she muffled underneath her shirt sleeve. Ilian was enjoying watching her eyes water, his smirk said it all, and Faine kicked him in the shin.

He continued to smirk and wrapped his hand around the metal door handle. "Is that any way to behave during a time like this?"

Faine narrowed her honey eyes. They were wide and bright, bordered by drawn-in brows, and were great for stealing attention. "I don't know, you tell me. Kick me in the shin and we'll see who wins."

Instead of doing that and finding themselves rolling through the streets together, Ilian yanked open the door and walked into the shed-like structure. The smell was not better. If it was possible, the stench inside Brass Boulder was even worse; it reeked of sweat-covered clothes and body odor, the worst kind. Like the owner hadn't taken a bath in weeks and rubbed himself all on every surface.

Faine felt a hand on her arm and immediately knew that Ilian couldn't see in this level of dark. Only a single torch was on the wall, on the other side of the room, but it was dying out by the second. In front of them was a wooden counter, a wall of swords, and a back door leading to another room. Shelves stocked with books, weapons, shields, and an entire array of pointy-things were intricately placed near that torch for the viewing eye of shoppers.

If anyone dared come in here. "Why do you immortals have to live in such gloomy conditions?" Ilian hissed in her ear.

His breath was the only warm presence in the room. "We like our light to be as black as our hearts," Faine retorted. She rang the bell on the wooden counter and grimaced at the sticky wooden surface. Was everything in Olhathas covered in a layer of grime?

Even in daylight, the city wasn't spectacular. The streets were still black, the white stone had long since lost its shade of beauty and depression leaked it into a soulless grey, and the summer months did nothing to help the levels of mud puddles and urine splashes. It was a city filled with mortals and low lives, yet it was somehow the lifeblood of Pinedon.

"Can't you create fire or something? I thought immortals had magic; it was in all the stories I read as a child." Ilian braced his hands on the counter, felt his way around, and stopped at Faine's elbow.

The rug underneath their boots, like the goat carcass, wasn't in prime condition anymore, but clean for the most part. Faine searched for blood stains and luckily found none. The owner of Brass Boulder sold weapons, but that didn't mean he took kindly to customers entering his shop without warning. Olhathas residents worked differently—if they saw a life, they took it.

"Our magic doesn't work that way. We're only allowed to use what we need when we need it. Right now, I can only give you this—" Faine raised her palm, and hovering over her lilac skin was the smallest orb of white. It revealed Ilian's face in the dark and illuminated the small corner of the room.

Faine squinted, noticing another door on the other side of the shop. It was behind the shelves of weapons and shields, nearly hidden behind a tapestry hanging off the wall, one corner ripped and near falling off.

"That's better than nothing," Ilian grumbled. "The only benefit of immortals I wish to have is your senses."

"To be fair, most immortals don't consider that mortals can't see, hear, taste, feel, or smell as well as they can. It's not a fault of your own, but a sincere forgetting of the insincere."

The door behind the counter banged open and the source of the stench revealed itself. An ogre. Faine nearly growled under her breath but held it down for she knew that wasn't the right way to start business with one of the most troublesome beasts in Pinedon.

Ogres were nothing of beauty—not the male or female varieties of the species. They were tall, fat, grimy, and overall unpleasant. Their bulging noses were great for smelling and their large, stretched mouths were filled with yellow, broken teeth. Wrinkles covered their skin; this ogre being of a light grey shade. The moles over his cheeks and forehead transcended onto his bald head and one stuck out—and weighed down—the very tip of his rounded ear. The only magical beast that didn't carry the pointed ear trait.

Faine liked to think that was the way of the heavens reminding her that in no way was she close to being of ogre lineage. The sight of them made her shiver. At least this one had the common sense to wear a full wardrobe unlike the many that roamed the streets and forests of all three major cities.

But they never wore shoes. Although he stood behind the counter, there was no way he had anything protecting the rest of the world from the miasma of his feet. Their nails never saw trimmers, their hands never graced lotions, their skin was the same from the day they were born. Oily, wrinkled, and ugly as hell.

"What?" the ogre snapped. A modest place of his hands on the counter came out more like a slam and the entire building rattled. Bits of dust and dirt trickled from the ceiling and landed on the floor next to Faine. She studied the pile and turned back to the ogre standing before her.

The goal? Have him say as little words as possible while gathering as much truth as she could. If his feet smelled that bad, there was little chance of his breath being minty fresh. She took that into account and so did Ilian. When Faine glanced over at him, she discovered that no longer was he standing at her side—rather a few feet back to avoid everything odious the ogre embodied. Smart boy.

"My apprentice is looking for a sword," Faine said, jerking her thumb back towards Ilian. "I've heard you have a spectacular reputation amongst Pinedon, and I wish to purchase one of your fine blades."

The ogre's grey eyes fell on Ilian, studied him carefully, and he bared his yellow, crooked teeth. They folded over each other, some bent completely and only one—the tooth directly in the middle—stood completely straight. In fact, when Faine looked closer, she discovered it was whiter than the others. Did he only wash that one tooth?

"I don't service mortals," he snarled. "You can find your sword elsewhere." The ogre turned back towards the door; his palm pressed against the wooden surface when Faine slammed three gold coins onto the counter. Luckily, at the hindrance of the grime, they stuck.

The ogre looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened at those three gold coins. Nothing in his shop was worth more than a handful of silvers. "What's your name?" Faine demanded, her voice not at all kind.

"Glugark."

"What a lovely name." She tried to hide the sarcasm in her voice. "Well, Glugark, I am offering you three gold coins for one of your fine swords, as well as consultation for my mortal apprentice. Can you do that for me?"

Glugark's long, stained fingers curled into fists and he huffed through his nose. Policies were policies, yet no one in their right mind turned down three gold coins. The amount Faine displayed appalled Ilian, especially since she said only the day before that she had no money to name. After he bought her a meal and ale, there was no sense in hiding the truth for any longer. She got a full stomach out of it, at least. She frowned when she realized she'd have no choice but to pay for the next. To earn back his trust. Again.

"Come with me," Glugark muttered under his breath. He squeezed himself from behind the counter and gestured for Ilian to follow. That was all Faine needed. A quick distraction.

"If you don't mind, I'll slip outside and find a pub that serves the finest of pies," Faine called out as they disappeared behind one of the shelves.

The only response she got was a grunt from the ogre and Ilian gave her a pleading stare to remain. She mouthed the word 'distract' and it clicked in his mind what he needed to do. When Glugark wasn't looking, Faine slipped behind the counter and crouched low to hide behind it. The door opened easily, and for once, the hinges were oiled well.

The back room smelled even worse. She pulled her shirt sleeve over her nose again and searched through the shelves, cabinets, and over the worktables with half-finished blades and well-crafted pommels meant to become the base of a sword one day. Nothing of importance. But his workspace was as messy as she expected it to be. Ogres were notorious for never cleaning up after themselves, precisely why many of them resided in the forests instead of walking through cities. No one wanted them in the streets.

As well-behaved as feral rats.

Ilian's voice muffled through the door, speaking loudly as she appeared back into the main room of the shop. She needed to find a way to slip past and reach the other door.

"What's a feliram doing with an apprentice, anyway?" Glugark grumbled. He pulled a sword off the wall display and handed it over to Ilian. At least the mortal was wise enough to keep the ogre's back towards her.

Faine walked on the balls of her feet and slipped past the end of the aisle. Glugark was too focused on receiving those gold coins to notice she was still in the shop. The first sign of her lying should've been the lack of the front door opening and closing, but not everyone was as observant as a spy.

"My master has...a soft heart," Ilian said.

Faine knew his words weren't true, but she made a mental note to make fun of him for it later. In no way was her heart soft, but she treated things delicately. Soft hearts were weak, but strong minds that got shit done was what she planned to change the world with. No longer would mortals, or the weak, come face to face with troubles without knowing she was there to back them up. Once the hundred-year deal was over, Faine wouldn't change her life completely. She'd go on to help those that needed it.

Lucky for sneaking through places Faine wasn't allowed to go, the floors were dirt. Pressed and compacted, but still dirt. And better than creaky floorboards.

"What about these swords over here?" Ilian's voice rang out over the shelf. Footsteps receded to the other side, Glugark following him, and Faine took that as her chance.

The door took a gentle tug, but it opened and she slipped through. The stone staircase nearly crumbled under her boots but she held her breath, waited, and decided that Glugark had no idea she was still in the shop. Ogres didn't have the best sense of smell, otherwise, he'd know she was still within his private property.

Faine didn't need the glow of a torch. Her immortal eyes saw everything with a blue tint. She guided herself down the stairs, bracing her hand against the cold dirt wall, and carefully peered around the corner. What she came face to face with was not what she expected. They'd complete this mission faster than three days.

Rows and rows of iron cages—bars—were neatly arranged. In the middle was a walkway, a trail covered in dirt and rotting straw. The cages weren't empty and their residents, some dead and others alive, were in the worst of conditions. Some were chained to walls, others were slumped in the corner and pressing their heads against any solid surface, moaning under their breath.

Their clothes were stripped from their bodies, their skin of arraying shades completely prone and naked to the darkness. It swallowed them. These mortals...they couldn't see a thing. Faine didn't know where to look first or what to do as she walked farther into the underground dungeon and began counting.

By the time she reached the end, she grasped a final count of nearly fifty. The mission accounted for more missing persons, nearly three times that, but one lead led into another during an interrogation. And one would start shortly for the door at the top of the staircase burst open and Glugark stood there with a torch in his hand, squinting down into the dark.

There was nowhere to hide so Faine stood there, completely frozen. Some of the mortals began to shake in fear. They recognized his presence.

"He'll skin you alive."

Faine pivoted towards the face of a young woman staring back at her. Too young. Her breasts were too small to have finished developing, her eyes were too innocent, her lips cracked and dry and her fingers still plump with young life. She couldn't be any more than twelve.

The ogre released agrowl meant to unsettle demons and in the flash of a second; he barreleddown the stairs. With nowhere to go and nowhere to hide, Faine braced forimpact.