Olhathas was as grimy and dark as it had been weeks ago. The only difference was that Faine and Ilian weren't alone. Trailing them like a dog—or a cat—was Ginevra. She moved slower than they did, talked more, but when things got too quiet or too fast, she did what was necessary to turn the situation in her favor.

The fladline, with her golden-brown eyes, button nose, and fuzzy ears, did not fit into the city of darkness. Though she wore pants and boots, susceptible to the mud puddles in the city, uncleanliness didn't favor her. Like a fine lady, she moved like one, spoke like one, and did everything in her power to ensure she was treated like one.

As a group of three, they strolled through the depths of the Echo Market towards the outskirts of Olhathas, near the docks and away from prying eyes of the high elf father's guards. The Echo Market was hidden underground and the only entrance and exit was through a winding stairwell underneath the bottom of a very popular tavern. Price of admission was one gold coin to view some of the rarest and illegal goods in Pinedon.

Crime bosses, assassins, thieves, the rich and even the poor; anyone that could afford to be down there was. They dressed in finery; they wore black velvet coats and used canes as weapons rather than an aide to walk. Swords were gold, fangs were diamonds, cosmetics were heavy and clothes were of the finest quality.

The Echo Market didn't belong to the faint of heart. Only the strong survived in such a place, and a single gold coin didn't grant one more than entry. They were on their own once their boots hit the cold dirt floor. Somewhere along the many twists and turns, the Echo Market connected to the sewers that ran through the higher-class parts of Olhathas, if there were any, to begin with. Through grates or wooden doors, those passageways were undetectable and likely guarded so thieves couldn't escape the market without a fight first.

Anything went in such a dark and empty stretch of tunnels. The carvings on the walls told stories of past murders and drawn portraits of thieves that managed to escape the hold of every beast hiding in the dark. The faces of the merchants were decorated with scars or tattoos; some wore glasses or monocles to prove they were better than the rest.

Faine spotted nothing of interest. Illegal herbs that caused hallucinations, poisons that stiffened the body to the point of being unusable, explosives that, if used, would level half the city. Stolen fairies fluttered around in cages, small manacles around their ankles to keep them from sliding their small, skinny bodies through the bars. Even a feral feliram stuck in a cell was up for purchase. He foamed at the mouth and slammed his horns against the iron bars, only to fail and face the poke of a spear from a guard on the other side. What would anyone use a feral feliram for? To kill enemies, possibly.

Everyone kept a close eye on everyone else. In turn, Faine kept Ilian's scent at the front of her nose to ensure he wasn't kidnapped as a slave and sold to the highest bidder. The Echo Market was crawling with buyers in need of slaves, and if they found an able-bodied man for a cheap price, they'd jump on it. Not if Faine was there to stop such a cruel and demeaning way of life for humans.

The fact he came down to the Echo Market was an achievement on its own. They hadn't ventured to the blacksmith yet but wanted to search the market first for anyone willing to make such a complicated design without faltering it. Faine's words, not Ilian's. It was hard enough to find someone in Isflean without an underground market, but this was the perfect place.

"This market certainly has wandering eyes," Ginevra whispered in Faine's ear when they stopped at a jewelry stand. Crystals cut into sharp points, whole diamonds, and all shades of stones stared back at them. "I've never been to the Echo Market."

"It's not a place for the weak," Faine said loud enough for the merchant, a beautiful seennouk with a beak long enough to curl under, to hear. She studied them, bored, and was slowly braiding her long, onyx hair. The white beads mixed throughout the strands were stark against her dark skin. "I've been to the market many times in my day, and I've avoided trouble every time. I suggest you take the same precautions."

Ginevra craned her neck. "It's not me you must worry about." She jerked her chin to Faine's right. "It's the mortal boy believing he's big and strong enough to walk through a market without catching any attention."

Surely enough, when Faine looked, Ilian was walking down the middle of the tunnel with his hands stuffed in his pockets, mindlessly looking from one market stand to the next. Everyone, the merchants to the beasts hiding in shadow, were watching him like they were prepared to pounce on their prey. He was paying them no mind.

Faine scoffed. "Do you believe we should interfere? Ilian may believe he is stronger than most, but he cannot take on the minotaur staring him down from across the tunnel."

"Where are you looking?" Ginevra squinted into the dark, and the beast shifted from within the shadows to stand at his selection of weapons.

He was one of the biggest minotaur Faine had ever seen, not to mention one of the ugliest. The scar through his right eye was the brightest light in the tunnel—a pale white—and deeper than many of the pockets of the shoppers' pants. Though his clothes fit, the collar of his shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a broad chest and more scars hiding behind a golden chain of teeth. Mortal teeth.

Faine strutted over to his market stand, passing Ilian in the process, and looked down at his selection. Just what she was looking for. Gauntlets, bracers, swords, grappling hooks, crossbows—everything under the sun. There was even a selection of poisons off to the side.

"Quite the shop you have," she said with a click of her tongue.

The minotaur's horns stuck out wide against the sides of his head and his wrinkled snout huffed once to digest her scent. If Ilian's scent was still covering her from head to toe from the other night of dealing with her cycles, she'd be in for another case of: we don't serve mortals here. It had been interesting to watch Ginevra's eyes widen when Faine first walked into the kitchens the next morning.

The fladline had sniffed once, then twice, and nearly stuffed her face in her bowl of stew before Faine revealed what had gone on the night before. She supposed the longing for Ilian had been her body's way of telling her she missed Kaspar and longed for contact of any kind, even if it was one friend helping another.

Ginevra sighing in relief and trying to hide it was a show Faine wouldn't pay to see. It was falsely spectacular. She had only one thing to say when she thought of their relationship together—friends, but nothing more. Bullshit.

"Is he with you?" the minotaur asked, jerking his chin over her shoulder. She hadn't realized Ilian was standing over it, observing the goods.

"No, this is a straggler that hangs over my shoulder like a fairy," Faine deadpanned. "Yes, he's with me." She frowned up at the beast and received a similar expression in response. It would be wrong to ask him if he made any other expression besides that horrible, wrinkled frown. She'd definitely get them kicked out, possibly killed, if she stepped out of line farther than she already had.

The minotaur chuckled as Faine went back to examining two bracers, silver, and laced with gold accents of twirling lines surrounded by a square frame.

"Are the beasts of the world not satisfying enough?" he asked. Faine didn't bother to look up to see if the question was directed at her; she knew it was. "You sought a mortal to be your lover?"

The heat was practically pouring off Ginevra as she stood at Faine's other side. "What do you mean?" Ilian snapped.

"We reek of each other," Faine mumbled. "From the other night." It was impossible to have another outcome. The smell of another lasted for days on end, until enough baths washed it away. Even colognes couldn't mask each scent, precisely why so many unfaithful relationships couldn't hide amongst immortals.

After Faine had fallen asleep, Ilian didn't leave. When she woke in the morning, he was still there, pressed against her pillows with his hand against her stomach. At the thought of Ginevra, her blood had curdled into guilt but nothing happened. Not the slightest of wants besides what was natural.

Ilian finally understood what she was talking about. "Oh," he breathed. That, apparently, was amusing to the minotaur for he chuckled again.

She raised the bracer into the air to bring a focus to that rather than the obvious question. "Are these hidden weapons?"

"Are yours?"

Faine flicked her free wrist, and the blade broke free. "Is that enough answer or do you need me to write it out for you?" Her brow raised into an annoyed arch.

It was a threat and an answer—all wrapped into one steel blade. He studied the craft with one quick observation and then looked back to the one grasped within her purple fingers. "That one is indeed a hidden blade. The set is ten gold coins."

"Ten gold coins?" Faine repeated sharply. "That's five per bracer; are you trying to rob me or make an honest sale?"

"That depends: are you upgrading or purchasing a set for your lover?" The wooden market table groaned underneath the beast's weight when he leaned forward, pressing his burly hands against it. His fingers were bigger than sausages.

Faine clicked her tongue. "I don't remember the last time I had to provide background information when making a purchase."

"You have weak company. I'm interested to know why a man whore is serving as your lover rather than one of the slaves currently being sold down here." The minotaur knew which words would strike home, but for Ilian's sake, he kept his mouth shut and played the part.

Though the same could not be said for Ginevra. "Say one more word about him and I'll rip that ring from your nostrils," she threatened.

The minotaur did not regard her with the same, strong favor. Fladlines originated as useless cats, and that was how he viewed her. An easy death, as simple as a snapped neck. "Do you fancy the mortal, too?" the minotaur mocked. "Weakness follows weakness, so I can't say I'm shocked."

Ginevra slammed the sharp point of a dagger onto the wooden table. It wobbled, as did the rest of the items up for purchase, and the minotaur took the handle between two large fingers and pried it free with no effort at all. The nearest market stalls had gone quiet, and they held their breath when he examined the blade, then the small cut in the wood.

"Twelve gold coins," he corrected.

Faine groaned.

"I'll pay the twelve gold coins." It was Ilian's voice that rung out over them all and the minotaur was more than happy to take each coin dropped into his scarred palm. He counted them out with a smile and handed over the bracers, complete with a shine and trial run before Ilian made his final decision. At least he was kind enough to do that.

As they were walking away, Ilian sporting his new bracers, the minotaur called out, "Don't lose your fire, fladline." He waggled her dagger at her and she scowled to reveal sharp fangs. The claws shot out from the tips of her fingers. As if he was falling in love with her right there, he grinned. "We have too many weaklings in Pinedon. Don't allow yourself to be one of them."

Faine said nothing, but when they emerged back out onto the busy street, she couldn't help but notice that the fladline was carrying herself taller and stronger than she had before. The reason was simple. Someone other than Ilian had finally noticed her—and for the right reasons. Not for her beauty or her grace. It was for the fire brewing in her lungs, attempting desperately to get out.