The wealthy district of Isflean, known as the Palace District, was bustling with the late summer evening. Women in bejeweled gowns slung shopping bags over their arms, men in tailored coats walked with their spines straight, their chins high. The cobblestone streets, wide and surrounded by palaces of lime mortar construction, were packed.

Isflean's markets were always popular attractions. They took place in city circles and merchants from different lands entirely set up their wares for grand display—whether jewelry, shoes, hats, weapons, baked goods and everything else under the sun. Their wagons pulled by the finest of appaloosas sprawled out to reveal their selections, cupboards opening, backdoors propped with heavy logs, and the inside of their world was gifted to shoppers and other merchants alike.

The Palace District and the slums were two very different sides of the city. The smells were better; baked goods weren't burnt, urine didn't stick to the rough stone of the street, and the restaurants didn't toss their foods outside into the alleys for the rats to eat. The Palace District never stooped so low, and that finery transferred to their craft.

Standing behind the bar of one of the most esteemed restaurants in the entire district, Faine looked over the folder one last time. If her fellow spy's, Nalea's, calculations were correct, members of Silver Willow were meeting here to discuss stealing the crown. Merely a few blocks away and visible over the tall buildings that usually spanned three stories, the tips of the palace where the high elf family resided was visible. The glistening roof tiles blinded those on the warmest and sunniest of days, like the one Faine was currently viewing.

The restaurant, specializing in well-spiced meals and decadent desserts, was labeled affectionately as The Black Apple. Not for terms of being rotten or burning their food, but for the black apple trees lining the front of the building, planted to cook in their desserts. Black apples, not as fine as the red apples that naturally grew in the fairy forests, had a mellow taste that, when ingested, granted fertility to the immortals that faced difficulty conceiving. Expensive beyond standards, and much too rich for Faine's taste.

It didn't matter how many black apple tarts she ingested. It had been one hundred and twenty years ago that she stopped trying to think about her future with a family or with children when the fine wizards of Isflean told her mother that Faine could never have children. She was infertile, a common fault amongst immortals of her kind, and there was no fixing it. Still, Faine's mother, as resilient as ever, made her eat black apple tarts until she vomited the gloomy mess onto their rugs.

Faine knew her mother was only doing what she believed to be right. It wasn't long after she passed that Faine had to pick up the pieces for herself. She never knew her father, and neither did her mother, but that never bothered her. A life in Isflean, granted by her mother's excellent craft making purses for the luxurious women in the Palace District, was never sorrowed. If Faine's father didn't want to know her, she wouldn't force it.

There were no booths in the Black Apple. Wooden tables carved in the shape of circles and draped with a white cloth that nearly touched the floor were the only seating arrangements. The chairs were velvet while others, the tables in the middle of the room, had metal backs with intricate designs and white, plump cushions for guests.

The flower arrangement in the middle of each table was a simple rose in a cream white vase of varying colors. Some were solid, some were splashed with an array of shades. Rainbow roses, Pinedon referred to them as.

Faine scanned the room, eyes falling on the back of Kaspar's head. Although the owner of the Black Apple was more than pleased to allow her to work for them at the return of free labor, they weren't keen on having Kaspar sit at one of their tables, taking valuable seating away from other customers. They didn't have to mention how bulky and unsettling he might be to the rest of the Palace District, but Faine read through his words. Felirams, when pushed towards the finer sides of life, weren't kind. No one in the Palace District was kind, frankly.

The kettle of steaming coffee on the bar before her was half-empty but served enough as a prop as Faine weaved around the wooden counter, her heels clicking on the polished floorboards, and walked towards Kaspar's table. The white cloth brushed against her barmaid dress, the corset tightening every breath and pushing up her breasts until she felt as though they were brushing against her chin. Kaspar smirked at her twitching.

"Care for anything else?" she asked sweetly for the other customers seated at the surrounding tables.

While she stood, hoping no one was looking at her, Faine scratched at the inside of her leg underneath the long skirts of the dress. The puffed sleeves were remarkably uncomfortable and always impeded on her pouring water or coffee for the customers. Although the corset drew attention, it wasn't the kind Faine was looking for.

Kaspar smirked at her, placing the side of his face against his fist. "You're quite beautiful. Too beautiful to be a barmaid, if you ask me," he mocked. He flashed his fangs and Faine rolled her eyes, scooting the tip of her shoe forward to press it onto the top of his boot.

"Your flattery is amusing," she gushed. It almost made her gag to speak to him that way, even after all they'd been through together. They'd never been fond of the sweet, compliment type relationship.

"I must ask about the crepes; are they any good? A friend of mine raved about them, but as you can see by my physique, I hardly find myself eating anything sweet. Unless that involves you, of course."

Faine's cheeks heated when he winked at her. It was all a game and one Kaspar was skilled at playing, but he was drawing too much attention. His voice was too deep, too loud, and Faine had to bite her cheek to keep from smirking or flicking his nose.

"I think you'll find the crepes to be to your liking." Faine's eyes darted to the leather folder tucked underneath his thigh. Quieter this time, she asked, "Did you get around to looking at the information?" He had a copy of his own, scribbled quickly with all the highlights, and had looked through it repeatedly.

Although Kaspar hadn't been assigned to her task, he was more than happy to lend a hand. Besides, Zebulon hadn't assigned him any leads. His time was his for the taking, and while he might spend it training or spying for no reason in particular other than to pick up random tips, Kaspar chose to spend his day in the Palace District, one of the places he hated going to the most.

"I did," Kaspar hushed. "Everything points to the right time, right place. All we have to do is wait."

Faine nodded and rose back to her full height, brushing off the skirts of her dress as she went. She hoped their hushed tones were normal to any spectators; possibly her inviting him to do more than sit at a table and flirt with her. Faine's reputation wasn't that, but she didn't fail to notice that everyone in Rising Eternity knew of her relationship with Kaspar. At least they said nothing about it, other than Zebulon.

She returned to the bar and filled the kettle so the other barmaids would stop frowning at her. The last thing they wanted was a newbie on the job, but Faine revealed her fangs in snarls and hoped they didn't approach her. After that day, they'd never see her again. Unless Nalea's information wasn't correct, then they would. Part of being a spy for Rising Eternity was making mistakes after putting all the puzzle pieces together.

The bell over the door chimed and Faine looked up. Two entered, one a man and the other, a woman. It was the man that grabbed Faine's attention, his rounded ears and otherwise normal appearance. Mortals were rare to locate in the land, especially Isflean, but one was standing before her and shrugging off his coat. He spoke in hushed tones to the woman at his side, a fladline, and jerked his chin towards Faine standing at the counter.

The woman rolled her cat eyes and through short, ash brown hair, two fuzzy ears poked out against the sides of her head. In a corset that was much too tight for even the Black Apple, she strolled to the counter and rested her thin, golden arms onto it.

"How can I help you?" Faine asked in her kindest and highest-pitched tone. It caught the attention of the mortal man, and he craned his neck past the fladline to squint at Faine standing before him.

She flashed her fangs in a grin meant to unsettle him, but it did nothing. As if he'd seen it before and knew not to fear the many beasts around him.

"We'd like a table for two, please. Preferably near the window; I need to people-watch," the fladline ordered.

Faine grabbed two lace-edged menus and led them towards a table against the wall of windows, two tables away from Kaspar and close enough to the counter to hear them at a normal speaking level. Although it wasn't exactly the busiest view of the restaurant, both sat down and immediately looked over the menu.

"Can I get you started with something to drink?" Faine asked. To put on the show required of her, she pulled out a notepad and a small ink pen and clutched both between her lilac fingers.

These were the two she was waiting for. Two thieves from Silver Willow, another crime guild to the north. More known than Rising Eternity, and definitely more skilled in all ways of crime. Faine wondered how a mortal man managed to weasel his way into such a position, but his hard expression—a mask—gave Faine more answers than an ordinary person would realize.

He was young, and couldn't be more than twenty-five years old. His black waistcoat fit perfectly around his tight abdomen and the white shirt underneath, cuffed at his forearms, revealed the warm ivory skin of his arms. Faine blinked at him, smiling in the sweetest way she knew how, and waited for their answers.

"Do those hurt?" he asked her.

Her amusement faded. "Does what hurt?" She folded her hands in front of her abdomen, still clutching the notepad and pen in her fingers. His companion was still looking at the menu and retracting her claws in and out, in and out.

"Your horns." He jerked his chin towards the white horns on the sides of her head and tapped his skull. "Do they hurt?"

 Of course, such a question would come from a mortal man. Was he raised around no one other than his own kind? To put on her best display of being a kind and well-mannered barmaid, Faine plastered on that grin again. His eyes drifted to her fangs, but he said nothing. Nor did he squirm. She couldn't tell which outcome she cared for the least.

"They hurt when they were growing, but that was over one hundred years ago." Faine giggled, waving a hand in his direction and hoping, praying, that she was blushing. She hadn't quite mastered that skill yet.

He swallowed and a 'hmm' left his throat. "You don't look a day past twenty-two."

Was that a compliment?

He wasn't terrible to look at, either. She'd never seen such a dark shade of blue eyes in a mortal man. They were commonly sapphire, or so pale that the skin had to be a similar shade. But never as dark as the eyes displayed before her. Cobalt was her best explanation for their color.

"Now, back to those drinks," Faine sighed, looking to either expectantly.

The mortal man began to speak but his companion cut him off. "I wish to have tea with ice, no sugar, and only half a lemon slice. More than that and it's too much. Also, don't squeeze the lemon, leave it on the side. Make sure the tea isn't too sweet and make sure it's not bland. Otherwise, I'll send it back," the fladline ordered. She handed her menu back to Faine. "Also, I'll have the cabbage bread bowl stew."

Faine scribbled the order onto the pad and ignored the golden-brown eyes studying her at the table. Fladlines were never comfortable providing personal space for anyone. In any given situation, she might scowl and ask what the woman was staring at, but that fake smile was beginning to hurt her cheeks so she needed to get the mortal man's order.

"And for you, sir?" she inquired.

As Kaspar had done mere minutes ago, he rested his chin on his cheek and tilted his cobalt eyes to her. "What is your favorite meal at this restaurant?"

Now she understood why he was part of Silver Willow. Not that he was lucky or someone paid for him to be there. He wasn't asking her the question out of pure curiosity; he wanted to see if she had an answer at the ready for him. Without looking at the menu still sitting on the table before him, Faine tapped the pen against her mouth and acted like she was considering the many she favored.

He had tricks of his own, but so did she. In preparation for a question like this, she examined the menu beforehand and picked a dish she might favor over the many options served year-round. "Well, it depends on the time of year," she began, shifting her weight to one hip. "At this time, I favor the black pepper pasta. It has a fresh lemon flavor that really goes well with the season."

"Then I will take one order of that, as well as a mug of your finest ale." He handed the menu back to her.

"Sir, I am very sorry to inform you that we don't provide ale." Faine stuck out her bottom lip in disappointment and chewed on her nail for emphasis. No, wait, she thought. Be professional. This wasn't a rutty tavern in the slums.

The mortal man was already onto her and she quickly wiped her hand away, flashing him an apologetic look like it was an honest mistake. His expression revealed no hint of distress.

"Fine, I'll have a glass of your favorite wine."

That, Faine could decide without thinking twice. She'd had more than one drink here, and the sweetest wine happened to be her favorite, too. She bid the two spies farewell, promising their meal would arrive soon and started on their very complicated order of drinks. The waiting game was only beginning.