The late summer sun was relentless. Not a cloud in the sky and not the whisper of a breeze in the air. No one in the Palace District seemed to mind; their gowns were still corseted tightly against the stomachs, their suits the darkest of black. Although fans were more common amongst the women, especially the sinwolves and fladlines with that extra fur on their bodies, the click of heels and brush of wide skirts didn't relent.

Her shoulder propped against the side of a clothing store building, one with a wooden sign overhead that displayed the carving of one of those wide gowns, Faine cut the heads off of strawberries and popped the fruit into her mouth, wiping the knife blade on her dark pants. Little did everyone know that shortly, within the next few minutes, all was about to go to hell.

A man across the street was selling iced drinks of rainbow colors, their straws swirling higher than the glasses themselves and the wooden crate he carried them in. Many shook their heads, children pointed at the selection and tugged on their parents' grip, hoping for a taste of sweet nectar. Golden bees provided the best honey; Faine recited the same words to herself every time the merchant shouted his selection out to the street.

The strawberry stand where Faine had purchased her woven basket full of red, blue, purple, and black strawberries was nearly sold out. Cheaper than the iced drinks and each color had its own flavor. The purple, not too sour and not too sweet was Faine's favorite, and her least-the black. Too sour, too bitter. Though she watched an older man pop one into his mouth and relish in the whole taste between his dry, wrinkled lips.

She dragged a hand along the back of her neck and attempted to wipe the sweat away. The heat of the afternoon did not subdue by standing in the shade, her hair pulled back behind her head. Faine was never fond of wearing her hair up like that; her pointed ears were too prominent, her horns too large when the grey strands with black undertones didn't frame her face. No one looked at her differently, but hardly anyone was paying attention to a lonely feliram picking off the heads of strawberries and feeding them to the teafolk in the alley behind her.

Ah, the teafolk. Small, immature beasts she could hardly stand to be around when traveling. In the cities, they were more docile. But once out on the open trails with nothing but trees, grass, and roots as their friends, the tea folk went after anything that moved. Even sinwolves, known for swallowing the teafolk in one gulp.

Faine tossed back another strawberry head, this time from a red, and a small teafolk caught it. The only way she could spot them through the shadow of the alley was their white skin, bright and luminous. Through that, their long ears, twice the length of their heads and sharp at the tips, waggled in thanks for the meal that a normal sized being would render a snack.

Their eyes bugged out of their heads and their words were an ancient language that Faine would never understand. It didn't matter, only the teafolk spoke it amongst themselves but still had the courtesy to speak the common language of the land. They were fond of stealing from travelers-small trinkets they could carry from the backs of wagons during the night while the world was sleeping. Small and hard to spot, they worked best in tall grasses or in thick brush.

When her small, woven basket of strawberries was empty, Faine handed it over to the teafolk and bid them farewell. She wasn't in the right position anyway and watching the small beasts struggle with carrying their strawberry heads and the basket could distract her long enough she missed the prime opportunity to grab what she came for.

The teafolk, no bigger than her hand, struggled amongst themselves as they departed deeper into the alleyway and ducked their heads, tucking in their ears, to fit in a crack that led to the bottom of the clothing store. Like a rat infestation, that was something the owner needed to look at. Nobody wanted teafolk, not even the city kind, sneaking in and making themselves a residence where it wasn't desired.

Faine's reinforced jerkin, closed in the front by buckles and tied at the sides with leather straps, was fitting, yet comfortable. Anything else and she might slip out of it. Not for this mission, not for stealing a crown that didn't belong to her and was already being stolen by someone else.

She forced Kaspar to remain at the base so she had the opportunity to do this alone. There was nothing more honorable than completing this sort of expedition without the aid of a fellow thief, and it was a fact that Zebulon would take with a half-empty approach. But better than nothing at all.

Faine smiled at a lute player on the side of the cobblestone street, resting his back against a lamppost, and dropped a single gold coin into the upturned hat at his knee. He thanked her with a dip of his chin and resumed playing, a soft melody about to be interrupted.

Few guards patrolled, and the ones that bothered to stick around in the streets were too busy huddling underneath the shade of a bakery awning and purchasing cold drinks from the many merchants selling them. At least their failures gave her a further chance to escape, and she hadn't thought about it yet-what would happen if a crowd formed and she couldn't find a way out. An opening for freedom would turn up, eventually.

The calm silence of the Palace District, interrupted by the lute player, suddenly sliced open by the reverberation of hollers and shouting coming from two streets over. Faine smiled to herself and casually moved to the middle of the street. If her calculations were correct, and she placed the blockades in front of alleyways promptly, Ilian would come running through at any moment.

A large crash erupted from one street over and the music stopped, hushed conversations turning into questions of what was happening.

"Grab him!" A guard shouted.

"Don't let him get away!" Another pleaded.

A gasp, a scream, and cursing ladies were all that came. No one stopped the fleeing thief or bothered to get in his way. He was still running and the guards once protecting themselves from the sun were rushing in that direction. But Ilian would not come clear down the street. He'd do whatever it took to ensure he had other routes to take. Routes that Faine blocked.

She examined her nails-waiting. Then she saw him.

Ilian broke through the crowd, shoving people aside. His eyes were wide with fear, his skin stricken with sweat, hairs sticking to his forehead. The satchel clutched in his hand spun around wildly and his clothes, rumpled from the escape and the failed attempts of guards that hadn't done their job well enough, clung tight against his body.

"Sorry!" he blurted upon knocking a woman over. Her skirts billowed over her head, revealing pantyhose, but Ilian was too far gone to help her up. And headed directly for Faine.

Boots thundered along the cobblestone street, guards chasing after Ilian, and he continued to shove his way through. The Palace District was used to seeing thieves and used to seeing their executions days later. They were events that everyone wanted to view, and the chase beforehand was as much entertainment. They would not help. Not in their fine clothes and not while carrying purchased wares.

The crowd parted just enough to let him through. And at the last second, when the huffs of his breaths were loud in Faine's ears, she stepped directly in his way, using her body as a physical blockade. It wasn't much, Ilian's weight crashed into her and she grabbed on, all the while feigning her fall.

Her hand wrapped around the leather satchel and she ignored the pain of their bodies colliding, hers flying. The force sent her away with the satchel and Faine slammed into the cobblestone, body rolling. Ilian lost his balance and his mortal hands, unhealable, skidded along the street.

Everything stopped. The guards were running, but they halted and pointed their weapons at Ilian, not at Faine. She clutched the satchel tight in her grip and felt the form of the crown on the inside. Heavy and thick with rhinestones, diamonds, and opals. The elves' favorite gems.

Ilian looked around wildly, panting, and spotted her. The satchel clutched in her grip. The shock painted on her face and the blood leaking through the sleeve of her undershirt. That didn't matter. The wound would heal itself within hours.

"Give...give me that," Ilian demanded, reaching out his hand towards her.

The streets went hushed. Everyone nearby was watching, waiting for what Faine might do or what the guards planned to do to Ilian. Not a single one moved forward to slap shackles around his wrists, and every man, woman, and child held their breath. The lute player watched tensely, eyes glued onto Faine as he remembered her dropping in a gold coin only minutes ago. Now her pants were scuffed, the fabric torn, and she was bleeding, clutching the satchel with a crown hidden on the inside.

Faine stood slowly, as did Ilian. He extended out a hand to her, but she took one step back in fear. Well, false fear. She wasn't scared, there was a hole to her right she could fit through and the teafolk in the alleyway would be more than glad to stop the guards' attempts when they chased after her.

"That is mine," Ilian said. "I need you to hand it over."

"This satchel?" Faine asked, appearing dumbfounded.

Ilian's nostrils flared with impatience. It wouldn't be long before the guards made their move, or someone shouted that he needed to die. The guards were all for making a show out of their killings, though it wasn't common in the Palace District. They had civil minds here, but even reasoning came to an end when a mortal man's head was on the line.

"That is my satchel." He took one step towards her and mimicking, Faine took one step back. Closer to the hole. Out of the corner of her eye, the lute player was standing slowly, clutching his instrument tight against his body. Hardly anyone gave gold coins, the people in the Palace District were stingy with their riches. Faine made a point she wasn't that way and gave a smile, every man's weakness, as well.

One ally.

"You are a mortal man surrounded by beast," Faine scrutinized. "Shouldn't you be a little more frightened by what is around you, rather than what if before you?" She waggled the satchel around in her grip and Ilian's eyes followed it the way a sinwolf stalked a piece of raw meat.

"Don't fool me with your trickery." He lunged for her, the crowd gasped, and Faine leapt back. Too quick, but he had come too close. Within a finger's reach.

The lute player was moving into position at Faine's back. Just a few more seconds...

"Things of value are not returned so easily," Faine mused. She made her eyes sparkle, made a low growl rumble from her throat when she revealed her fangs.

Ilian didn't divulge his fear. If he had any at all, he was skilled at hiding it. Either that or the moment of losing his life and the satchel all at once was catching up to him. He only felt what he needed to feel-panic. He didn't care about her or the others standing around. Like Faine, he had a strategy to get himself out of this, no matter what it took.

"Fine. What do you wish for in return?" He was ready to pounce.

The collar of his shirt was loose, the string coming undone, and his warm, golden chest glistened in the afternoon sunlight. He had one thing on his side, at least. A handsome face and a solid body to match. His sleeves billowed at the wrists, torn from falling against the stone.

Faine's grin stretched. "I wish for a chase."

She waited long enough for Ilian's face to contort into confusion. She turned on her heel, quick as a snake, and ducked against the slice of spears aiming for her head, dipping into the alleyway. Her body moved into a full-on sprint and in a second, she was through the alley and out the other end, breaking out onto the street. No guards and hardly any civilians. They were in the next street over to view the commotion.

"Hey!" Ilian shouted, his voice echoing. He grunted and wood cracked. Faine chuckled. The lute player turned out to be a strong ally.

A second later, Faine whirled to see Ilian breaking into the street, eyes wandering quickly until he spotted her getting away. He shouted for her again, immediately sprinting, and Faine quickened her pace.

People dodged left and right, horses reared back, and guards were too late to stop her when she passed through. She knew the alleys that weren't blocked off and took them, being careful not to trample any teafolk on her way out of the city. They wouldn't catch her, not in the many years she'd been taking a hidden entrance and exit out of the city. A break in the fence that was big enough for only her to fit through.

The only shame was her lack of a chance to put another geas on him. Ilian didn't need to remember her face, it would only complicate things, but her plan was working. She was escaping.

The Palace District was a blur around her, as was the many faces in the crowd fluttering from one end of the street to the other. Sinwolves, fladlines, felirams, gadigators, unicorns, and dragons-everything was a meaningless blur. Still, she listened to the relentless shouting behind her-Ilian's protests, and kept running.

She knew the alleyway with the teafolk had a ladder leading up to the roof. It was high, too tall for a mortal man to reach but with her immortal strengths...Faine dashed left and narrowly missed slamming into the broad chest of a fire dragon. It snarled at her and snapped its jaws, but Faine was long gone. The hairs pulled back behind her head were beginning to tear loose and the sweat cooled on her skin.

The guards pursuing her would never be fast enough, they'd never be smart enough, and Ilian, even with his impressive reputation as a spy for Silver Willow, would never get the crown. Faine had lived longer, had stolen many things, and this was no different. It didn't matter if Ilian knew what he was doing after the short years of his life, Faine was older and had stolen without looking back.

He was gaining ground second by second and when Faine turned; she found him to be closer than she expected. Moving fast, he leapt over the market stand she had dodged mere seconds ago and was already shoving the trade merchant out of the way when Faine turned down an alley.

The ladder awaited her, the teafolk scattered, and she made a jump for it. Her hands stung when they wrapped around the metal rung and her abdomen burned when she hoisted herself up just as Ilian crashed into the alleyway and found her already climbing up.

"Hey!" He shouted, his voice echoing off the walls enclosing them.

Faine grasped for a foothold on the lowest rung and smiled down at the mortal man below her. He leapt, but his reach didn't extend enough. Repaying her for the strawberry heads she gifted minutes ago, the teafolk tugged on his pants and untied the laces of his boots.

"Here's a tip," Faine said once she was on top of the building, a breeze tearing at her damp skin. Ilian stopped kicking at the teafolk to look up at her. "Never underestimate the immortals; we may be stronger than you."

Ilian blanched and screamed through his teeth, vaulting one of the teafolk across the alleyway where another group was waiting to catch the tiny beast. He was out of his league. Mortals didn't live well in Pinedon and there was always an immortal waiting around to remind them of that. So few resided in Isflean, and their only known residence was Olhathas, a city where work was smiled upon and mortals were low enough to complete that exertion.

There was no sense in him leaping for the ladder again. But he tried, his fingers falling through, and he nearly crushed a few teafolk on the way back down.

Faine grinned at his failures and found amusement in his troubles, but she only had so much time before the guards caught up to her. The same went for Ilian. That one second of distraction, that thought, gave him enough time to leap again and grab onto the ladder rung. Now she was really out of time.

She placed two fingers against her lips and released a sharp whistle. A rumble sounded from two streets over and the loud beat of wings drew a gust of wind that blew back the loose strands of Faine's hair. She didn't have to look to know Tyvni, her dragon, was rising over the street line.

Ilian scrambled up the ladder faster as the moss green dragon hovered over Faine and carefully grabbed onto the leather shoulder pads of her jerkin, claws digging in only to scrape against her skin.

As the mortal man reached the roof, leaping for her, Faine lifted into the air with one final wave in his direction. The loud beat of wings rang in her ears and carried her into the sky and as she departed, the Palace District growing small below her, she laughed and climbed up Tyvni's leg and past her wing, sliding onto the leather saddle strapped against her back.

She patted the green scales carefully over the back of the dragon's thorned neck. "Take us home, Tyvni!" she exclaimed.

Tyvni released a cry that alerted the other dragons of her departure and Faine looked back as echoes of screeches filled the Palace District and Ilian was only a speck in the distance, watching her fly away with his treasure.