When we had arrived in Bell Haven, the crowds had not been so vicious. The buildings below eye level were practically invisible between the masses. Nobody seemed to be explicitly shouting, but combined, their voices crashed against my ears like a thundering waterfall, drowning out all else. Two people brushed past me on either side, and after a delay, I buckled my knees and staggered backwards. It was such an artificial movement that my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The intention had been to hide my strength — any human would have staggered back, but not one of us. But I waited too long, and the reaction came after they were both well past me.

And yet, it seemed nobody had even noticed. Others walked past, oblivious to my fumble. There was an intoxicated rush to them, an inebriation that materialised only from their sheer number. I could tell where most people in Senvia were going, what sorts of people they were, but here was just a mess with no rhyme or reason. Instinctively, my shoulders came in a bit to turtle myself. And the smell. It was inhumane. Something between juiced rotten apples and at least four different kinds of bodily fluids.

I looked around for anchor. A solid wall rose up nearby, somewhere I could go to breathe with less of that stench, and where people would only pass by on one side. The bricks were soothingly cold. Familiar, was the right word. Bricks were still just bricks.

In all the voices, a few stood out near me. Near me were two merchants trying to pass off their wares, a hoard of dried mango slices covered in a litany of spice mixes. They were paired, the two to a single cart, and were approaching people with samples to sell. I thought it was random at first, until I noticed the clothes. Everyone they approached was wearing poorer clothing. That part I was used to, I had seen it so often in Senvia. Wealthier clothing was woven, stitched, or otherwise formed precisely by hand, usually with a strengthening enchantment of some kind. It was meticulous, each piece unique. Poorer clothing was generic, repetitive. Rather than handmade, it was most often woven by an arcane loom that made ten of them faster than a human could make one. The patterning was predictable, flawless in a sense that made it seem cheap.

I hadn't noticed one of them approach me. "Dried mango, miss? Someone like you, I'm sure you like the spicier sort. I have a delicacy of a blend here, made with paprika, garlic, salt, and a sweet secret ingredient."

I grinned like an idiot. I loved dried mango.

And then I realised.

I nearly opened my mouth in outrage, then stopped and looked down at my clothes. They were indeed ragged. Not patterned predictably, just messy, and the same ones I'd gotten from Lucian. They were, in a very literal sense, tavern clothes. I hadn't changed them in weeks, and I'd even been sleeping in them, only washing them whenever was convenient.

When I looked up, he was already gone, most likely scared off by the realisation that he'd have to deal with whatever story he thought I was carrying around. These merchants weren't here to trade in stories. Just mangoes.

More voices raised up from the crowd, across the plaza from my little wall. I hadn't ventured more than a few minutes from the entrance to the Athenaeum before I stumbled on this place. It wasn't the middle of the city as far as I could tell, but rather the heart of one of the city's more populated districts, Southpoint. I stepped off the wall towards the shouting and the crowd swept me away.

Two people approached me with intent. Not part of the crowd, but as separate moving entities. On the left was a notably fat one, not quite a blob but tall and hefty, like he ate nothing but fatty meats. The one on the right was sooty and tired-looking. Still tall, but his eyes betrayed a deadness inside.

"You owe us!" shouted the fat one. "Fifty Avens!"

I looked around, bewildered. "Me?"

The fat one rolled his eyes. "Yes, you! What, did you think that favour was free? Fifty Avens, now!"

Most people in this city made that in about two or three months, before taxes. Avens were not pocket change, they were true currency. It's what I normally carried with me, just in case. They were also what I had absolutely none of at that moment.

"Okay, look," I lowered my voice as they reached me. "I don't know who you are or what favours you think you've done, but I've never seen you before—"

"Shut up," spat the tired one. "Give us what you owe."

"... Oh?" I asked, my tone now deadly.

The fat one grabbed me and lifted me up, straining to keep me aloft. Over the heads of the crowd, a small group of soldiers were gathered. Not the city watch, but soldiers wearing the colours of the Senvian Empire, gold on black with three blue gems emblazoned into the cloth cover, one for each of the stars of Pathoticism. I could handle them too if I needed to, but...

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"Listen woman," he spat, the vile tone palpable when he branded me for what was between my legs, "You owe us. If you don't pay up, we'll make sure you're put where you belong."

I really didn't want a spotlight on me. That was the only thing stopping me from caving their heads in.

"On the throne?" I jived, my arms lax at my sides while his hand struggled to keep me aloft at my collar. "You seem to have such a problem with me being a woman, but we had an empress for thirty five years."

The fat one looked at the tired one. "Thirty... Jave, how long was she..."

"Who gives a shit?" Jave shot back. "Keep focused, this bitch owes us money."

He huffed. "Oh... right. I'm tired, Jave. She's really heavy."

I closed my eyes and took in a breath.

"Who cares how heavy she is? She. Owes. Us. Money. Fifty Avens, Delmond!" He slapped Delmond's chest. "Keep it together. And you!" He turned to me. "The empire has never been weaker than in those forty years."

"Thirty five," said Jave.

"The empire has never been weaker than in those thirty five years! Not enough wars, shitty laws, some bullshit focus on 'academic rigor' for all those big fancy pants and their big books. Nothing for us, the working lads! The people out there, swords to shields, defending the common people. Someone made right to make sure to replace her before a woman ended up being the last Emperor of Senvia."

"How do you want to be remembered?" I asked, still hanging from Jave's hands. "Alive? Or with your head bashed into that stone right there?"

"Do you think that's how they wanted it to be remembered?" he continued, unfazed. "A city died because a woman was in charge? Or that it died when it was at its strongest, ruled by the great and powerful Emperor Alaric!"

The cold, hard reminder of my months of pent-up rage and sorrow slapped against my lungs. Every piece of effort I had went into keeping my fist away from their faces, but I couldn't unclench it.

Delmond gave a bellowing roar to accompany the message. "Strongest! Strongest!"

He was going to unite the continent!" shouted Jave. "Make us whole again! A new era of expansion, he said!"

The soldiers were starting to take notice from the shouting. One of them turned his head and saw me, still lifted above the crowd. Delmond's arm was starting to shake. His face was beading with sweat.

"ALARIC!" shouted Delmond, and his arm gave way and dropped me to the ground. I hit it with a thud, bending my knees only to absorb the balance. The interruption threw off my focus, and before I realised my arms were even moving, I felt my fists connect. My left met Delmond's jaw, letting out a sickening crack. The shock of it threw me off guard with a sudden rush of horrified malaise. My right came a second later, missing Jave's face and instead landing on his shoulder, dislocated it and probably cracking the bone as well.

"Oh," I muttered. The guards were nearly on top of us, brushing their way through an increasingly dense crowd. Few had even turned their eyes when Delmond had been holding me, but punching the two turned everyone's focus.

"Over here!" someone nearby shouted, waving their arm above the crowd to get the soldiers' attention. I shot a glare in the direction of the shout. I nearly bolted. I was ready to shove my way through too many people to count, but more arms came up, and I realised just how out of place I was in this city. Everyone's skin was so light. There was variety, but most of them were pale. Even common folk from Senvia would have darker skin tones. I was the most visible of any of them.

Instead, I collapsed to the ground in submission.

The soldiers rushed in to the small vacancy that had formed around us.

"It was her!" another voice called out. Several fingers pointed at my face.

The first soldier pulled out a pair of cuffs from his waist. These were enchanted, bound together by magic once worn, not steel. "Can't believe they have us doing watchmen work," he said back to his companions.

"Hang on," said one of them. He'd been looking at Delmond and Jave's injuries. He was tall and lanky, and bent over in front of me with an analytical look to his eyes. "Are you Kindred?"

I hesitated, pondering my options, then nodded.

He sighed. "Ah... I apologise. I'm sure you had your reasons. They were the ones shouting, right? Should really know better, these boys. Shouldn't be messing with our warmakers. How else are we supposed to restore Senvia without our Kindred? Let her go, Corporal.

I rose to my feet. "Wait, why?" I asked, not thinking. This was insulting.

"Well, uh," he started, "Like I said, you're a warmaker. You're the reason we have Bell Haven, why we have freedom. You keep out lawless..." he looked me up and down, realising just then how different I looked, how similar my skin tone was to the people he was about to name. The words in his mouth shifted, and he muttered out a weak and quavering "... Heldrens."

"I should be arrested," I protested. "Being Kindred doesn't make me a better person than these two." Shut up, Xera. Shut up, shut up, shut up. I was screaming at myself in my mind. I needed to get back to the Athenaeum. If they grabbed me here, I could lose the coin. I may lose my way back. Stop talking yourself into trouble. I'd be stranded and late. Shut. The. Living. Path. Up.

"Look, I—" he stammered. I turned my back to him and walked to the edge of the crowd, muttering "I'm disappointed in you" with all the authority I could muster before stepping into the thick of it.