We descended down a dark, narrow staircase, with many openings, halls, and corridors, such that I would’ve gotten lost had not the old crow been with me.

It took a long time for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but I do not recall stumbling past the uneven cobblestones, nor Aspen ever slowing down his pace if I did.

We followed the main hall for quite a while, with me trailing a hand along the rough sandstone to guide me, until we came up to a fork in the paths. The old mercenary didn’t flinch or pause, striding confidently towards the left, where a strange etching was carved.

The pathway fell beneath our feet gradually, so that the cobblestones turned into dusty ground, and then some sort of pressed sand. It felt, to my feet, as if the earth was worn away by many feet, and these paths were from a time that even the land itself had forgotten.

My voice broke the delicate silence as I asked the crow what he made of it. I did not see his face, but I could hear the subtle undertones of frustrated anguish in his voice, or what I made it out to be anyway.

“I told you to hold your tongue, little lady, we’re going to a certain place I know. In response to your question, these tunnels were originally part of some catacombs, built during the wars around the time of the gods’ fighting.”

The gods?

“Is there not only one - Oberon - and the five saints?”

His steps faltered and I nearly collided into him.

“While to the Valians, they are saints, to me, they are no different to gods.”

Saints as gods? What an odd idea.

“Then to you, Skarabeck, Yvonne, Fayer, Lethe and Ahavet are the same as Oberon?”

The idea had confused me, and if I’m honest, it still does. In all the stories, I had always believed in their being distinct from Oberon, yet he seemed to have a point in that. What was the difference between the saints and the god?

“Of course, Kit, this was when I actually believed in those fairytales.”

He kept moving through the tunnels, leaving me behind as I stopped short.

“You don’t believe in god?”

He chuckled, not answering. The path was gradually easing upwards, and the air seemed to shift from a halt to a small flow. It sounded like ghosts whispered into my ears, and everytime my hair suddenly brushed my neck, I gave a small start.

“Answer me, Crow. Do you?” I repeated, rubbing my shin as a wayward ledge jutted out in the path.

I suppose my curiosity got the best of me, for Valia was not an empire where one could disdain the saints or the temples easily without repercussions.

“Believe in some floating spirits in the sky? Of course I don’t. You’ll soon realise that mercenaries never get the idle privilege of believing in bedtime stories. I’d rather work the ground, and thank my own mind for my bread rather than a nonsense ghost in the sky.”

He seemed rather bitter sounding. His words were clipped, forced through his teeth, and his words about ‘god’ rotted right off his lips until it fell on my ears.

I fell into a dismal silence at this. What had Oberon done, or Skarabeck or the other saints, for us anyway? I had never entertained such thoughts, and it intrigued me, his way of life.

We came upon another crossroads, this time with three tunnels branching off into the darkness. The crow chose the third-most path, and we plunged into the quiet once more. He said nothing more, and neither did I, until I could feel the air move past my ears and a chill settle into my blood.

After a few minutes of ploughing ahead, Aspen held up a hand, nearly smacking into me as I tripped on a stone.

“Now then, my love; be a doll and don’t say a word. Where we go now is a dangerous place, where not every rogue behaves like me.”

“Mhm…” I mumbled, wondering what he meant.

We came to an opening underground, and I understood instantly what he meant.

The place we came upon was the Black Market. I knew later on that those catacombs stretched from the Silver caves near Hevelia in the south up all the way to Leston, but I had not known the Black Market itself was situated between the central cavern close to Cheverton. I reckon by the time we emerged from the tunnels, it was close to midnight, and our dear little toad had been missing for a good day now.

The old crow did not flinch at the market, nor at the buildings that were taken straight out of Leston’s red light district, but marched onwards, deeper inside, with purpose.

“Wait up!” I called, hastening my steps.

He glanced behind at me lazily, and I was stunned for a moment; his smile was rather fitting for such an experienced mercenary, and his body was relaxed, but his eyes were hooded and dead. He looked like a snake, grinning without a smile in the underbrush.

I shivered.

“Come now, child. It’s high time we find our wayward pet.”

He walked away, whistling a tune as his pace dragged on, while mine was hurried and frantic. I could not control my anxiety, nor my impatience. What was the old fool doing, going so slowly?

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He gripped my arm, whispering roughly, “Calm down, love. There are eyes watching.”

Then I noticed the stares, hungry, ravenous, loathsome stares, that followed us everywhere we went. He was right; we were being watched very carefully.

Aspen led me into one of the brightly lit buildings with a red lantern hung outside, the image of a lady behind wispy clouds shining through the silky fabric. Inside was loud and boisterous, like the tavern, with voices of women laughing and singing as the sound of pipes and harps passed through the open halls.

Long banners of translucent red silk hung from each pillar, coloured like blood, and ribbons of gold streaked the intricate ceiling above us. Men, young and old, mingled beneath them in the halls with brazen women of all kinds as they giggled and laughed and twittered like the vulpins that flocked together on the Eurelian Plains.

As we walked through to the central chamber, the old crow put his arm around my waist, dragging me along with him in a tight grip. I flinched in an attempt to pinch his arm away, my skin crawling.

“Bear with it, Kit: this place is a den of thieves. Who knows what they might do to such a one as yourself.” He chuckled ostentatiously as a drunken couple, a lady and an old man, passed us by.

“Where are we anyway?”

He looked at me in surprise.

“You don’t know? I thought the old bat Asphodel would have told you.”

“My father isn’t old!”

“He has three children with a fourth along the way and his eldest as a knight, love. Consider that old.”

“Shut up, you old crow. Compared to a brazen rogue with no sense of hygiene, he’s far younger than you’ll ever be.” I huffed.

He only grinned in response.

The stupid old crow would not stop leading me into the heart of this den, and caged in as I was, I could do nothing but follow along. We acted like everyone else, but the noble inside of me detested every single moment. My skin burned angrily from the weight, and it was all I could do to keep from punching the old fool away. Eliza would have to pay me back for this.

“Come along, now. We ought to get you dressed.”

Of course, what he meant by that, I did not know. At least, I wasn’t able to until he dragged me over to another side room.

This one was filled with girls wearing rather… daring clothing, shall we say? The crow took no mind of them, shoving them to the side as he pulled out a long strip of fabric from the closet.

“Now then: strip.” He smirked, holding out the dress.

“Not likely.” I replied, scowling as I turned to a dressing room.

As I closed the curtain, I took one good look at the dress, noticing the patterns. It was a delicate white, bordered with the signature blood-red of this place and golden threads scattered about. The troubling part was that the dress had a low neckline, exposed shoulders, and two side slits that travelled up my thighs. Putting it on, I looked no different from the other women, save for the egregious makeup, exposed and completely open.

Though I was only half a score and eight years old, the dress was tight, leaving nothing to the imagination, and surely Mother would have my hide for being seen in a place like this.

To my relief, a sheer red shawl of translucent silk was lying haphazardly beside me on the bench and I wrapped it around my shoulders. It did nothing to cover my front, but at least I felt more secure back then.

As I stepped out, blushing heavily, the crow let out a low whistle as his eyes followed the dress.

“You’d fit right in here, my love. If only you did less scowling and tried not to be so hideous, they might actually be able to use you!”

I seethed, “I hope Ahavet puts maggots in your bones.”

“Ah, young love. How passionate!”

I needed not respond - I kicked his shins.

Regardless, his arm went around my waist again and we left that room. I could not believe, and I still cannot, that I - Adrianne Elizabeth Von Devienne - daughter of Duke Xandros Asphodel and precious flower of the Devienne knights, was to be subjected to this measly charade for the sake of that stupid little toad’s wandering.

The only thing keeping me stable was the fact that I would make her pay dearly. Eliza deserved every bit of it, and nothing less.

We ventured deep into the building, following strange paths that led away from the main floor up onto the higher tiers, the darker corners and shadowy areas, until we reached a long hall that led up to a set of double doors.

They were tall, made of carved ebony wood and screamed danger. A trail of light trickled out from beneath them, but the scents were as heavy and tinged with blood as any battlefield I had ever seen.

“Aspen…” I began uncertainly, “What is this?”

“Scared, little one?”

I shook my head, edging closer to him.

“We are about to find our lost bird, love. Remember what I told you: hold your tongue.”

This time, I obeyed and kept my mouth shut, as the doors swung open. I could feel fear begin to pound through my chest, and my breathing began to quicken. Now was not the time for clumsiness, and the Adrianne that Eliza always knew of faded away.

‘If only she hadn’t left us…’ I thought to myself.

As we stepped through the doorway, I distinctly recall a bright chandelier hanging from the ceiling, casting rays of light onto the chamber.

There were low couches with draped silks from Kepra, soft cushions of blood red dyes, red fabric cascading down from the beams above, and most starkly, the heavy smell of incense and perfumes.

The floor and pillars were made of a dark wood covered with a glossy coating, and the floor dipped down into a lowered seating area. Behind that, a large canopy bed, messy and unkempt, and a nightstand that told me exactly what this room was used for.

Returning my focus, I straightened my back, realising my position here; we had arrived at the heart of this business, where the highest ranking member was seated languidly in front of us, and I had entered the depths of that den with nothing to help me save a mercenary and my own intuitions.

The man was rather young-looking, around a score and three years in age, with several women scattered around his couch, and three draped over him. He had dirty blonde hair that curled over his forehead, but his catlike eyes gleamed dangerously from the shadows.

“Ah! Aspen, my old friend! How long has it been?” the man greeted, laughing as he stood to embrace the old crow.

“I’d say a few months since my previous visit, yet, you’re still as complacent as ever I see.” Aspen laughed, tugging him into a hug.

The gleam in Aspen’s eye was long gone, his anger that I had witnessed in the apothecary eerily missing; he was an entirely different person in that moment, it seemed.

“Ah, where are my manners? Shah, this is Juno, my new apprentice. Juno, this is my old friend Nathaniel ‘Shah’, the owner of this place.”

Aspen was jovial as he nodded in my direction, his unspoken warning clear.

I tipped my head casually, leaning to my right as I had seen the commoner women in Devienne do.

“A pleasure making your acquaintance. I am Juno.”

Shah smiled as he nodded reciprocally.

And that was when the real battle began.