“Now, that went better than I expected,” Anki was hovering in front of Nua, thinking aloud. “It seems that we’re about to acquire important information about the people who are interested in overturning the status quo.”

Nua nodded.

“You mean the rebels. Hessa is right, you know. This is serious and I’m easy pickings.”

“For now. This is a card you could play in some indefinite future. The bad news is that a secret shared is not a secret anymore, and Ashraqat is going to keep an eye on you.”

“Mhm. Oh, right!” her eyes widened. “Go back there immediately and keep an eye on them both.”

Anki made an expression equivalent to raising his brow.

“Please spy on them, oh your Luminosity.”

The king vanished with a measure of mock indignation.

The girl sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. Anki was cautious about the lady merchant and she understood that he had a good reason for it. Or at least partly so; she could see that he was still prejudiced. But Nua’s confession made her oddly relieved, and with her supervisors paying more attention to her, she felt safe, or at least safe-ish for the first time since the whole ordeal began. Sure, she did not miss Hessa’s warnings about the threats from the Antiquarian Guild or the unspecified organization that would use her (For what? As a source of ether, to dole it out to their warriors, perhaps?), but truth be told, right now they were too distant to care.

She was about to explore the ruins and head straight into danger again, all while avoiding Ashraqat’s gaze and distracting Anki so he doesn’t notice that she was actually interested in making a difference to the state of the world, but planning and plotting could wait. Thinking on an empty stomach was never a good idea.

The main dining hall was not as spacious as the one in Overlord’s Mercy, but certainly more comfortable than in the roadside caravanserais. The stone walls were adorned with tapestries and paintings depicting merry guests in front of copious amounts of food. The seats were cushioned, although, on second glance, the fabric bore signs of heavy use. In addition to the common space, there were alcoves located along the room, where smaller groups of travelers could fit in, furnished with a low, round table, carpets, and thick pillows. There was also a detail that Nua missed before, probably because it was more exposed in the Azure Falls due to the explorers’ presence. Armed guards were strategically located around the dining hall, dressed in bright yellow uniforms fashioned in the Azurian style, with a short tunic and no additional overcoat, which made their swords easily visible. City guards were dressed Tiberian, so those were obviously hired by the owner.

Nua had no intention of getting in trouble. She carried a clay tablet that proved her allegiance to Ashraqat’s caravan and she took the extra step of hanging it on a strap like a necklace. Instead of parading through the hall, she found the first servant in the vicinity and without meeting her eyes, she showed her the tablet.

She hated the not meeting her eyes part, but she was really hungry. And all too well, she remembered the events of the last night. People here were just as bad, or perhaps even worse than back home.

The servant gestured to follow. Apparently, Nua was not important enough to exchange words with. They made it to the third alcove on the left.

“That’s your group.”

Mercenaries were sitting on the carpet, with a pile of empty bowls and pitchers on the table before them. Oswald was drinking from a huge mug, befitting his large frame. Quintus, the Mycean warrior with a physique of a dancer, long eyelashes, and unruly black curls, brought a lyre and he was currently plucking at the strings. Lykomedes was shuffling a deck of cards. He looked better than before, his skin still pink, but not blistering red. Perhaps he had also asked Raya for help. The priestess was not around and neither was Idris, but instead, there was another woman accompanying them, a slender, but curvaceous Old Azurian girl with a cat-like demeanor – that is, laid back and lazy, but at the same time hinting at a potential for violence. Somehow, she seemed familiar.

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Lykomedes brightened up.

“Hey, you!” he waved at the servant. “Bring more of the same good stuff!”

“Respect them, kid,” Oswald grunted. “Or they’ll spit in your ale.”

“I am tipping them quite handsomely,” the blond Mycean answered. “They should not be left feeling offended! Hey Nua, sit here. You know how to play Overlords and Viziers? That’s a local game. We’re just getting started.”

“We are betting, though,” reminded Quintus. “Can she afford it?”

“I’m good,” Nua said. “I’ll just watch.”

“I can be the fourth,” muttered the cat-like woman and yawned.

“Excuse me,” asked Nua. “Have we met before?”

Lykomedes chuckled. Oswald smacked him on the back of his head.

“Behave.”

“I’m Zaina,” replied the woman then shot an annoyed look at her companions. “You’ve probably seen me performing. Artists do not make as much as mercenaries, so I double as a scout when the need arises.”

“The fire eater!” Nua covered her mouth. She barely remembered her first show, back then in the Overlord’s Mercy. “Is the storyteller with you?”

“Ari? No. He’s an artist through and through.”

The servant came back with a bowl of hearty soup, a pile of flatbreads, and fried eggplants. Nua dug in, almost inhaling the food. Lykomedes was dealing the cards with an air of an experienced player, and all four mercenaries piled a small stash of coppers in front of them.

“If you want a poem, or a song, I can provide it,” Quintus ran his fingers through the strings. “The evening’s still young, and Azure Falls are thick with stories. There was a Forsaken palace here, a thousand and a hundred years ago. They say that the falls the city took their name from originate in the depths of the Earth, and they still carry the magic of the past rulers.”

“Hence, the explorers,” Lykomedes said. “We’ll have a few days off once the caravan comes. Say, why don’t we try our luck? They say Muses favor the bold. You go first, Quintus.”

The poet put the card on the table. It had a stylized picture of a fortress painted on it.

“I favor the baths, and Oswald favors his ale,” he replied. “And I might favor a handsome young man that catches my fancy. What you’re saying is work. I could remind you, as well, that this is a tourist trap at this point, and the most obvious routes are stripped bare. We are more likely to meet a stray girtablil or a ghoul than to find anything of interest.”

Oswald added his card in silence. It depicted a warrior with two swords that matched the color of the fortress.

An opportunity was presenting itself to Nua. This was infinitely better than any group of random strangers, and it could also solve the potential problem of Ashraqat interfering. She raised her head and swallowed quickly, to be able to speak.

“I’m an explorer.”

She got surprised looks, but she didn’t relent. She noticed that Zaina used the moment to fiddle with the deck. No one else was paying attention.

“Well, really, more of a scrap collector. But there were ancient ruins in the Overlord’s Mercy, too. And ancient machines. I used to climb an old goliath that we – people from the Bottoms – picked apart. I learned what to avoid, and where to find something nice.”

After Zaina, Lykomedes took a longer while to choose his card. At the moment, he was not focusing on the game anymore.

“You mean scrap,” Quintus said.

“I mean, look at me – I collected scrap because that was what I could do. But I knew where you could find something more. Or at least better scrap. Like, True Silver,” she shrugged. “I can spot traps or hidden doors or whatever.”

“We still don’t have anyone that could decipher the ancient script,” the Mycean added and impassively put his card on the table. “Without it, we won’t be able to delve into the nooks and crannies of the labyrinth and outdo the professionals.”

Oswald, who was taking his time with the hand he has been dealt, raised his head from over the cards.

“I can read the script,” the Northerner said in a gruff voice. Everyone stared. “What? I’m not a Southern barbarian. I have a classical education.”

“That, my friends, is an opportunity that we cannot miss!” Lykomedes raised his mug. “Quintus, do you dare to reject the call of Muses? Is that fear I am sensing in your spirit?”

Quintus missed a chord.

“Oh no,” Zaina sighed.

“Idris would still have to agree,” pointed out the poet.

“That’s right,” a familiar baritone sounded. “But what I’d have to agree to? I’d like to know.”