As soon as she’d grabbed a few slices of bread and cheese from the servants’ mess at the back of High Hall, Wren headed out. There were just too many people she didn’t know, all crowded around one long table and gossiping about the lords and ladies they served. She almost felt badly about leaving Thora in the nest of vipers - the maid seemed nice enough, and she’d spoken up more than once to defend the ‘eldish witch’ she worked for. Still, these were Thora’s people, and Wren had no doubt she’d be just fine.

The setting sun had painted the bay beneath the bluff in streaks of sparkling gold, and Wren couldn’t help but take a moment to admire the sight as she crossed the courtyard to the college gate. It wasn’t the jungles of Varuna, but it was a pretty enough picture in its own way. If Wren was going to be spending years here, she was going to have to find things to love about the place, or she’d go mad.

And was she really planning to do that? She’d delivered her message, her warning, and it had been heard. Wren had no doubt that Liv’s father would take her words back to the Eld in the north, and Duchess Julianne was no fool. That meant Wren had done what she could, didn’t it? After all, no one could actually expect her to go and fight a goddess.

The road which led down the bluff from the college campus took her past the stables, as well as a practice yard, where an oval of beaten earth was surrounded by raised seating in the form of wooden benches, making a sort of gallery for an audience. Wren figured the two facilities must have been built after the college had expanded beyond the initial walls, and wondered why no one had bothered to knock down the old fortifications, rather than simply let them crumble in their own time.

Just past the stables and practice yard, the town began, with twin rows of shops, inns, taverns, and even theaters lining the road down the bluff, as if the main body of Coral Bay had stretched out its arm to seize the college and held it extended. Wren passed The Crab and Gull on the right, and shortly after The White Dolphin on the left, both with tables and benches set out under cloth awnings in the warmth of the evening. The smell of frying fish, potatoes, and spices wafted out into the street to draw in patrons. Above the streets, lamps of glowing mana-stone hung every thirty feet, casting circles of pale blue light.

Wren marked a bakery, though the window-shelves were bare at the end of the day, as well as a cobbler, a book seller, an herbalist whose windows displayed dried plants both culinary and medicinal, a candle-maker who advertised half a dozen scents, and even a very expensive looking shop for young ladies under a sign that read ‘The Cedar Closet.’ One glance through the paned windows revealed a mix of jewelry, soaps and oils, pillows, furs and cushions, and even a few very nice dresses and bodices.

“Need something for your mistress?” a shopgirl sweeping the stoop asked Wren, after she had paused there.

“My mistress?” Wren asked.

“You’re a servant of one of the young ladies up at the college, aren’t you?” the girl asked her. Her hair was the dullest brown Wren had ever seen – not that you could see much of it, under her linen cap. “It’s the first night, so none of them will be down yet, but sometimes they send a lady’s maid to pick something up.”

Wren shrugged. “All of this is supported by the college, is it?” She waved her hand to indicate the long street of shops.

“Aye.” The girl paused to lean on her broom. “Me Gran says it were different, back when it was just the Blackstone’s up there. Fishing and trading, and never enough men to cull the rift. But since old Lamon the Last gave his estate over to the guild, we get a new crop of proper lords and ladies with their coin each harvest.”

“I’m more of a bodyguard than a maid,” Wren told the girl, and took a step closer. “But I’ll tell you what. My mistress, as you call her, is just arrived, and likely needs quite a bit to fill out her rooms and wardrobe. I’ll promise to bring her by, as soon as we can find the time, if you’ll give me a bit of direction on where to find a few things.”

“As you can see, we’re very busy,” the shop-girl joked. “What’re you looking for, then?”

“Two things,” Wren said. “First, a butcher’s shop, or something like it.”

“They all deliver to the college,” the girl said. “There’s not much point in you walking across town to haul food back.”

“It’s not the meat I need,” Wren said, stepping closer so that she could lower her voice. “It’s the blood I want to buy. For enchanting, you see.”

“Never heard of anyone using blood in enchanting,” the shopgirl grumbled, looking a bit put off. “But then, can’t say as I know much about it at all. Still, your lady must be an odd one - no one else is ever around shopping for blood.”

“She’s half Eldish,” Wren said. “Lady Brodbeck, from Whitehill.”

The shop girl's eyes widened. “That’s the new duchy up north, ain’t it? They say the duchess has an Eldish witch, and that she nearly killed the princess.”

“You know her, then,” Wren said. This was the first she’d heard about Liv fighting a princess, but the story really couldn’t have been about anyone else, and it sounded like exactly the sort of trouble she’d get into. “So you can see why I don’t want to disappoint her.”

“Oh aye, I wouldn’t either. Someone like that might just take your blood if you come back empty-handed. Tell you what, don’t bother with the butcher,” the shopgirl said. “Go down the fish markets when the catch comes in. They’ll be filetting by the barrel, to sell down by the docks. Blood everywhere, the stink is awful. The butcher’s not far from the docks though, if you do need him. They try to keep all the nasty smells away from the college. What was the second thing you wanted?”

“A place to buy an armor stand,” Wren said. “My Lady’s gear came in trunks, and there was only a limited amount of room.”

“Master Bennet, then,” the shopgirl said. “Keep going down toward town and you’ll find him soon enough. He makes blades and jack of plate and all for half the guild. He’ll sell you one of his, no doubt.”

“Thank you, miss-?” Wren trailed off, and fished a silver coin from her purse.

“Isemay,” the shopgirl said, accepting the coin and tucking it away. “Bring your scary lady down, we’ll fix her right up with whatever she needs. We’ve got some very frilly underthings of eastern silk, if she’s the scandalous sort.” Isemay grinned, and Wren laughed in return.

“I’m not sure my lady would even know what those are for,” she joked back. “But I’ll tell her all the same. Thank you, Isemay. I’ll see you again.” Wren left the girl to her sweeping, and allowed her smile to slip away once she’d turned back down the street.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

In Calder’s Landing, Wren had made it a point to be friendly with everyone she could - from Taika at the Dancing Lady, to Geoffrey the butcher. Friends chatted with you, and told you news or gossip. They cut you a deal when you were short on coin, and they might even warn you if trouble was coming your way. Friends were more valuable than coins, and she was more than willing to spend what little she had left to begin making friends in Coral Bay. Isemay struck her as the sort of person to overhear a great deal of gossip, and that could be valuable. All it would take now would be bringing Liv down once, to show that Wren was the sort of person who could be relied on to keep her promises.

Master Bennet was indeed easy enough to find, and he was happy to let Wren have one of his old armor stands for her lady, especially once she let slip that she served the Eldish witch in service to the duchess of the north. Whatever Liv and Julianne had done to get themselves a reputation in Lucania, Wren had no compunctions about milking their infamy for all it was worth. She didn’t even have to put her own coins down.

“My journeymen will carry it up to the college,” Bennet promised. The man was nearly entirely hairless, and Wren wondered if he’d burned off his eyebrows. “High Hall, you said? We make deliveries there all the time. Just put your mark on the receipt, and your lady will settle up with the boys when they get there.”

“Aren’t you worried someone will skip out on their bill?” Wren asked him.

Bennet laughed out loud. “College wouldn't hear of it,” he assured her. “They don’t want any trouble with the town. Archmagus Loredan would throw anyone who tried out on their arse, and make good on it himself. Don’t you worry for me, Miss Wren. My boys’ll have it up in the morning, after they pick out a good one and polish it up.”

“In that case, you have my thanks,” Wren said. “I’m sure we’ll be by when we have knives to sharpen, or when m’lady’s horse throws a shoe.” Promising future business always made tradesmen warm up to her.

She did find the fish-market, but it was the wrong time of day to buy anything there, so Wren sought out the butcher, instead. The line about her mistress needing blood for enchanting produced the expected mixture of fascination and disgust, and Wren walked out with a bottle of chicken’s blood for only a few coppers. She ducked into an alley as soon as she could find one, uncorked the bottle, and tossed it back in a few quick gulps.

The power of the blood surged through Wren’s veins, and it felt so good that she couldn’t help letting a shudder pass through her body. It had been too many days without a drink: first, she’d been kept asleep by medicine and magic at Whitehill, and even after she’d woke, Wren had been afraid to ask for blood from the kitchens there.

With a last sigh of exaltation, Wren recorked the bottle, tucked it into her belt, and then took her bat form, then flapped up into the sky. She wasn’t the only bat around, by any means: with the sun down, it was the right time of night for catching insects of all sorts. Thus, no one looked twice at one more dark winged creature fluttering about, even if she wasn’t quite identical to the native species.

Wren took a few loops above the town, so that she could get a sense of the place from above. You could tell the new construction from the old, even if the building materials were largely the same. It was clear to see that Isemay’s story was accurate: the existence of the college had flooded the town with wealth. The entire stretch of shops leading up the bluff had been built within the past few decades, and the homes behind or above the shop fronts were much nicer than those down by the wharf.

There was an old temple of the trinity, which was the largest building in the town itself. Wren fluttered down to the roof, which was covered in the same odd red clay tiles as the rest of the town, and turned back into her human form. There, she stretched herself out under the stars and the rising moon, took another sip of blood from her bottle, and watched the people in the streets below.

She could leave. Now that she had blood, it would be simple enough, and Wren doubted that Liv would follow her. She’d write Duchess Julianne in her next letter home, of course, but that would still give Wren a month or more of a head-start to run before anyone could catch her.

The problem was that she had nowhere to go.

Liv’s father, Valtteri - he’d made it clear enough that going north of the mountains into Eldish lands would mark her as a wanted criminal. Even if he had no proof she’d killed anyone, being part of an attack on an Eldish town was enough. She couldn’t go back to Varuna. Even if Wren sought out Calm Waters, and the other members of the tribe who’d left, staying with them would only bring danger.

Wren had no illusion that Ractia would forgive someone who’d abandoned her. If she kept her head down with an ocean between them, perhaps the goddess would believe she’d died during the raid on Soltheris, and forget about her. But the moment she went back to Varuna and word got around, that ruse would be up.

She could head further east, to Lendh ka Dakruim. No one would know her there. Wren didn’t speak the language, of course, but she could learn. She’d have no one, and nothing but the dwindling coins in her purse, but she could always live as a hunter, selling furs and meat.

Wren drummed her fingers against the roof-tiles, which were still warm from the day’s sun. Going east, she would be alone. Maybe that would be better. She’d certainly made her share of poor choices, and she’d hate to think that she was putting Liv in danger by remaining here in Coral Bay.

And there was the heart of the matter, wasn’t it? The girl. Wren hadn’t ever planned on saving a child’s life when she went to Whitehill. In fact, it was a horrible idea - it meant that people had remembered her. But of everything Wren had done over the past twenty-five years, it was perhaps the only choice that she wasn’t ashamed of.

That cute little kid with the strange white hair, shivering in her arms, was now a young lady with more magic than Wren had ever seen anyone throw around before. The culling of the rift north of Whitehill had shown her that, and something else, as well.

Liv helped people.

It was her first instinct, when she saw someone in danger - whether it was the miner she’d dragged down the mountain, the duchess’ son and his new wife, or the boy they’d found sitting by the side of the road here in Coral Bay, with his trunks all piled up and no carriage. She’d even helped Wren, speaking up for her more than once.

Most people who got power like that didn’t use it to help others, in Wren’s experience. She certainly hadn’t, herself: her shapeshifting had helped her steal, and kill, and bring a dead goddess back to life, and who was better than that? Not anyone at Soltheris, or who’d died in eruptions across the north.

There was something innocent about the girl, something remaining of the child who’d thrown herself across the ice and reached out a hand to save another person without a second thought of what it might cost her. Liv trusted too easily: Wren herself was evidence of that, and she had a bad feeling that it was going to cost her eventually.

“Comes down to that, I suppose,” Wren murmured out loud. “I can head out, and leave her be; or I can stay and try to keep her safe.”

Each choice would make her a different sort of person, wouldn’t it? But only one would be a person she could be proud of, even a little bit. Wren took another sip from her bottle of chicken blood, corked it, and wedged it in between her waist and her belt. She rolled to her feet, dashed down the roof, and jumped out into the open air above the street.

Before she reached the highest point of her leap, Wren had already shifted, and her wings caught a warm updraft that carried her higher, higher above the city. She’d need to pick out a good landing place, at the college, somewhere her comings and goings wouldn’t attract notice. If she was going to keep Liv safe, that would start with gathering as much information as she could about what was happening in the town.

As she banked over a row of warehouses two streets back from the wharf, a glint of steel under moonlight caught Wren’s eye. She’d turned before she even realized she was doing it, and swooped down low over the deck of a ship. Unlike most of the ships docked at Coral Bay, it didn’t look like a fishing vessel, but a merchant ship, and there was a line of men disembarking.

That was strange enough: in Wren’s experience at Calder’s Landing, most ships made port during the day, when you could see. And why would passengers remain aboard until nightfall, save that they didn’t want to attract notice?

Wren saw swords on hips, helms, shields, and jacks of plate. Two dozen men, all armed, hurrying off a ship under cover of darkness and then hustling into the warehouse district. She followed them, made note of which warehouse they went to - it was the shabbiest one on Bay Street - and then turned about to wing her way back to the college. Perhaps Liv hadn’t quite gone to sleep yet.