Helas didn’t mention at any point while we were getting measured and discussed fabric that I’d be leaving in the same outfit I walked in wearing.

“Thank you for all your help, Karix,” Helas said as the lizardfolk guided us to the front.

Whatever favor he owed her, he hadn’t requested any payment so far.

“Yes, well,” he said, then paused for a moment. “We’ll have a fitting in two days’ time.”

Great. More poking and prodding.

She nodded. “We’ll be here. Take care.”

Karix dipped his head in respect as he opened the front door for us. “You both as well. House Ashion extends well wishes to House Trazigar.”

Outside, the sun was setting over Ridahr, washing a golden hue across the sharp angles of buildings and rooftops and the towers scattered across the skyline. But it was still way too hot to be wearing thick black garments designed for colder weather.

Once we were a few blocks away, I asked, “Do you really have a sister?”

“Had, yes,” Helas said, and the way she said it didn’t invite any further questioning. In the subsequent silence that opened up between us, she added, “I’ve lost a lot of people.”

Something in me compelled me to wrap my arms around her shoulders and quietly said, “You won’t lose me.”

She scoffed, but my perception picked up on its defeated sound. Had Mother said something similar? Had her sister? But she wrapped her arms around my waist as well, and although I was already overheated, I didn’t mind the added warmth of her silent gratitude.

I hugged her closer.

“Now,” she said, clearing her throat, “look around. What do you see? What do you hear? What do you sense?”

We were still in the art district, winding down narrower and narrower streets. There were fewer people heading out of the art district than there had been promenading down its main street, and even fewer heading in. Ahead, we approached a bricked archway with two stationed guards.

“Is this the only way out of the art district?” I asked.

“No,” she answered, “but the others are the same. The academy will give you an entrance pass, but until then, if you want to come back alone, you’ll have to find a way past them.”

So the arts district was gatekept from the commoners. I wasn’t surprised—it was similar in Noveden’s bigger cities—but it was a contrast from Bolstaor. Not like I’d bother dealing with the guards.

Population density grew as we navigated through the merchant district—more apartments and fewer villas, more family members living together in smaller spaces and fewer vacant vacation homes for aristocrats visiting from their countryside estates. Most shops and street vendors were packing up for the day so the owners could have dinner with their families.

As we passed the vendors bringing in their signs, turning chairs over to place on the tabletops, Helas said, “The day markets are best in the morning. They always raise the prices after midday because the tourists end up wandering through by then.”

“I’m not getting new clothes today, am I?” I asked.

“So impatient. We’re getting there.”

We snaked through the neighborhood to a bustling market that seemed far from closing. Carts and stalls lined the cramped alley as far as an average person could see, and translucent sheets stretched between them to create a makeshift tunnel and provide shade. Smoke rose from the grills in the food carts, and the smell of the street food they were serving reminded me that I was hungry.

All types of people swarmed from cart to cart—humans, elves, dwarves, and lizardfolk. Kids lined up for the face painting stalls and puppet show booths. Tourists stopped to look at every cart with shiny trinkets and sparkly jewelry. Musicians serenaded the crowd, drawing them into cozy stalls with blankets and pillows to sit and watch a performance.

My nose found the closest food cart, following the fragrant notes of cumin, paprika, turmeric, and ginger, and found mouthwatering grilled steak kebabs. An open grill sizzled with skewered meats—chicken, beef, lamb—and a kid in front offered tasters, which I took in a display of testing the flavor before inserting myself in line.

“I thought you wanted clothes,” Helas quipped, joining me in line.

“After,” I decided. “Distributing all those free points starved me.”

“I’m so sure,” she said but didn’t complain. At the front of the line, she ordered as many kebabs as I could carry and half as many deep-fried chickpea fritter skewers for herself.

We weaved through the crowd as we ate, eyeing a few other food carts along the way, until we found a little stall with basic clothes. No thrills. Standard sizes. I grabbed some loose linen pants with a sash and a tunic, changed behind a curtain. We paid for it and a few other similar pieces, along with a silken set that could be mix-and-matched.

By the time we left the market district, the sun had finished setting and stars speckled the dark sky alongside the moon. From there, we kept heading east into the city center.

“It’s busier in the day,” Helas remarked as we passed through the heart of Ridahr where there was an overlook of the harbor. “You’ll want to watch out for pickpockets.”

In the distance off the coast, flickers of light came from a small island city famed for its relative seclusion from the rest of the continent. Harorin had mentioned it a few times. Praor Swa. He’d said his stepmother was from there, and he’d rolled his eyes when he’d expressed how his father had fallen for her beauty.

Once we crossed that point, the streets turned to cobblestone and narrowed significantly. Repairs to the roads, the stairways, the buildings layered crudely over each other, but that added charm. The city’s story told over decades of handiwork.

The transition from the city center into the red-light district was marked by the soft tones to the buildings. Some a pastel yellow or blue, others sun-bleached green. Most were a faint pink or orange.

“What do you notice?” Helas asked.

“The colors,” I said. When I focused my perception past that, I added, “and the city guards have retreated back to the art district.”

“They don’t have much power in these parts anyway.” She made a circle in the air with her finger. “During the day, some places remain open. The bathhouses, saunas, massage parlors. In these parts, the street gangs have all the power. One in particular. This way.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Don’t tell me. You’re acquainted?”

She grinned. “You sure know me well. The locals call this the red-light district because King Enosh IV made a point to paint all the buildings at the outskirts of the district red to mark the area as dangerous. During the day, the guards patrol in case a tourist has been left for dead.”

“Sounds pleasant.”

Compared to the other parts of the city we’d passed through so far, people dressed in even gaudier clothes, even more and less revealing outfits. As if everyone had stepped into the district in their most extreme looks, wearing whatever was necessary in their mind to get attention, to be noticed.

I preferred districts like this because here, I was just one of many. I liked that. No expectation to be anything other than myself, however I chose to present my identity. It’d be easy to shed who I was as Geram Vulros here and instead take the name of Therzin Trazigar.

We wandered through a handful of city squares with lazy fountains in the center, bordered by bars with sprawling outdoor seating.

When we passed into a particularly spacious square, Helas said, “Kashana Casino is the headquarters of the Triam Drana, the most influential gang in Ridahr. On our right.”

The four-story building didn’t look much different from the other buildings in the square—a soft orange color, potted palm trees stood beside an arched doorway with a red carpet leading inside. The second, third, and fourth floor had verandas with black wrought iron railings. Intricate geometric carvings decorated the trim at the flat terracotta roof’s edge and the trims along the arched windows.

Outside, the crowded seating had umbrellas and candles on the tables. Servers wearing red velvet jackets with gold trim shifted between tables with grace and charming smiles.

“If you run into any trouble with them,” she said, “just tell them you’re a Trazigar.”

“Wow, so you know them. Do I get to hear that story?”

She grumbled. “It’s a long story, so you’ll have to settle for the short version. I had a husband once, and his older brother inherited the position from their father. We made them various potions for quite some time. Until—well, until I became a slayer.”

I didn’t want to settle for the short version. I had so many questions. When had she been married? How long was she married, and had they raised any children? Who was her husband, and what had happened to him to make her not walk to talk about it?

Instead, I said, “Are you going to be making potions for them again?”

“We are,” she said.

“Father would have a heart attack.” I laughed, excitement putting a hop into my step. “I suppose Therzin Trazigar’s father wouldn’t though.”

“That’s better. Tell me about him.”

I scrunched my nose. Lying wasn’t exactly my strongest suit. “Ipsum,” I said because it was a common name in my home country. “A Novedean aristocrat of a fallen house with a dragon fetish. Clearly.”

“Try again.”

“Ipsum, a traveling merchant from Noveden with a good heart and a handsome face. No last name. He probably met her while passing through Wildhold and fell in love. But he had to provide for the family, so he didn’t know he had a son until he returned a year later.”

Helas nodded this time, encouraging me to keep going. “This is us, by the way.”

The building was a dusty pink with a relatively private balcony on the third floor. Definitely gave off the feeling of a renovated repurposed brothel. A wood door opened to a cramped entryway with a stairwell to the second floor.

I followed Helas up and continued elaborating my backstory. “Unfortunately, he was mad that I wasn’t a Cored Being…”

“Nope.”

I snickered as we climbed to the third floor. “Unfortunately, my mother had fallen ill. He stayed as long as he could to see her get well, but the medicine she needed was expensive, so he had to leave again. You offered to take me in. She died, and he never came back.”

There was silence for a moment as we reached the top of the stairs. Helas opened a wood door and gestured me in.

“That’ll work,” she said. “Come in. This is ours now. You’ll live here with me until you’re accepted into Tairayat. You can take either of the two smaller rooms.”

The front door led into a cozy living room with a door to the balcony. A red rug with a geometric design covered the living room floor. In the corner, a sectional sofa with a loud red pattern spanned the entire wall, and pillows of all shapes and sizes and clashing patterns lined the back of it. A stained glass chandelier hung over a square wood coffee table sat in the middle of the room.

“Where’d you get this place?”

“Once you’ve picked a room,” Helas said, ignoring my question, “come join me on the balcony. I have more to tell you about the Triam Drana.”

Perhaps that was her way of telling me it was one of Triam Drana’s assets. An apartment between the slums and the red light district was well positioned for an influential street gang. Also explained the place’s over-the-top extravagance.

I ignored the kitchen and eating area, meandering down a hallway and opening each door. Sure, one was closed and clearly Helas’s, but grandchildren were notoriously bad about privacy.

The first door opened to a spacious bathroom. The bathroom had a sink beneath an oversized window on a wood vanity, and an alcove for the round porcelain bathtub and another for the toilet. I was looking forward to soaking in that tub with some nice fragrances.

The second was Helas’s bedroom, which screamed pleasure district the most. Luxurious and sizable, it had a circular bed with a mountain of pillows, all silky red. Beneath the arched window was a wood sofa with a multi-colored quilt laid over it. The red wall paper had a gold sheen, and arched alcoves featured red tile in teardrop designs with transparent red drapes drawn to the corners. Lanterns of black wrought iron added a sense of elegance.

Not much better than Helas’s bedroom, the second one was violently red and much smaller. So much smaller that all that fit was a wooden side table beneath the window, a cushion seat beside that, and a few plants in the strip of space left between the wall and a bed big enough for three or four. The hanging lanterns were gold, and the walls had wood paneling with carpet murals.

The third bedroom looked similar to the other two but was the most bare. A wood bed for one or two, a small wood end table, and a sheer red canopy that hung over the bed.

I returned to the second bedroom, threw my new clothes on the bed, and found Helas on the balcony. I stopped short at the view—almost the entire city, dazzling against a darkening sky. Breathtakingly beautiful.

To the south, the harbor and tourist districts. To the north, the slums and the temple. Across the city, the merchant district, arts district, and at the top of the hill, the Royal Palace and the academy. The same view I had last night but from the opposite side.

“Where’d you get this place?” I asked again, finding a spot to stretch out on the wraparound seating that faced the city.

The air around us stilled, and when Helas spoke, her voice traveled no further than four arm spans. I recognized the sensation as her skill [Keep One’s Silence], which rendered any noise within a certain perimeter around her completely silent outside of it.

“The Triam Drana manages it for me when I’m out of town.” She passed me a glass of wine from a small table at her side from her spot in the corner. “They need us to look into their current potion supplier, Magazzinàre.”

I took the glass from her and got comfortable. “What’s wrong with them?”

“They’ve almost monopolized the entire industry in the city, and they keep increasing the prices of the more objectionable potions. Ones that many places in the red light district need to continue operating.”

“Lust potions? And drouges,” I guessed. Brothels were notorious for their workers using lust potions, and drouges were potions that offered mind-altering escapes for many of the poorest commoners. And also some of the wealthiest nobles.

Lando had loved this one potion that made him feel alert, powerful, energetic, and confident. He'd stay awake for days in a row, working every angle of his social game with incredible charm. Those were the moments I'd almost admired him. The flavor of that drudge was perfect for masking the taste of a fatal poison.

Helas nodded her confirmation. “What they didn’t mention to me—what Andreges didn’t mention—was that they’ve also been raising the cost of common use potions. They’re pricing out the poorest people from affording health potions.”

“So who’s Magazzinàre?” I asked.

“That’s what we need to find out.”

I took a long drink of the wine. It was cold, which felt nice out in the warm night air. “Are we getting paid?” I asked.

Helas laughed. “Yeah, we are. We’ll be brewing them some potions so they can reduce how much they need from them, which will likely get them to make some moves. Either on them or us.”

【QUEST NOTICE】

You have been invited to join the quest: The Corruption Festering Within [Legendary]

You must find where Magazzinàre is operating and deliver the information to the boss of the Triam Drana.

Do you accept this quest?

Yes.

“Hope it’s us.”

“Right?” She sat back with a wide grin. “But the first potion we’re making is one to summon whoever your patron god is. I’ll give you a list of ingredients in the morning. But tonight, we rest.”

Tomorrow, I’d apply to Tairayat. Then I’d run her errands like a good grandson.