Faircross was widely regarded as the trade center of the region. Sprawling and dense, it accommodated a considerable population of residents as well as visiting merchants and tradesmen. Droves of visitors clogged the gates outside the walls every day, and thanks to the recent instatement of additional security for every village, town and city in the kingdom, their ragged lines stretched even further into the distance than before.

None of that particularly bothered Hector; what truly vexed him was the nature of the reinforcements brought on to strengthen the guard: untrained townsfolk, soft in both mind and body, only present for the respectable pay. And the kind most desperate for coin were usually the most unsavory.

Faircross deserves better, Hector thought bitterly for the hundredth time. He shot a glare at his assigned partner, a weak-chinned, beak-nosed reprobate named Gil who currently had an index finger lodged firmly up his nostril. His armor, unlike Hector's, was unpolished and ill-fitting.

"What?" Gil shot back sullenly as the next one in line, a dark southern sort heading up a wagon of goods, stopped before them.

Hector rolled his eyes and turned to the Aborasian. "Morning. Blessed be the Goddess."

"Blessed be the Mother," he agreed. "I've come to trade spices in the market." His accent was quite heavy, though still intelligible. Gil, however, was giving him a squinty, suspicious eye.

"Lots of cactus-sniffers coming 'round lately, eh?" he accused loudly. He crossed over to the covered wagon and the large woven baskets packed inside, each large enough to sit in. He lifted one of the lids to reveal a bright red powder that tickled Hector's nose and eyes with hot, itchy tendrils, even from this distance.

Gil, who'd gotten a faceful of it, recoiled and began to cough, spittle flying in sticky strings from his mouth. He clumsily replaced the lid as his eyes streamed.

The Aborasian smiled brightly. "Strong, yes? The best fire pepper, grown in Qurtarus. A little pinch every morning, and you'll live to a hundred. I swear on the Mother!"

"Bloody sand-dog," Gil muttered as he returned to Hector's side. The gate behind them opened inwards, and the Aborasian inclined his head before trotting his wares inside.

"We let too many of 'em in," Gil said as the next in line approached. "Y'know those savages worship their witches and heretics? Degenerates, the lot o' them."

Hector didn't particularly disagree; Goddess knew he nursed his own distrusts and suspicions of their less civilized brothers and sisters of the south. But they also brought their exotic and--more importantly--profitable commodities to Faircross for trade, and openly antagonizing them was short-sighted to say the least.

He huffed in irritation rather than bother to explain any of this to Gil, who'd likely absorb none of it. "Just focus on the young men with dark eyes, eh?"

Gil grumbled in reluctant assent.

Then, against all odds, someone matching that exact description stepped before him. He was holding the reins of a fine black stallion, and was accompanied by a shorter and thinner boy of similar age.

Hector's mouth dropped open in shock, but he didn't raise the alarm, draw his sword, or call for reinforcements. In fact, as soon as the thought entered his mind, he entirely forgot why he was about to. Hector shook his head, then greeted the gray-eyed, dark-featured boy. "Morning. Blessed be the Goddess."

The boy quickly glanced to his right, across the stallion, then back. "Er… morning. We request passage into Faircross, to purchase supplies."

The word "we" rattled in Hector's head like a ceramic bead. The lad hadn't said anything wrong, but why did he nonetheless have the strangest impression that he was missing something? Something enormous?

It almost hurt to think about, and Hector eventually gave up trying. The boy clearly did not match the description of the bounty, and therefore nothing was amiss. Simple as that. Perhaps the heat was getting to him. He waved them through the opening gates.

"Did something seem... strange about that other lad?" Gil said, scratching his head stupidly.

Hector ignored him.

*

Adrian finally allowed himself a proper breath after he, Cedric, and Nightwind had merged into the packed avenues. He punched the air and whooped in delight.

"It worked. It bloody worked!" He turned triumphantly to Cedric, and his answering grin made Adrian's chest clench.

Cedric reflexively patted his right pocket, where the black diamond lay hidden. "No one's staring, are they?"

Adrian swept the sea of faces around them. "No, not even a second glance."

Cedric had spent the last several days practicing on Adrian, upon the latter's insistence. Whatever it was that he channeled from the black diamond, it'd made it nearly impossible for Adrian to hold Cedric in his mind, even while he'd been standing right in front of him. He hadn't particularly enjoyed the sensation of his thoughts being tampered and interfered with, but had gritted through it for both their sakes. Besides, the whole thing had been his own idea to begin with, an offhand comment while they were riding that'd borne unexpected fruit. And to top it all off, Cedric could even choose to exclude certain individuals from the effects of his cloaking, namely Adrian.

Neither of them had the slightest clue as to why Cedric could wield the black diamond this way, but the exiled Dark Apostle would no doubt explain everything once they found her in Borne. For now, they weren't particularly interested in the inner workings of this unexpected blessing.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"We'll follow the crowd to the market," Cedric said. "Get ourselves some food."

"And new clothes, if we can," Adrian added. He plucked at his filthy, tattered tunic. "No, make that a necessity as well."

The Faircross morning market was a spectacle unlike anything they'd encountered, ten times denser and more frantic than Laetera on its best day. Small, clogged avenues of damp cobblestone ran between endless rows of tightly-packed stalls, most of which were shaded by multi-colored canopies to protect the merchants from the sun. Having grown accustomed to the serene emptiness of the open lands, Adrian found the thick fog of loud, interposing voices and the sheer variety and potency of odors--from exotic spices to fevered sweat--almost overwhelming.

He glanced at Cedric, and could see that he felt much the same. Once they acquired everything they needed, they'd both be glad to return to the free air and the open horizon.

After some time wandering along the avenues, they eventually reached a section of the market where the smells of spices and herbs and sizzling fat, already potent to begin with, thickened in depth and complexity to mouth-watering heights. Adrian breathed in deeply, and his awakened belly growled in response.

They'd entered a large circular courtyard, a less rigidly-structured area hosting numerous food kiosks and a tall marble fountain of an imposing man at its center. Market-goers enjoyed hot meals while seated at wooden tables.

After they tied Nightwind to a nearby hitching rail beside much scruffier peers, Cedric pointed at a stall where skewers of meat sizzled atop a hot grill. A toothless, middle-aged fellow presided over them. He spotted Adrian staring and grinned at what he correctly interpreted as a longing gaze. He didn't spare a second glance at the boy who stepped up to his grill and snatched two skewers away.

Cedric stole only a few morsels from each stall he visited, nothing that would adversely affect the vendors' livelihoods. Occasionally, a seller's eyes would flick over to Cedric in momentary indignation, then turn away vacantly.

They seated themselves at the foot of the fountain and gulped down their spoils of meat skewers, fried dough balls, dried dates, and small roasted birds on sticks. It would have all been delicious even if they weren't utterly ravenous.

Cedric wiped his mouth and craned his head up toward the marble statue looming above them. "Who is this?" he asked Adrian.

Adrian carefully licked away the film of golden grease from his fingers. "Rhea the Magnificent. Conjurer of the Hadria River, founder of Faircross, from what I've heard."

Upon the unthinking mention of Rhea, Adrian's recently sated stomach clenched uncomfortably. He shot a glance at Cedric, whose eyes were suddenly downcast.

They hadn't yet discussed their encounter with Queen Rhea and the shattering revelations that'd followed, nor what they intended to do after their business in Borne. He'd been content to let Cedric broach the subject, if and when he felt ready, while Adrian concerned himself with practical affairs. All this world-ending nonsense was far beyond his capacity to handle, but the concept of food and supplies he could certainly grasp.

Cedric was of a similar mind. He cleared his throat and contemplated the sizzling food stalls and their many chattering patrons. His gaze landed on Nightwind at the other side of the courtyard, who stood out among the other beasts like a noble amongst peasants.

"He's been living off sparse tufts for too long," Cedric said. "He needs some proper food. And likely a good brush and reshoeing."

"We'll find a stable," Adrian said. "You could snatch up all the hay he wants."

"And the brushing and reshoeing?"

Adrian tapped his chin while he thought, then glanced at the leftover scraps of their lunch. "Perhaps it's time we expanded our horizons."

*

The man didn't so much as twitch at the scruffy youth undoing the weighty pouch at his hip. He was well-clothed and clearly well-fed, and would likely not miss the seven or so gleamers pilfered from his sizable collection while he bought a double helping of fried dough balls.

When Cedric returned to a spectating Adrian still seated by the fountain, the latter's eyes glittered almost as much as the coins in the former's open palm. Adrian took a splenden and held it up to the sun, then whistled appreciatively. He lightly punched Cedric in the arm. "Knew I was right to keep you."

"And I'm eternally grateful." Cedric's hand trembled slightly as he deposited the money into his pocket beside the black diamond.

His perpetual channeling of dark energy had grown more labored over the past hour. It now flowed through his veins like molasses rather than water, sluggish and reluctant. A strange fatigue was inexorably building in his body, along with a sense of nausea that clashed uncomfortably with his full stomach.

But he couldn't let up now, not when a brand-new avenue of possibility had opened up for them in Faircross. It was high time they indulged themselves. Besides, what would their petty shenanigans matter to the grand and inevitable trajectory of fate, of which they were now fully aware?

"Are you all right?" Adrian asked after a pause. "You're a bit pale."

Cedric forced a smile. "Come, let's find a stable for Nightwind."

Within an hour of leaving Nightwind with a stablemaster, their pockets were heavy with coin. The sudden abundance of wealth was a rather heady experience for Adrian, who'd only ever spent his weekly three-mark salary on necessary supplements to Bigby's meager scraps. His elation was dampened, however, by Cedric's increasingly worrisome state.

Adrian had first noticed something wrong when they'd first begun their pickpocketing spree, but Cedric's face had grown even paler and more drawn since then. His shoulders were noticeably slumped, his eyes pinched and strained. But his grim, determined relentlessness as he flitted from target to target was the most unsettling of all.

A heavy, lavishly-dressed man was disembarking an ornate carriage nearby. His servants, a pair of delicate twin girls barely older than fifteen, immediately flanked him on either side. One opened a pale silk umbrella and held it above his balding head.

"This one." Cedric's tone was clipped and blunt, his gaze covetous.

Adrian put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't we have enough to get on with by now?" he said quietly.

Cedric scoffed without meeting his eyes. "We could use a few nobilis, not just splendens and marks."

Adrian stepped in front and blocked his way. Despite their proximity, Cedric still refused to look at him.

"It's the diamond, isn't it?" he said quietly. "It's taking a toll on you."

Cedric set his jaw, shrugged, and brushed past him. "Just this next one. Then we'll leave, if it's so important to you."

"I'll hold you to that," Adrian called sharply to his retreating back. He sighed and crossed his arms to watch their last pilfering unfold.

It all went wrong much faster than he would have thought possible.

*

In one moment, Cedric was reaching inside the embroidered silk pouch swinging from the rich man's ample waist. In the next, the rich man and his two servant girls were staring directly at him in thunderstruck shock.

The black diamond's energy was no longer infusing his overtaxed body. He was completely visible again.

"Guards!" the rich man shouted, breaking out of his surprise. He stumbled back from Cedric, meaty finger extended. "Thief! Get him!"

Cedric's limbs wouldn't flee, as if all their will had been sapped alongside the diamond's dark energy. He could only stand in place as two armored men seized him with rough, gauntleted hands.

A few market-goers stopped to stare, and the incessant idle chatter quieted by a few degrees.

"No, stop!" Adrian, the reckless fool, was running up to them, and Cedric couldn't even muster the energy to shout at him to leave.

The rich man looked down at Adrian in bewilderment. "Is this your accomplice, lad? Are you here to plead for leniency on his behalf?"

Adrian stared slack-jawed at the man's face.

"Well? Out with it."

He finally found his voice again, and spoke just one word.

"Uncle?"