"It's a deal."

The merchant smiled at the words, although Xantha caught a hint of relief in her expression.

'She'll have to learn to control that. Still, her inexperience is my gain.'

Suppliers in the capital came and went. The ones that lasted could charge a premium. Long standing reputations were worth the extra gold to anyone too lazy to hunt down alternatives.

Xantha Carnot hadn't earned her name by being lazy.

She counted out a handful of shiny coins and passed them over. Again, there was a slight widening in the merchant's eyes, and the tiniest tremble in her hands. It was no doubt more money than would pass through this tiny shop in a week.

Normally, buying something as valuable as frost powder from a no-name supplier would raise questions. Xantha knew better.

One of her old contacts had mentioned the former dragon crewmember turned merchant. She certainly had the connections to get quality products, and some discrete questions were enough to confirm that the shop was legitimate.

It was just a swallow among dragons, with larger and more established interests dominating the market. That made the owner more willing to bargain.

No doubt the Carnots' usual supplier would be unhappy at the lost sale. 'Fuck 'em. They've gotten fat and lazy. Maybe they'll not try to gouge us next time.'

Assembling the purchase was just a matter of minutes. Twenty flasks of frost powder were neatly placed into a straw-filled crate. The proprietor even took the care to lay a line of pitch along the seam before nailing the top closed. So what if it had the emblem of a local brewery burned into the wood? It was still perfectly serviceable.

"Come back again, anytime! And, uh, if anyone you know is looking for dragon products..."

"I'll be sure to give them your name," Xantha said with a smile, as she accepted her purchase.

In truth, she couldn't even remember what that name was. Not that it mattered. It wouldn't be hard to find a new supplier if she ever needed one.

"How did it go?" Lark asked as her boss emerged from the store.

"Better than expected." Xantha held up the crate. "Drinks are on the Carnots tonight!"

A muted cheer went up from the trio of assembled huntresses, and their leader allowed herself a small smile. 'They can't even be mad because I'm still saving them money.'

She dropped the crate in the back of the handcart with the rest of their purchases and pulled out a scrap of paper. Steel ingots. Ink. Salt. Fertilized goose eggs. Bolts of fabric. Bags of seed. A long list of the supplies a keep needed to function. Everything was either in the cart or back at their little rented plot in the staging yard.

With a show of folding the note and tucking it into a pocket, Xantha declared, "And that is it."

This time the reaction was decidedly less enthusiastic.

"Are you sure that there's nothing else?" Cleo practically begged, her hand brushing against the brand new gold hoops that graced her ears. "Something that will take another couple of days?"

Lark perked up at that. "Oh, did you find out about another party?"

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. Depends if you'll pay me back for last night's drinks."

There was a pause after that, where Lark seemed to be waiting for the other dragonette to crack a smile, but it never came. Eventually, she threw up her hands.

"Come on! I bought your drinks night before last!"

"One drink. One."

"It was more than that!"

"It wasn't," the so far silent third member of their party chimed in. "And you still owe me four silver from our card game."

"I paid that back, Vallie!"

"You didn't," Valleceti replied, coldly. "Remember, I know where you sleep."

"That's enough, Vallie," Xantha said, finally stepping in when things looked like they might get ugly. "Lark, pay the woman."

"But-" Her response died when her boss narrowed her eyes dangerously. A few years in the royal guard had taught her how to deal with unruly subordinates.

"Yeah, sure," the cowed huntress muttered before counting out the coins. Her partner accepted them without a word.

"And you're paying for Cleo's first drink."

"Hey, she owes me more than-"

"For Cleo's first drink," Xantha repeated before the dragonette in question could start protesting. "But," she continued, "I don't think we'll be leaving for a few more days, at least. Unless the trading guild has found someone going in that direction yet?"

Shaking heads followed the question. Not that any of them knew more than she did, but asking made them feel more important. Smarter. Part of the group. Easier to manage.

'As for Cleo, maybe this will teach her not to loan Lark drinking money.'

The staging yard would have only been a short flight away if it wasn't for the cart. As it was, they had to navigate their way through narrow, twisty streets.

This particular part of the capital was cramped with warehouses and low-rent workshops. Really, not the best part of the city, but none of the local toughs wanted to get involved with four huntresses.

Several times, one of the group had to take to the skies to get their bearings. After the second dead end, Xantha just ordered Lark into the air. She braved the stiffening winds to guide them through the maze of streets until they emerged into the outskirts of the city.

There was a guard at the entrance to the staging yard. He was eyeing the approaching cloud bank warily, and for good reason. His only shelter wasn't much more than an awning, and the light summer uniform he wore wouldn't be much proof against a storm.

Nonetheless, he lowered his spear to block their path. "Pass?"

Xantha handed over the token without a word. Surprisingly, he actually appeared to read it, a rare enough skill among the working class.

It was genuine enough, as the guard quickly determined. Returning the slip of carved wood with a polite nod, he raised his spear and let them proceed.

The yard itself wasn't much. Just a flat square of bare dirt surrounded by walls. Cobbled paths led between numbered plots, about half of which were piled with various goods. In the center, a short guard tower watched over the whole affair.

There were sections of covered warehouses available for travelers. In Xantha's opinion, they weren't worth the coin that they charged. Everything they were buying would be exposed to the elements during the journey home, so it wasn't like sitting outside for a few days would matter.

Their rented plot held a staked tarp. A tall mound in the middle testified to the week's successful bargaining.

"Cleo, Lark, get the tarp up. The sooner we get this unloaded, the sooner we can get out of the weather." Fat, cold drops were already beginning to spatter the ground as Xantha spoke.

Lark obeyed, but Cleo balked. "Why bother? A little water isn't gonna hurt anything."

Xantha paused, considering the suggestion.

The only thing in the day's purchases that wasn't waterproof was the frost powder. Getting that wet would activate it, ruining the whole batch. But the crate seemed well made, if a little worn. Worst case, it leaked and the flasks inside would still keep the powder dry.

"Okay," she said, making her decision. "Change of plans. Make sure those stakes are secure, and then we're headed for The Third Wing."

That got a cheer from Cleo and smiles from the other two. Within a minute, they were airborne and racing the storm towards shelter. They made it to the tavern just before the clouds really opened up, pushing inside as rain began to sheet down behind them.

The Third Wing wasn't anything fancy. Dim, with rough bench seating and straw-covered floors, it catered to the sort of people who frequented this part of the city. Trade hands just in from long journeys. Mercenaries looking for contracts. Various workers in the nearby warehouses and shipping yards.

Still, the ale was cheap and the roof was reasonably watertight. That was all that really mattered.

It was also crowded. Most of the benches were occupied by both regulars and dragonettes who had been a little faster escaping the rain.

Surprisingly, from out of the crowd, someone called out to them. "Cleo! Hey, Cleo, over here!"

The shout was accompanied by a waving hand from a corner of the tavern. The rest of the huntresses looked at each other, but Cleo practically dislocated her shoulder waving back as she rushed over.

"Are those royal guard uniforms?" Lark asked, just loud enough to be heard over the clamor.

"Looks like it," Xantha replied, casting a critical eye over the small group scooting together to make room. "They seem a little off, though."

Their uniforms lacked the polish of most units. They were rumpled, like they had spent the day flying in them. And then there was the little fact that they were wearing them at all.

Xantha would have stuck any one of her soldiers on mid-watch for a week if she found them drinking in uniform, much less in an establishment like this one. Either their officer was criminally lax, or there was something else going on.

'Then again, it's not my problem anymore.' With a shrug, she motioned for the other two members of her little party to follow her over.

The guards were already packed wing to wing, but somehow they made room for the newcomers to squeeze in.

Cleo was already pressed up against what appeared to be their leader. Probably a little closer than the tightly packed crowd really required.

"Hey, so this is Lynis!" She motioned towards her friend as the other huntresses sat down. "We met the other night at a party. He's part of a wing of lancers here in the capital!"

"Great to meet you ladies!" he said, with a confident smile. "You all look thirsty. I hope you'll let me buy you some drinks."

Xantha frowned slightly as she looked him up and down. Fit, of course. Older than the rest of the lancers, although not yet entering middle age. Somewhere around her own age, in fact. And tall, for a male. Maybe even taller than Lark. A few scars. Overall, good looking enough. But something about the name bugged her.

It was only when he turned his head to wave at the overworked bartender that she noticed the kink at the end of his left horn and it all clicked.

"You're the Bloodhorn."

There were snickers from the rest of the guards, but Lynis's ears didn't even twitch. He just gave a "what can you do?" smile and a shrug.

"That would be me."

Cleo's eyes went wide and her ears stood straight up. "You never told me!"

"I, uh, kind of thought you already knew," he said, a little bit sheepishly.

"Of course I didn't know!"

There were more laughs, and Lynis even looked just a touch crestfallen. He recovered quickly, though. "Cleo mentioned she was here with her fellow huntresses. I take it you're her leader?"

"Xantha Carnot," she introduced herself. The Carnot part might only be a technicality at this point, but she would be damned if she'd let anyone take away the name she had earned. Besides, the name of one of the kingdom's more powerful noble families opened doors, and the slight widening of the other dragonette's eyes showed it clearly meant something to him.

"You obviously know Cleo," she continued and her huntress gave the male's arm a slight squeeze at the acknowledgement. "And these are Lark and Valleceti."

The lancers greeted them all warmly, and then went around introducing themselves. Xantha didn't bother remembering their names. Unlike their leader, they weren't important.

Incredibly, a server came by right then, and deposited four mugs of ale on the table. There was clearly some preferential treatment going on, but none of them were going to complain.

"What are you doing out here," Xantha asked once they were all settled. "This doesn't really strike me as the sort of establishment you see royal guard at."

"Bolt's older brother's the bartender," Lynis replied, jerking his head to one of the lancers. "He always takes good care of us after an exercise."

"If he doesn't, mom will pick him up by the tail, and throw him into a lake," the lancer in question explained, quite a bit louder than he needed to.

"Bro," the bartender called out, "you better not push it, or I'll make sure your next drink is extra special."

There were jeers from the crowd, and Bolt shot a rude gesture his brother's way.

"So," Lynis said as things quieted down. "Cleo here says you're all from one of the keeps?"

Xantha nodded, quickly. "I'm a gilded huntress leading a group out in one of the Carnots' holdings. You probably wouldn't have heard of it, but it's not too far into the middle ring."

"Pretty quiet, then? Better protected than the frontier for sure. And not as crowded as the inner ring."

The truth was that it was far from quiet. At least, for the huntresses. Sure, they didn't have problems with brigands or darklings or bugs. That would have been one thing. Better, in a way.

No, instead they had quotas. Crushing quotas.

Keeps - especially the more established ones - existed to supply the inner cities with food and materials. That meant there was a constant demand for more venison. More boar. More furs. More wild herbs. Rare timber for their fancy furniture. Goose feathers for their soft pillows. Berries to dye their carpets and flavor their wines.

Worst of all, her superiors were always trying to sabotage her. It only made sense, after all. Lady Jeleen was part of a cadet branch of the Carnots, and the family had never been happy with her marriage to Tilvi.

It was obvious that Jeleen had ordered Draka to sabotage her.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The gilded huntress had been out to get her since the first day. It started with thinly veiled "suggestions" to make her look incompetent in front of her subordinates. Then she started assigning the other teams the closer hunting grounds, and half the time the bitch flew along to watch over her wingtips like she was some incompetent greenhorn instead of a blooded veteran of the royal guard.

It didn't help that half of the huntresses Xantha got were useless. They didn't listen and constantly went over her head. Valleceti, at least, she had managed to recruit from her old guard unit. And both Lark and Cleo were useful enough, as long as you kept an eye on them.

But she didn't mention any of this. Xantha just gave a wide smile and a half shrug. "We have our own excitement, from time to time. Nothing we can't handle, but it's not all hunting deer and picking berries. Why? Are you interested in seeing it for yourself?"

She added the last with the tiniest suggestive hint in her tone. 'He's been a lancer for years now. Maybe he's interested in retirement. Captain of the guard at a nice, secure keep would be perfect for him. And bringing him in would get Jeleen off my tail.'

His response was a laugh and shake of the head. "Nah, I grew up in the capital. I see enough of the keeps when we get sent out on assignments."

"Oh, it's not that bad," Xantha pressed.

"At least we're big enough to have dragons coming through every few weeks," Cleo added. "That always livens things up."

Lynis just raised an eyeridge and motioned outside, to the flat strip of land where a stream of dragons would be landing in better weather.

Sudden laughter distracted them. Lark had apparently just finished telling a dirty joke and the pair of lancers she was chatting with were snorting on their drinks.

A quick glance showed Valleceti paying more attention to her mug than the people around her. The rest of the unit seemed to have gone back to whatever game of dice they had been playing before the huntresses' arrival.

Returning her attention to the Bloodhorn, Xantha said, "I actually grew up around here, too. What part of the city are you from?"

"Oh, a little tenement near the brickworks."

"Really?" She tried to keep the incredulity off of her face, but the wry flick of his ears told her she hadn't managed it.

"Yeah, it was a dump," he admitted. "But it was all my mom and I could afford until I joined up."

"I just... well, the royal guard isn't just about raw skill. Recruits usually need some social standing." She had certainly needed references from several officers to join.

Lynis just snorted, and several of his soldiers outright laughed. "Lancers are a bit different there. You have to be a bit desperate to join up to a unit that might send you out to die. So there's a little bit of flexibility.

"Doesn't hurt that the pay's good!" one of the listeners added.

"That too. Once the money started coming, I did make sure to move my mom into a decent flat."

Xantha had never served with lancers. The explanation made sense though, and she nodded. "Where is she now?"

"Nowhere." His expression darkened. "She died over a decade ago."

"Ohh, Lynis, I'm so sorry!" Cleo gushed.

"It's alright," he said with a tight smile. "Mom was tough... but life ground her away. At least she was comfortable in the end."

"She must have been proud of you," Xantha said.

"More like terrified, I think. Being a lancer isn't exactly safe."

"Every parent wants to see their hatchlings have a better life than they had. I'm sure she'd be happy to see how far you've come."

He paused for a moment, then nodded slowly. "You sound like you have experience with that. You have kids?"

"A daughter. Kesti." For the first time that afternoon, she really smiled. "Three years old, and drives her minders to tears."

"Oh, tell him about the time she stole your saber!" Cleo exclaimed.

"I'm sure he doesn't-"

But before she could finish, Lynis interrupted. "No, no, I want to hear this."

For most of an hour, they swapped stories. Surprisingly, the Bloodhorn never mentioned any of the combat he had seen. He had plenty of stories about his time in the guard, but they were all about dodging officers or pulling pranks or bending the rules in training.

It was clear that the lancers were very different from the unit of the royal guard that Xantha had been a part of. No less capable, but much lighter on the decorum.

Throughout it all, she kept trying to plant the idea of moving to the keep. It was clear that it wasn't sticking, though. Subtle hints that he and Cleo would make a good pair never took off, either. Xantha didn't take long to realize that he was only interested in having a fun time.

Eventually, the canvas sheets the tavern had in place of expensive glass windows began to brighten, and the background pounding of rain faded away. The crowd started to ease as dragonettes settled their tabs and headed out into the late-afternoon sun.

As Xantha finished a story about a particularly tricky hunt, Lynis glanced through the swinging door and grimaced. "Alright everyone," he called out, and the lancers immediately quieted. "The captain's lenient about this, but if we don't show up eventually, she'll nail our tails to her wall."

There were groans all around, but no one lingered too long. Drinks were hastily drained and coins dropped on the table. Bolt scooped the latter up, and wandered over to the bar to settle up with his brother while the rest rose and started making their way to the door.

Cleo grabbed Lynis's arm before he could leave. "You know, there's a party the night after next. Do you think...?"

He shook his head, ruefully. "I'd love to, except we're on duty. Buuut," he continued before her face could fall too far. "After we report in, I'll be free until morning. I'm sure we could have our own fun."

That perked Cleo up. "I'm always up for some fun! Same place as last time?"

"I'll be there a couple hours before sunset," Lynis promised. Then, seeing Bolt motioning towards him from the door, he gave Xantha and her huntresses a nod. "It was a pleasure meeting you all."

"Likewise," Xantha said. "And thank you for the drinks."

"Anytime." With a final wave, the Bloodhorn jogged off to rejoin his unit outside of the tavern.

Xantha watched him go. Once he was out of earshot, she muttered, "He was... not what I expected."

"I still can't believe that Lynis is the Bloodhorn! Can you?" Cleo was ecstatic.

"It is a little hard to believe," Xantha admitted. 'And hard to believe that you didn't recognize him. A lancer named Lynis with a bent horn-tip? Really?'

Lark scooted closer along the suddenly empty bench and scowled. "Some of us barely got a chance to say two words to him. You and the boss had him to yourself the whole afternoon."

"It's not my fault that we're more interesting!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Alright, that's enough." Xantha drained the last of her ale and wiped her mouth with a sleeve. "I'm sure everyone has things that they'd rather be doing than sitting in a dive bar, so let's get the cargo unloaded and back to the rooms."

Cleo's eyes went wide and she practically jumped to her feet, no doubt planning how she'd prepare for her date. The others were a bit slower to rise, finishing their drinks and handing the empty mugs to an approaching server before making their way outside.

The storm had cut the summer heat a bit, but that left things just a little more humid than was comfortable. The newly revealed sun wasn't helping. By the time the four huntresses had returned to their storage area, it was practically steaming.

"Come on, just for tonight!" Cleo begged as she pulled away the canvas tarp covering their supplies.

Valleceti's expression didn't even flicker as she helped to roll it back. "No."

"Why not?"

"You have your own jewelry."

"But you're not using it tonight." When she only got silence in response, Cleo added, "Besides, you know that I'll return it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lark demanded as she picked up a cask and set it in the pile.

"Oh, nothing."

"Bullshit! Why don't you just come out with it instead of making snide comments?"

Xantha sighed. It was sad that these three were the most competent huntresses that she had under her command. They might follow orders and know which end of a spear was the pointy one, but aside from Valleceti there wasn't a disciplined scale on their hides.

'To the oceans with playing the peacekeeper. Maybe if they get it out of them now, they'll settle down later.'

She wasn't holding out hope, but it was all that she could do. Instead of intervening, Xantha just picked up a crate from the cart and moved to set it with everything else.

Out of all of the dragon-produced substances, frost powder was the easiest to handle. It wasn't volatile like blitz gel or flammable like flash powder. Black dragon acid would eat its way out of almost anything, and no one wanted to be anywhere near green dragon venom. But frost powder was fairly innocuous.

As long as it stayed dry.

While it wasn't nearly as dangerous as its cousins, anyone transporting frost powder took precautions. Often those included well padded glass vials packed inside of a waterproof cask or crate.

To the shopkeeper's credit, she had cushioned her products with plenty of straw. Her attention hadn't extended to the packing job itself. Two of the powder-filled containers were rubbing up against one another, and the clay flasks weren't quite as durable as proper glass vials.

They had knocked against each other during the rough cart ride to the staging yard. In the end, one of them cracked, filling the straw with its snow white contents.

Even then, a properly made crate might have prevented disaster. A few drops of water wouldn't have caused any problems. That was all a good, pitch-sealed container would have let in, even in the worst rainstorm.

No one cared if a bottle of beer got wet. The brewery that commissioned this particular crate certainly didn't, and months of service to that enterprise hadn't improved its integrity. The joints let water in like a sieve. As rain mixed with the frost powder inside, the result was a slurry colder than the heart of the fiercest blizzard.

When Xantha picked up the crate full of frost powder, some of this dangerously cold mixture dribbled through the seams.

"Oh, gods damn it!" she shrieked as a lance of pain shot through her arm. It felt like someone had plunged it into hot coals.

She instinctively triggered her magic. Her magical tolerance to flame should have kept her safe from anything short of a blacksmith's forge. Except the burning persisted.

Xantha tossed the crate, hurling the source of the pain away from her. It tumbled on the nearby pile of supplies with a crash. Wood and ceramic chilled to extreme brittleness shattered on the impact.

All of the huntresses were suddenly enveloped in a cloud of cold, white vapor as more frost powder mixed with water. Xantha could only look on in horror as the mass of liquid colder than a northern blizzard consumed their supplies.The office was spacious and well appointed. Wide, glass windows let in the late morning sun to spill across the carpeted floor.

----------------------------------------

One wall was covered with soft tapestries and various mementoes. A finely wrought sword with an ivory handle and more gold gilding than steel hung next to its engraved scabbard. The tattered pennant bearing the Carnot crest looked odd among the treasures, but both held pride of place nonetheless.

Across the room a bookcase packed with tomes stood against the far wall. More than anything else in the office, it showcased the wealth of its owner. There were more volumes held in those shelves than most could hope to see in their lives.

From the overstuffed sofa to the end table bearing a cut crystal glass with matching decanter half full of dark red wine, comfortable luxury radiated from the small reading nook tucked into a corner. Its well used lamp spoke to long evenings spent studying the contents of the room's library.

A desk took pride of place in front of the window. It might well have been carved from a single piece of some sort of exotic, cherry-hued wood. The top was neat. Either side held a small stack of papers, weighed down by matching gold and silver draconic statuettes. The bottle of ink, pair of quill pens, and oil lamp that shared the space had all been moved to one side so as not to obstruct the view of the dragonette behind it, reading a report.

Odit Carnot was entering late middle age, but the silvery sheen beginning to creep into his hide lent him an air of dignity. The slight bulge of muscle under his elegantly tailored tunic made it clear that he still held more than just political power.

That political power was undeniable. He might not lead the Carnot family, but rumor had it that he would be ascending to that lofty perch within the decade. Odit had a reputation for fixing problems, be they a keep not producing its quota, a rival family stirring up trouble, or a subordinate making a mess of things.

Every single item in the office seemed specifically crafted to complement its owner, save for two things.

The first was the chair.

It was utilitarian, made of simple wood without any cushions. Heavy, blocky, roughly sanded. Something more at home in a commoner's tenement than the seat of the Carnots' power.

Then there was Xantha.

She sat in that chair. Her best clothes were dull compared to her surroundings, and she did her best not to shift side to side on the uncomfortable seat. It was too short for her, the back dug into her tail, and her knees ached.

Her left arm itched and burned from the frost burn. The bandage covering it was already tinged blue. Still, she made no move to adjust her posture or touch the wound.

The shadows had grown visibly shorter since she had been led into the room, but the huntress knew better than to speak up.

Finally, Odit lifted his gaze from the paper he had been studying. His expression was neutral, ears held stiff, but his eyes narrowed as he looked down at her.

"I'm curious." The senior dragonette leaned forward, tone mild. His polished horns sparkled in the sunlight as he asked, "Do you know just how badly you've messed up?"

Xantha bristled at the words. "It was an accident-"

"A mistake."

The word was pronounced with exquisite care, like he was speaking to a particularly slow child. Xantha's hands tightened and claws dug into the wooden chair, but she took a deep breath. "Fine. A mistake. They happen."

'I'm not going to let some old man who hasn't done a day's real work in his life bully me into taking the fall for something not even my fault.'

"From what I understand, they happen quite a bit around you."

"Says who?"

"Lady Jeleen, for one. And huntress Draka."

Her eyes narrowed. "They've had it out for me since I arrived!"

"And I have a number of reports from your previous subordinates." Odit pressed on as if she hadn't spoken. "Did I mention that I know Major Hashaw as well?"

'That bitch!' But Xantha held her tongue even as the mention of her old guard commander sent her teeth grinding.

"To be fair, not all of the mistakes were yours. Poor Tilvi made a mistake when he chose you as his mate."

"Fuck you!" she snarled, composure breaking.

Odit only raised one eyeridge and shook his head at the display. "And I suppose that I made a mistake assigning you as a huntress. You're clearly not suited for the task."

"Because I spilled some defective frost powder?"

"Because you lack the judgment that the gods gave a hatchling." Xantha opened her mouth to argue but snapped it shut when the noble slammed a fist down on his desk with enough force to send a paperweight tumbling to land in the plush carpet.

"That cut rate frost powder was only the last in a long line of mistakes." He practically spat the last word, as if it tasted like rancid meat. "You're insubordinate. You can't even meet the most basic quotas. You bring thieves and scum to Lady Jeleen's keep and you drive away anyone with a shred of integrity. You do the bare minimum and often avoid even that!"

Every charge hit Xantha like a slap to the face. Some part of her was still rational enough to think. Through it, she could see exactly what was going on.

"You set me up!"

For the first time, something other than cold anger crossed the older dragonette's face. His brows knit slightly and the corners of his mouth turned down. "If you truly believe that, then it's yet another mistake on your part."

"And you can tell yourself that your hands are clean because you got your lackeys to fuck me over instead, but that's your mistake!"

"See, I admit to making one mistake. But unlike you, I plan on making it right."

"Oh, and how's that?" She already knew, but she was tired of this verbal fencing.

"Xantha," he began, voice taking on a formal tone. "Your place among this family was extended first out of love, then out of courtesy. However, it is the determination of House Carnot that this courtesy was a mistake. As a consequence of your poor judgment and failure to bring honor to this house, it is being withdrawn."

Odit withdrew a small purse from inside of his desk and tossed it to her. She caught it on instinct, and the contents jingled.

"There is your share of the keep's estimated production for the year." The heft was lighter than it should have been. "Of course, the damage to the shipment you caused will impact the profitability of the keep. Count yourself lucky that we are not requiring you to pay for what you destroyed."

"Fine." The word came out harsh, through gritted teeth and bared lips. "When are you bringing me Kesti?"

"Ah, yes, your daughter." Odit's expression went blank once more. "Despite your mistakes, she is still one of us by blood. She bears none of the blame for your actions."

Xantha had thought that things couldn't get worse, but apparently this ocean didn't have a bottom. She took a deep breath and shook her head. "It doesn't matter. She's my daughter."

"She would have a much better life in the family than you could hope to provide her. She would grow up-"

"Bring. Me. My. Daughter."

He sighed. "Fine. However, given the financial burden you have been on the family, you will be required to pay for her transport. And the transport of a guardian, as it would be irresponsible to have a hatchling travel so far on her own. I'm afraid the cost will not be insignificant."

His words didn't register for a moment. They were so outrageous, so utterly insane that she could only gape in horrified astonishment.

And then they clicked.

"You egg sucking son of a bitch!" Xantha was out of her chair and lunging forward, arms extended to wring the worthless noble's neck.

Hands seized her before she could cross half the distance to the desk. A pair of guards had entered while she was distracted, and they wrestled her back.

"That's a no, then?" Odit Carnot asked, eyeridge lifted and the ghost of a smile on his face.

"I'll kill you! I'll burn this house to the ground! I'll burn this whole city to the ground and dance on the ashes and-"

Her rant was cut off by a solid blow to the side of her head. Not enough to knock her out, but enough to send her reeling.

Odit didn't bat an eye at the display. He simply turned to one of the guards and said, "That sounded like a threat. You saw it, right?"

"Yes, sir," the guard answered. "A very serious threat."

Air hissed between the noble's teeth as he shook his head and rose to step around his desk. "Then I think you should take her to the city guard. They'll deal with her appropriately, I'm sure." He leaned down to eye level with the slumped former huntress and let out a completely unconvincing sigh. "Unfortunately, Xantha, actions have consequences. Be sure to remember that."

She was still blinking in pain and confusion as the guards turned her around and roughly dragged her from the room.