“Heard you stuck around.”

The leather-clad woman jumps, twisting around with a knife glistening in the lamplight. Ice glistens on the murky windows of the back-alley in Videlia.

She sucks in a breath through her teeth, muttering words under her breath and sheathing the blade, but never taking her eyes from me. “You’re worse than Fell.”

A smile parts my lips. “He was the one human who could sneak up on me. I would say we’re tied there. He lives.”

She sucks in a breath, her eyes growing hard. “Don’t you dare give me false hope, kursk. I will gut you quicker than a rattler drake.”

I hold up my hands, knowing the pain she’s feeling and wishing I could ease it. But the best thing I can do is give her truth. When I heard she stuck around, almost burning herself out for Videlia and missing any escape opportunity… she is looking for death to join her lover. But I asked Yellow about this, and through his inopportune and frankly annoying drivel about our true father, he finally shared what I needed in exchange for pants. Don’t underestimate the value of pants for those who have none.

“He’s on mission for the Yellow Master… who heard from him one week past.”

“Where was this mission?”

“Elflame.”

Her eyes grew cold. “He wouldn’t return to those who had cast him out.”

“He didn’t return by choice.”

She jerks on a sleek black cape and turns her back to me. The salty tang of tears filled the air, and her breathing grows labored as she fights to keep her composure.

“Taken?”

“Likely.”

“Nearest drop?”

“Red tavern in Hawthorn.”

She groans. “That woman is worse than a drake and more ornery than a cackling hen.”

“I owe you. I’ll tell her I sent you. Don’t worry. Quarter will be there and you will be safe and supplied information for your journey.”

She turns back to me, her eyes wide as I stand still. “Is there any hope?” A tear glistens from the corner of her eye, but she blinks it back.

I step forward, slowly, letting her see my bare face. “There is always hope for those we love, Alicial.”

She nods, sucks in a breath, grasps her leather satchel, and disappears into the night. I wish I could help her further, but this journey is her own.

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

“Ready?” I ask.

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

“Ready,” they say, clutching gallons of ice-cold water. Scented with peppermint and tea tree oils. Zephora grins, her face lighting with a glee that is quite frightening. Despite her leg, when I told her the plan for retribution, she cursed me out for daring to suggest she stay out of it.

Tim and Jace give me mock salutes and little Shasta stands beside Nova, holding her hand as Nova cocks her head and her hair perks up in curiosity. Her eyes are alight with something happy. And it lightens my heart. She deserves all the happiness I can provide.

Morgana cackled as she gave me all the things I asked for and promised to prepare a tea. She said she would need a few days to prepare one strong enough, muttering about stubborn wolves and their propensity for needing expensive herbs, and so we will test Yellow when we reach Dragon Valley.

I shake my head, pushing the guilt and pain to the side. That is tomorrow’s worry. Today, it is time for retribution.

I tracked Flash’s scent to a back-alley inn. I climb to the second story, letting myself in a window. It opens to a dark room with the bare minimum furnishings. A table and bed are all I can see in the tiny room.

I crack open the door. It opens to a second-story balcony. I open the door and walk out. The few men hanging around don’t bat an eye at a cloaked man opening the door, making me think they have seen much worse round these parts.

I casually lean against the wooden rail that is stained with pot smoke and stinks of the semi-sweet opium qualities of rush.

Below, Flash is at the bar, his eyes darting to the door and around the tavern as if his life depends on it.

I give a wolfish grin hidden in the folds of my cloak.

He may be able to follow me through the depths of the forest, but the city is my domain.

A howl comes from outside, and Flash jumps as if the hounds of Fifth bit his tail.

He tries to look around casually, but a second howl makes him flinch.

He gets up and strolls into the kitchen. I leap over the rail, land in a crouch on the table, and casually hop down, ignoring the gawking patrons.

I jerk on my cloak to straighten it, then walk toward the kitchen where Flash had disappeared.

I walk into the place, my senses tingling, and lean back just in time to dodge a flying pan.

Flash already races around the next bin, and I jog to catch up before he can make it out the back door.

I come into the hallway just as he flings open the back door and looks back. He meets my eyes, grinning, then rushes out the door as if expecting to get away.

The splash of water is music to my ears.

As are the gasps.

And the string of curse words that would make Morgana blush.

I lean against the back alley wall, crossing my arms and resisting the urge to plug my nose.

He now stinks. And I am tickled pinker than a molting skrisour.

“R-R-Roland!” he shouts, shivering from the ice-cold water. “W-Whatever did I d-d-d-do?” he asks, his eyes round and innocent.

But I know better.

I crouch beside his shivering form.

“You picked a fight with a master assassin. Prank wars are my domain.” That sounded a lot better in my head.

Especially when Flash, his shoulders trembling with cold, head-buts me in the chest, rubbing his peppermint stinking hair all over my favorite cloak.

I spring back, sneezing.

“It is so on,” Flash whispers, a grin on his face showing elongated fangs like a vampire and slit eyes that glow in the moonlight as his hair sticks up from rubbing against me.

He looked like a deranged… well, cat.

I hold out my hand. He clasps my forearm, then pulls me into a hug.

“Flash! Get—off—ME!” I say between sneezes.

He laughs, then sneezes with me.

“Still brothers, kinko?” he asks, looking up with wide blue eyes and a hint of something like fear on his face, as if he only then thought about what this could do to our relationship.

I shove his shoulder, laughing. “Shashon, do you actually believe I’d let you walk away after everything you’ve done?”

His shoulders sag in relief. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

He pulls something from his cloak and suddenly my eyes and nose are burning worse than if I’d snorted fire and Flash is running the opposite direction, laughing his head off as I sneeze mine off.

“YOU—ACHOO—ARE DEAD!” I roar.

But then I spent another eternity sneezing.

That bastard.