The afternoon sky above Market Street was clear and bright. There were more marshals than usual patrolling its long, wide area. One could be seen in their black uniforms, standing or marching by every few sellers' stalls. The sellers had noticed their arrival the night before. There must be trouble about, they whispered to each other. Keeper Spire must have caught wind of another potential brawl between the Dunns and Hillshires.

Lark Dunn smirked from an alley as he watched yet another marshal pass by. What could they possibly do to stop him? He wasn't doing anything that was against the laws of Genua. Not yet, anyway. If a fight broke out, he would be sure that it wasn't him or any of his men who threw the first punch. He always was.

It's too easy to get a Hillshire thirsty for a quarrel, he thought with a sneer.

He ran a hand through his raven-black hair. It fell to his shoulders in shining waves, framing his impish face and contrasting greatly with his orange eyes. The Dunn eyes—fiery and bright, like the petals of an orange dahlia.

Those piercing, cat-like eyes scanned the street once more. There were still plenty of marshals about, but it was only a matter of time until—

There was a shout to the left, then a loud clanging. A marshal came running down the street, striking a gong to call the other marshals to attention.

"Five carts have crashed on Jolline Street!" the young marshal shouted, her face reddening with the effort. "All available marshals are to report to the site and help the injured, and to clear the road!"

Sellers and shoppers alike chattered with shock and excitement. People stepped out of the way to clear a path for the marshal, still clanging her gong. Lark watched with satisfaction as black-suited marshals hurried along after her, running away from Market Street. He waited for a moment as the street returned to calm, then stepped from the alley into the full light of day.

Further down the street, another man stepped from an alley. Lark grinned and nodded toward him. One of his loyal followers. And further along, more men were stepping into the light of Market Street. It was time for them to begin their prowl.

Lark turned and began to stroll with nonchalance, glancing over the wares of the sellers lined along the road. But he wasn't there to shop, not really. He was there to hunt.

"…heard she's never left the walls of the Dunn estate."

Lark's ears pricked at the mention of his family's home. He turned his head ever so slightly until he caught sight of the speaker. His lips curled into a devilish grin.

At one of the stalls opposite him, there stood two Hillshire men. He recognized them immediately by the silver cuffs on their right upper arms, stitched with the Hillshire crest—a silver sun. They chatted loudly as they sorted through trinkets the seller was offering.

"I wonder what she looks like," the first man went on. "Knowing that her mother, Dame Dunn, is such an indisputable beauty."

The second man scoffed. "You reckon she actually exists? A hidden daughter?"

Lark glanced up and down the street and spotted his men. Discreetly, he caught the attention of each of them and signaled for them to approach him.

"What, you think the Dunns are lying about having a daughter?" the first man asked with a snort.

The second man shrugged. "Could be. Maybe they weren't able to produce an heir, and don't want anyone to know."

The back of Lark's neck prickled with annoyance. Could they be speaking ill of his beloved aunt and uncle, Dame and Lord Dunn?

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"Nah," the first man shook his head, "what would be the use in lying about it? No, I'm sure there's some other reason she's never been seen. I've heard, even within the Dunn clan, very few people have seen the girl in person."

"Maybe Dame Dunn keeps her hidden because she doesn't favor her mother's looks," the second man said with a giggle. "Maybe… they've kept her hidden all this time because she's absolutely hideous!"

The prickle on Lark's neck turned to seething heat. His fingertips sparked with eternal flame, and he turned to face the two Hillshire men just as his own men drew in around him.

"You there," he barked, and the Hillshires turned to him with surprise. "You dare speak so insultingly of my cousin?"

The first man turned green. The second man spluttered foolishly.

"Y-Your cousin?"

"Aye, my cousin," he thundered. He stepped toward them, fingertips still sparking. "Layalla Dunn is not some hideous creature, locked away to spare the world of her face."

The man continued to splutter as one of Lark's men stepped up beside him. All around them, the sellers at the nearby stalls began to warily pack up their things and move off.

"This man called Lady Layalla hideous?" Lark's man asked, glaring at the Hillshire. "You dare to speak ill of such an innocent and kind Lady?"

The Hillshire man shook his head. "I never meant—"

"You're one to talk," Lark's man spoke over him. He spat on the ground between them. "You're uglier than the mangy dog that comes begging to my back door for scraps."

The Hillshire man's mouth hung open. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me," Lark's man went on, sneering. "They should keep you locked up in the Hillshire dungeon for showing that ugly mug of yours in public. Lord and Dame Hillshire should have to pay damages to the citizens of Genua for having to look at your nasty little face."

The Hillshire man began to shake with rage. His companion stepped in front of him with a glare.

"That's enough out of you. We may have spoken wrong before, but we meant no harm in it."

"What do you think?" Lark's man turned to look at him, baring his teeth in a wicked smile. "How many babies has he made cry with that ugly face of his?"

The second Hillshire pushed forward, his own fingertips sparking with eternal flame. His companion tried to hold him back, but it was obvious that he was too enraged.

Lark smirked. Yes, that's it…

"What's all this?"

The smile fell from Lark's face as he turned to see another Hillshire approaching.

Damn it all!

Celian Hillshire, nephew to Lord and Dame Hillshire, stepped up and placed a pacifying hand on the angry Hillshire man's shoulder.

"Do not give in to their taunts," he said in his calm, clear voice. "They only seek to make a joke of you."

Lark glared at him. He hated everything about him. His pale Hillshire skin, his white Hillshire hair, and his silver Hillshire eyes. Just the sight of him made him sick with rage.

"Step aside," Lark's man warned Celian. "This is a dispute between men that does not involve you."

Celian turned stoically to face him. He glanced down at the orange cuff on his upper right arm, stitched with the crest of the Dunn family—a black skull.

"There need be no dispute between any of us," Celian said. His peaceful demeanor only served to irritate Lark more. "You are men of Dunn, we are men of Hillshire. Let us just agree that we don't like each other and move along. We shouldn't waste our time with petty disagreements."

"Petty?" Lark scoffed. He stepped forward so that he and Celian were practically nose-to-nose. "And what's petty about these deplorable Hillshire scum insulting my Lady and my cousin, Layalla Dunn? Would not you defend your Lady, Dame Hillshire, if you heard some loathsome men speak ill of her?"

Celian stared back into Lark's eyes for a silent moment. Lark wished that he could put out those damnable silver Hillshire eyes. He gritted his teeth and glared back.

"I apologize on behalf of these men for any offense that was caused," Celian said, bowing his head forward. "Please, forgive them their mistake."

"I suppose he wouldn't have the strength to defend his Lady, Dame Hillshire," one of Lark's men spoke up. "Maybe she's not even worth defending. Maybe she's—"

But Lark's man didn't have time to finish his insult before the second Hillshire man pushed his way past Celian and sent a fiery red burst of eternal flame shooting toward him. The eternal flame hit him squarely in the chest and sent him flying backward against the stone of the street. Passersby began to shout and run from the scene, and within another moment, a full-on brawl had broken out.

Bursts of eternal flame were flying back and forth between the men. More Hillshires and more Dunns joined the fray. Lark found himself opposite Celian, both his hands alight and ready to shoot off an attack at the white-haired Hillshire.

"The marshals will be here any moment to put a stop to this," Celian warned, his aggravating calm finally slipping. "Must we go on in this way?"

Lark grinned back at him.

"Oh, we must."

He shot a ball of blue-white eternal flame at Celian's head.