The streets of Phevril were dusty.

Not only because the autumnal winds were bringing even more sand from the desert, forcing merchants on the streets to cover their wares with transparent tarps or invest in glass showcases if they had the coin. Not even because the enchantments on the walls that surrounded Revilla’s capital were failing – they had already stopped working decades ago, and the Crown couldn’t be bothered enough to fix the engraved spells when their palace remained unassailed by the sand.

No, the dust that filled the streets, coating the entire southern part of the city in a film that muted all colors and turned what already was quite a simple landscape into an even blearier one was different from usual. It did not come from the great desert west of them, brought in by gales and sandstorms that in the wild were savage enough to rip the flesh from the bones of men and monsters alike, or from summoned Dust Sprites and their changing elemental forms.

This was the dust of construction. Of coastal hills being dug into. Of walls being broken down and houses demolished. Of ceilings caving in under the great blows of powerful men as they hammered at walls, turning cheap bricks and hardened clay into a dusty residue that spread in stale clouds of gray and red, only for the wind to inadvertently carry it across town.

Nyissa rubbed two of her fingers together, examining the dust with narrowed eyes. The already thick coating of residue was even thicker in this part of town, near all the construction sites, and her nose was already runny. She had sneezed at least a dozen times ever since turning the block.

And now the pressure was growing again. That tightening of muscles inside your face. Nyissa didn’t try to resist.

“Achoo!”

Her sneeze sounded across the empty street like a small blast – her brother had always joked her sneezes were worse than Mister Antras, and the man was a Dwarf. The sound was enough to make one of the passing workers jump up in surprise, making him drop the bundle he had been carrying. Nyissa turned towards him as she heard the clattering of something falling to the floor.

The knot on top of the bundle untied itself, cloth blooming like a flower to reveal the wooden lunch box within and a simple set of utensils. A dull knife stayed on top of the packed meal, resting on its lid – but the metal fork rolled away from the pack and onto the street proper.

The worker growled at it all, sending a sharp look at her, and the girl sent him an apologetic smile before turning back to her task. The only problem was…

A fork mattered. Nyissa couldn’t help herself and echoed her father’s silly superstition. A small thing inherited from when he had been a nomad in the desert. The words flowed easily, echoed from all her memories of him kneeling on the floor after she dropped a piece of cutlery.

“A spoon for a woman, a fork for a man. A knife for a fight which the heart commands.”

He always said that. It meant simple things – if a spoon fell, a woman was going to be the next visitor. A fork meant a man. A knife, however, was a bad omen – it signified discussions and fights in the future, disagreement between those that lived in the house.

Her house was only meant for herself now. There could be no one to fight against when you were all that remained. Nyissa swallowed thickly, clearing her mind of such thoughts. Beneath her clothes, her skin rippled like the water of a disturbed pond.

She took a deep breath and nodded, more to herself than anyone else – the fork had been a clear sign, however silly it was. Quietly, Nyissa crossed the street, and found herself face to face with the place she had been looking for.

An old residential building, made of four floors that had seen the last coat of pain a decade prior, at least. There were half a dozen small windows on the front of each floor, except for the ground one, which housed only four of them, with the pairs set on opposite sides of the double doors of the building.

The tight alleys at the sides of it revealed an improvised garbage deposit with debris piling on top of each other in small piles, and many clothes lines connecting side windows to the other buildings, probably made for communal use. Nyissa paid attention to the garments set for drying, mainly working clothes and underwear, but also a few pieces of more traditional clothing from the tribes.

She opened one of the doors slowly, allowing the setting sun to shed its light inside. The houseplants seemed to almost prim under the rays, clay vases housing a few specimens with green and purple leaves shaped like blades, and Nyissa pushed one of them with her feet to keep the door open.

An easy escape route. The young woman didn’t know much about the layout of the building, and that irked her a little, but there had been no time for proper scouting. Finding the place had already been a hassle, especially with only a name as a clue, and Nyissa was more than late by the time she finally managed to squeeze the address out of someone, so her patience had been running thin.

Still, it paid to be careful. The man she came to see had worked with her dad many times before, and she had met him once a few years back, but her father and him had fallen out of contact for a while – and that meant Nyissa no longer knew what to expect.

His reputation was still clean though. That meant something in their line of business. If he would do her a favor was up in the air, but as long as he didn’t become an active threat she was willing to count it as a victory.

Gods know she needed one.

The young woman took a deep breath and began to walk up the stairs – only to hear the pit-pat of small feet speeding down the steps. Nyissa quickly dove into a shadowed corner out of instinct, her breath slowing down to a crawl as the sounds got closer and closer. She waited, and relaxed a little when she saw a scruffy boy dart down the corridor, his dirty hands clutching at a silver piece that glittered with the sunlight.

A street urchin. Probably an orphan that lived in the Backalleys, going unseen by most of town. Nyissa hadn’t seen a badge on his clothing or anything else that would mark a gang, but that was good news. That meant he was most likely one of her target’s informants, and he had just confirmed the one she was searching for was home.

She heard his footsteps disappear among the sounds of the streets outside, mingling with the lively sounds of citizens returning home after a day of work, then waited a second before ungluing herself from the wall and releasing her grip on her sheathed dagger. Nyissa took a deep breath, waiting for her skin to settle back in place, and resumed her advance with a bit more confidence.

***

Apartment 304 – that’s what the man had told her between whimpers, after Nyissa had made it very clear she was quite done with how well hidden her target was – and now she had finally found it.

The front door to the place was simple, with no decorations except for the door mat in front of it. The word “Welcome” had been painted in a dull red onto it, and Nyissa hadn’t waited a second before slowly checking beneath it for a possible trap or spare key. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing there, nor above the door sill, so the young woman resigned herself for a more normal approach.

She knocked. Three quick raspings on the door, which went unanswered for a few seconds before she tried again. The second attempt seemed to garner a response.

“Coming!”

Nyissa heard it being yelled from within, and settled back a few steps. There was some scuffling, the sound of someone kicking something and hissing in pain, then of a few latches being pulled back.

Two latches and a lock. Nyissa saved the information, then forced her hands to relax and her shoulders to lower as the door unlocked with a soft click.

The door opened slowly, only a sliver letting her see who was inside, and the young woman recognized the man instantly. He hadn’t changed much, only gaining a few more gray hairs on top of his head, but the human man still had the same curved nose – as if it had healed wrong after being broken – and that small face more suited for a rat.

He was thin, short, and – Nyissa looked down at his feet – currently barefoot. One of his nails was bleeding, leaving a stain on the wooden floor, and he hissed whenever he shifted his weight. His left hand was glued to his side, clutching what was most likely a battle wand, but he seemed otherwise relaxed.

Nyissa raised her face to look at him again, and the man seemed to have finished appraising her at the same time as the two locked eyes. Not that what he saw mattered much. She was the first to speak.

“Lisptongue. Do you have any idea of how hard it is to find you?”

His hold on the wand tightened, and the door closed a little more.

“I don’t know you. I’ve got no business with you.”

Nyissa smiled at that. The man really had a lisp, one that made every word of his a bit harder to understand. She shook her head in response.

“Oh, but you do. We have met before, when you were working for my father, don’t you remember? Back when you were still living in the Backalleys, with all those pigeons.”

Lisptongue blinked at her, and smiled as he left all pretense and pointed the wand at her chest. One of his front teeth was broken midway, which only helped the slimy impression he passed, but the man had his chest puffed in confidence. Nyissa’s smile turned to a grin at the clear threat.

“Well, color me impressed lass, it seems you know about little old me. What is it that you want, huh? ‘Cause this toy ain’t for playing, if you catch what I mean.”

He swayed the wand around, and Nyissa took a step closer – chest puffed with bravado. Her eyes turned into crescents as she gave the final blow.

“Does the surname Umbra mean anything to you?”

Lisptongue seemed to freeze for a second, narrowing his eyes at her. Nyissa knew what he’d see, now that he took a closer look – dusky brown skin, sharp brown eyes and wavy hair as dark as night. This one was a pretty face, made cuter by the freckles around her button nose and the small black dot beneath her left eye, purposefully placed there to reflect her father’s own.

Those that knew would say she looked like a twin to Jerome, her brother, but both had been the spitting image of their dad. Lisptongue’s face narrowed with disbelief as recognition dawned on him. The wand was lowered as he raised his other hand, pointing at her as if she were an apparition.

“You – you are Oscar’s daughter, aren’t you? But… no. How?”

Nyissa nodded, then gestured past Lisptongue.

“Inside, old man. Then we can trade intel for intel.”

She tried to advance, but the man only closed the door further, no longer bound by the shock. He shot a narrowed glare at Nyissa, one that looked almost–

Fearful.

“No can do, girl. I don’t play with what you mess with.”

“C’mon, don’t be mean. I’m just here to talk, alright? I need some information and you’re the only broker that would have it.”

“I don’t keep tabs on Sorcerers anymore.”

That was a lie. No information broker worth their salt would not pay attention to the powerful Casters – much less one that had already worked with them. Nyissa tsked.

“I don’t believe you, old man. And everybody that I’ve talked with said you’d know more about the Lurkers. My father never forgot how well you two worked together. And I can pay for what I need if I’ve got nothing new to tell you.”

Nyissa raised a small pouch she had tied on her belt, letting the coins inside jiggle. The sound of gold and silver made Lisptongue perk up as he bit the insides of his cheeks in thought. For a second, the two of them stood there, waiting for a verdict – but Nyissa could see the clever broker’s mind working behind the small eyes, and when he looked at her once more, considering, she knew what his decision would be.

“Come in then. Let’s see what we can do for each other.”

She grinned, and walked past him as the door locked behind them.

***

Apartment 302 was as plain-looking as its owner. Nyissa saw an old couch resting on a corner, facing a painting on the opposite wall that looked as generic as they could possibly come. A clay pot held remnants of a long-dead plant, its withered leaves blending in with the puke-yellow color of the walls as if someone just couldn’t be bothered to decorate the place with anything but the basics.

Nyissa didn’t get a proper look of the kitchen, but she could smell old food coming from within, and there was a forgotten lunch plate on the circular table of the living room, the food already gone cold.

Lisptongue passed through it all without a second thought, using a piece of string that had been on his wrist to tie his shoulder-length hair as he walked to the back of the apartment – but Nyissa lingered for a second longer, taking a measure of the place and the man that owned it consequently.

She didn’t know if she liked it. It was all so… simple. Lisptongue should have a grown-enough business among the less popular crowd of Phevril to rent a nicer place, so why would he ever live in such a rundown apartment, especially after living his whole life amongst the rabble of the Backalleys?

Nyissa saw him unlock one of the two rooms on the back and suddenly understood. The place really reflected its owner. It was all a damned façade.

She would bet he didn’t sleep here in fact. Maybe he did, in days of great work, but Nyissa could tell this wasn’t home to Lisptongue. And it was all in the details. The cold food was on the table, but underneath she managed to see one of the more expensive containers from one of the Jaguar District restaurants.

The brand read Almister’s Desert Delights, and Nyissa’s flesh bubbled at the spark of nostalgia that came with the name. Her father had taken her and her brother there once, after Jerome completed his first mission. She adored the way they cooked their pheasants, and had even infiltrated the place twice to try and get the recipe.

An expensive restaurant – one suitable for the nobles in town, even the Abyssal Lurkers if they were craving mortal cuisine, instead of a small information broker like Lisptongue pretended to be.

Nyissa hummed to herself, a smile playing on her lips as she relaxed her expression and followed the man into his office proper, finally taking a deeper look at what hid behind the man’s curtain.

The office was full to the brim with paper. Expensive sheets of hand-written pages, all carefully rolled into thin bronze cylinders and capped with a lid and melted wax. Nyissa saw a young woman, older than she was, writing away with a quill without paying attention to their arrival. She stopped at that.

“Who is she?”

“Oh, that’s Anya. Don’t worry about her, she’s as deaf as they can possibly come. A damn good scribe though, but an even better accountant.”

Nyissa paid attention to the girl with narrowed eyes, taking in the heart-shaped face and the lips bitten in concentration, a tattoo of connected spirals spreading down her neck. Without even looking up, Anya took an abacus she had at her side and revised numbers with the agility of someone with years of experience. Nyissa gave an impressed whistle as the woman noted down a series of numbers, and raised an eyebrow at Lisptongue.

“A sight for sore eyes, as well?”

The older man shrugged.

“Can’t complain much, though I prefer my women older than her.”

Nyissa nodded, her smile fading into quiet admiration as she watched the older woman calculate. The sound of a chair being dragged brought her back into focus, but Lisptongue snapped his fingers before sitting.

“Oh, right, could I get anything to drink? Water, maybe? Tea?”

She almost took a step back at that, caught by true surprise, but waved a hand in dismissal quickly enough that Lisptongue didn’t catch any of her true feelings.

“Uhm, no. Thank you. Let’s just get into business.”

“Very well, then. I must say, though, I do feel bad for what happened to Oscar. He was a clever man, good at his job. Far better than his predecessor, according to stories. My condolences, truly.”

Nyissa’s heart shrunk at the words, her flesh bubbling beneath her clothes, changing color as the skin reverted back to its natural paleness. She looked straight at Lisptongue’s eyes and had to concede the man – that had been a good first blow. Her throat bobbed up and down as she swallowed the emotion, and silence settled for an uncomfortable second before she managed to speak without fearing a crack on her voice.

“Thank you.”

That was all she could bring herself to say. Her father – her brother and uncle –

“I regret things went as they did between me and him, but life is a river of treacherous waters. Aye, lass, you should be proud of him. Did he still make that great baklava? I never managed to get the recipe out of him. Always said it was magic he put in the recipe.”

Nyissa’s hands tightened beneath the table, nails digging into her palms deep enough to sting. She could see her own expression on the mirror behind the man, propped up against the window, and quickly tried to smooth it back into a small smile. Lisptongue hadn’t paid attention, looking forlorn as he went back through his memories, but Nyissa choked her own nostalgia with a grip of steel.

Jerome had once complained he didn’t like Baklava any longer and her father had stayed in bed an entire afternoon in sadness. He had only gotten up when Nyissa and her brother dragged him to the kitchen to make the puff pastries as Jerome apologized.

They had learned the secret ingredient was a tablespoon of rose water.

That didn’t matter. That couldn’t matter, not right now. They were–

“I appreciate it. And that’s why I’m here. You know that.”

“I… do. Yes. But the details, they elude even me, you know? It’s hard to get anything concrete from so far away.”

Far away? Nyissa kept her breathing stable with effort as she filled away the new clue. Her father had never told her where the job was going to be this time – and she had walked around searching for a clue for a week already after the Sorcerers came knocking on their door.

Nyissa shivered at the memory of all that cold.

“You know where they went.”

She realized it had been a mistake to say that the moment Lisptongue’s eyes glistened, that dead-fish look of his sparkling with new found information. Nyissa bit her tongue in reprobation.

The broker drummed his fingers on the desk.

“That I do. It pays off to keep tabs on a Guildmaster like Oscar. And I always considered him a player instead of a pawn.”

“And he allowed it?”

Her father didn’t play when it came to work – and either he or her Uncle would have noticed anyone trying to keep an eye on them. Lisptongue laughed at that, and it was a wheezy thing, more of a squeak than a gesture of proper mirth.

“Ah, he did. Oscar had always been fascinating, even before he took to that Sorcery of his. A prodigy – and Lord Stalker wasn’t far behind him. He paid me a visit once, almost scared the life out of me in the process.”

Nyissa’s grip relaxed a little, and she managed a choked giggle as Lisptongue recounted his encounter.

“Uncle was good. And you’re better than the others for taking him into account.”

Few people did before they found a dagger on their back. The young woman took a deep breath, regaining some confidence as Lisptongue looked at her.

“I consider myself one of the best in town, lass. I didn’t work with your father for so long because of my charisma. So tell me properly what you need from me.”

Nyissa fixed her posture on the chair, looking straight into the man’s eyes. She tried to look confident, but her face conveyed more of the desperation she felt than Nyissa was willing to admit.

“I need information on what happened. Everything you have on how they – how they died.”

Damn it! Her voice had cracked. Nyissa swallowed a lump and felt her fingers lengthen and thicken into a man’s as she no longer held the impulse back. Her flesh bubbled unseen.

Lisptongue kept quiet for a second, then sighed.

“That’s dangerous intel, girl. Would ruffle a lot of dangerous feathers if people knew I was selling that. Even knowing it puts a target on my back, you know? These people don’t play around.”

“I know that, old man. Lisptongue. I know who called the hit – I just… can’t understand what happened after.”

The ratty man sniffed, then opened a drawer on his desk to grab a pipe. He stuffed it with a small pack of leaves and lit it up with the help of a candle. The smell was acrid, but his words bothered Nyissa even more.

“No, you don’t.”

“What?”

“No, you don’t know who your father’s employer was.”

Nyissa frowned at the man.

“I do. She was the one that came to the Guild. Lady Darya.”

She had been there when they took over the Guild as well. A woman clad in frost unsuited for this stretch of the desert, her freezing winds turning the Shadows into statues as she advanced without relenting. Nyissa had escaped by the skin of her teeth, and only because she had paid attention.

And yet, Lisptongue shot her an unimpressed look.

“Hm. Darya Philomena. Interesting woman, very astute. Older than me by a lot. A dangerous Sorcerer as well. And definitely not the one calling the shots.”

Nyissa chuckled, with nerves, and rubbed her suddenly sweaty palms on her trousers. She was having difficulty reverting the change.

“I’m sure she is, old man. She was as powerful as father, at the very least. That makes her, what, Sixth Circle? Fifth?”

Lisptongue just shook his head, sighing. The man took a puff of his pipe and leaned forward, blowing smoke into Nyissa’s face. She waved it away with a cough, her face morphing with anger before she realized how serious the old broker looked.

More alert than any time before.

“You’re thinking about this as if she were part of your Guild, girl. Pay attention. Lady Darya is an Abyssal Lurker – that’s an old School. Being a School, instead of whatever it is that Oscar called his gathering of Sorcerers, should have already told you enough. She’s powerful, but they have far, far greater people than her.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

He leaned back on his chair, chewing on his words for a second before relenting.

“Take that as a freebie. For old time’s sake – and before you go around getting yourself killed.”

Nyissa felt her cheeks redden, and began to voice a retort – Darya could have very well made all of this of her own volition after all – but one look at Lisptongue and she swallowed her words. The man wouldn’t take her seriously anymore if she said anything.

He looked different, somehow – and Nyissa didn’t know when the shift had happened. The pipe, maybe? The moment they had entered his office? It was the way he ported himself, with confidence she hadn’t seen when they first met, that made her stop and reevaluate. Lisptongue still looked rattish, with bags under his eyes that betrayed long nights of lost sleep, but he was on his turf now.

Like a predator.

Nyissa took this more seriously herself, finding herself more relaxed as the stakes were made clear.

“I… understand. Then – do you know who did it? Who was behind all of this?”

Lisptongue smiled, showing that broken tooth of his.

“That’s gonna cost you, lass. I don’t work for free – and I’m not gonna risk my hide for you, no hard feelings.”

“None taken.”

Nyissa remembered how much coin she had taken from the Guild during her mad escape. She could have gotten more, but there had been more important things to take with her than gold. Still, with what she had taken with the little robberies she had made this past week, thirty gold coins should be more than enough to–

“200 gold.”

The young woman choked on her own thoughts, coughing at the absurd number.

“Two hundred – ah, you’re joking! Very funny, old man.”

She even managed to squeeze out a laugh after her heartbeat settled down from the scare. The only problem was Lisptongue’s serious eyes.

“I don’t joke about prices, lass. Two hundred gold, paid upfront. Information like the one you want costs a pretty penny to get, and even more to divulge.”

Nyissa didn’t stop her jaw from falling. He was actually serious! The man was mad if that’s how he did business – two hundred gold was enough to buy a good magical item, one made with good materials and enchantments that would last.

Hells, Nyissa’s own dagger should be around that price! The Sandsteel had been more expensive than the enchantments on it, but it was still a great weapon; good enough that if she wanted to try her luck adventuring, there’s no doubt she’d get compared to at least a Stone Rank.

“You can’t be serious – what you can tell me couldn’t possibly be that expensive.”

“Messing around with Sorcerers is fancy business. I needed to burn a lot of cash in protection, stealth and bribes if I wanted to do it right. And we both know I’m the only one who knows what you want and is willing to give it away.”

Nyissa’s face soured for a second before she schooled her expression. She had tried other informants before going with her father’s old connections – mainly people that worked with the Guild in recent times, supplying them with the needed knowledge of their targets. But after the number of Shadows grew, the Guild had needed less informants than before, and their operations were too small to have anything on this magnitude.

The girl ground her teeth as more of her arms bulged and grew, turning hairier as blotches of skin shed a part of its color.

What was the move here? Honesty? Pity? Nyissa had dozens of prepared faces on the ready, but the man on the other side of the desk was too clever for cheap tricks. She needed to take a risk, but not yet. She stalled.

“So you’ve already done all that? A preemptive measure?”

“More like a proper move on the board, lass. I told you, it pays off to pay attention – and the place they were after was already on my books as… interesting. But that’s more than I’m willing to say already. So, what’s gonna be?”

Nyissa bit down her lower lip, heart settled on a choice, and blinked slowly. Her eyes turned watery, and she morphed a few muscles to look more gaunt as she passed a hand to clean the unshed tears. Her voice quivered, her jaw trembling as if she held back a great deluge of emotion.

“I – I know my father and you lost touch a while back, but… but I know you still care for him. Those that betrayed him deserve to be brought to justice, right? Please, sir, I’ve got little with me – my home was taken, my people are dead – won’t you do me a favor for the memory of your friendship with dad and lower the–?”

“Meh. 4 out of 10.”

Her words ground to a halt. Nyissa shook herself, broken from her little act of purposeful honesty as Lisptongue interjected. The man was taking puffs out of his pipe and making rings in the air with the smoke.

4 out of 10? The young woman ground her teeth with a lot more force, and had to pull on the sleeves of her shirt as she noticed more splotches of her arms change in color on a glimpse. She had even been honest in part! Nyissa felt a taste of the emotions bubbling in her heart and couldn’t help but find the interruption rude.

“What?”

“You should have begun your act with that, girl. From the moment we met. If you did that, I might even have bought it now – I ain’t heartless, but all that talk after looking so confident? Don’t get me wrong, it’s impressive, it just won’t stick with me. 4/10.”

Nyissa blinked at the feedback, not sure how to feel about it, and sighed. Her shoulders relaxed, and blotches of her skin grew the proper color as she pinched the bridge of her nose tiredly.

In the end, she still grumbled defiantly.

“It was a good try.”

“It was a mediocre one, c’mon. Be serious for a second, can you pay it or not?”

Nyissa froze, then shook her head with a sour expression. Lisptongue reclined further on his chair and waved a hand as if tired.

“Well, do you have anything worth that price then? I’d be willing to take an item or two if they were good enough.”

The girl considered, but the only thing on her that would fit the price tag on the information was her dagger – and Nyissa was unwilling to part with it unless it was a last resort. She couldn’t go after the people that betrayed the Guild without a weapon after all, and this one had been gifted by her father.

She thought back at the things she had stolen, that small item tucked away underneath her bed of the inn she was paying to stay at – but that was worth far more than meager two hundred gold.

Nyissa couldn’t help it – she looked back at her own blade, and maybe it was time to depart from it. She had enough money to buy another mundane dagger if need be, and the blade didn’t make a warrior, so maybe she…

The girl smacked her forehead, taking Lisptongue by surprise and making the man choke on the smoke of his pipe. He began to cough as Nyissa reached a solution. She was so stupid! Why was she struggling to find a way to pay him back in gold when she could give him something much better?

Something that no one else would give with as much care as she now that the Guild was gone.

“Would you take my services as payment?”

Now it was Lisptongue’s turn to open his mouth in shock. The man raised both hands at her.

“As I said before, I prefer my woman–”

“I meant a hit.”

Nyissa made things clear before he derailed the conversation again. The solution was bright inside her mind, glowing like a torch. It made her miss the smile on Lisptongue’s face.

“Well, since you’re offering…”

What? She almost heard the crash of her thoughts as they stumbled on top of each other at the same time Lisptongue opened a drawer and pulled one of the metallic cylinders. He handed it to her with all his teeth showing, broken and unbroken.

Nyissa took it with wide eyes and couldn’t help but state the obvious.

“You wanted this.”

She was the last remnant of the Guild. Nyissa had thought herself so clever when she realized it that she forgot other people could reach the same conclusion. She swallowed as the man took another damn drag out of his pipe, then refilled it with more leaves as he noticed it was empty. The man smacked his lips in distaste.

“Shit leaves, I swear. They hit well but burn way too fast for their price. Now, now, don’t look too hurt, lass. It was the only way you could pay for it. At least it was the only price you’d be willing to pay and I’d be willing to accept. Don’t rescind it now, c’mon. Read it up.”

Nyissa hesitated. Lisptongue was proving himself more cunning than she expected. Half of her mind was berating her for coming at this without proper preparations, but the other… The other half was enjoying the thrill of the risks she was taking.

Acting instead of waiting for something to happen after everything felt incredible. So the young woman unsheathed her dagger and shaved away the wax on the top with its tip before popping off the lid. A bundle of rolled up papers fell onto her hands when she tilted it upside down.

There was a lot of information on all of it. There were letters, ledgers filled with numbers written in what looked like Anya’s calligraphy, and a full report on who Lisptongue’s target was.

Angus Laverne. A human man, roughly 40 years old that hailed from the Thalassocracy up north originally, but has been living in Phevril for almost two decades already.

“...Graduated early from the Submersi Academiae of Finikatr as a Divination Mage. Spell capacity unknown, proficient in anti-divination wards… You want me to kill a Caster? That’s–”

“The price. It looks steep but read the rest of it before you make any decisions.”

Lisptongue didn’t bat an eye at her complaints, and Nyissa grumbled at the man as he focused back on his pipe before she read more of it.

Angus has been working for a gang in the Backalleys for a while, under someone called Jackal, and has been serving as both scout and spymaster for them. There was a page reserved to the gang’s business – mainly drug traffic and some new fighting rings and brothels – but also something more dangerous.

And far more lucrative.

“Sorcery. They sell Artifacts. That’s way out of my league…”

“Tsk. Continue, girl. Read the damn thing already before complaining.”

Lisptongue rolled his eyes at her and Nyissa puckered her lips in response. Still, she continued.

“He doesn’t leave his house much, works from the same place… wait, what’s that? He’s blind?”

She raised her head in surprise, and caught the smug grin on Lisptongue’s face. The broker seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Blind as a mole. Apparently that’s why he graduated early – an accident made him lose his sight and he isn’t good enough to grow more eyes. Still, he’s better than most, enough to be a damned bother. He’s been keeping me out of the loop on the deals being made on that part of town.”

“You couldn’t send a spy after him?”

“He keeps finding them somehow. I stopped after the second got a beatdown from the gang’s crooks. That’s why I need him… you know, dead.”

He drew a line on his own neck with his thumb and Nyissa nodded. Still, the amount of work needed to take a Caster on, surrounded by possible Sorcerers and with Artifacts of his own…

“That might be a bit much for me, Lisptongue. Father trained me well, but those are bad odds. I’d need proper leverage to do this, especially if he has a way to find spies.”

Without her own abilities Nyissa wouldn’t even consider it possible. Killing a Sorcerer was doable, especially a weak one, but a man surrounded by them? All with unknown Abilities? Nyissa didn’t like that at all.

“I have ways to even the odds, girl. I’d be willing to let you borrow them for this task, free of cost, as long as the job is done. But I’ll need you to agree before I reveal them.”

The young woman shook her head without a second thought.

“No. I need to know what you’re willing to give to say if it’s possible or not. I’m not gonna commit to anything without at least a decent chance of success. Tell me.”

Lisptongue narrowed his eyes at her, thoughtful as he took Nyissa’s firm stance. He smacked his lips again.

“So be it. I have something new, that will keep you undetected from most of Angus’s magic – enough that he wouldn’t find you unless he casts a spell on you directly. And there’s someone that can help you more… directly, but I’ll say no more on that for now.”

“I don’t work well with others.”

Lisptongue seemed to contain a smile at that.

“Don’t worry, lass. You two will fit each other like a glove.”

Nyissa narrowed her eyes, but sighed in the end.

“Alright then. If you say so. What else can you tell me about, uh, Angus.”

“Well, first off he has a guard of his own. A burly man that follows him around everywhere. Don’t know if he’s a Sorcerer or anything like that, but I’d act with caution around him. You’ll have to figure out his routine as well – I didn’t get much before he began to cut off my intel, but from what I know he doesn’t seem to leave the gang’s main hub much.”

The young woman hummed to herself in thought. What would her father do? The odds seemed bad, even with Lisptongue’s help, but was it possible?

Gods, her Uncle would hate this. Lord Stalker didn’t play around with risks, unlike her father. But Oscar Umbra had been a daring man even before he became a Sorcerer – the only question then was whether Nyissa was the same.

She couldn’t help it. The girl grinned with all her teeth. For a first job, this was going to be incredible if she made it – not that Lisptongue needed to know that. Quickly, she hid her enthusiasm and cleared her throat.

“This sounds like a lot of work, old man. And we both know how much this would cost, don’t we?”

“The Assassin’s Guild is no more, lass. No need to try and play it much.”

The comment stung, but Nyissa didn’t let that stop her. She kept her grin full.

“Ah, but what you ask is a job fit for a Shadow. A lucky Murderer, maybe. I’m just a mortal girl, you know. Risk means more rewards.”

Lisptongue narrowed his eyes, putting his pipe down. Nyissa waited for the question.

“What do you want more? I’ve got people to feed you know? Employees and all that.”

“I’m sure you do – but I’d also like to keep my head on my shoulders. Now, what I want is this: give me whatever information you have on the people involved on what happened with Father – Sorcerers or not – and keep an eye on them after it as well, I’ll take whatever your spies catch.”

The old man laughed.

“For free? I’ll let you buy that intel, girl, but I’m not running a charity over here.”

“Then do it for a month after I finish the job. A time limit is more than fair.”

“You have no idea of how much you’re asking. That’s a lot of people I’d have to tell you about. I’d have to spend a lot to keep track of them all.”

Lisptongue shook his head, unwilling. Nyissa had no idea of how deep the conspiracy against the Guild had been running, but everytime the old broker gave her a glimpse of its magnitude she felt shivers down her back. It didn’t matter.

“A week then. For a week, I want updates on where they are. Just that.”

“‘Just that’ she says. Ha. It’s your funeral, lass. But you know what? Fine. I’ll give you that for your troubles. But I want something more as well.”

Nyissa gulped.

“What is it?”

“Angus might be protecting their territory, but Jackal has been moving men outside of it as well. He’s been sending them to the new district, the one they’re renovating, and they keep hauling something back. I want to know what it is. If you tell me, I’ll give you the extra information – otherwise, you’ll only get the more-than-enough knowledge I own.”

She considered, quietly, and a little extra espionage shouldn’t be that hard with her abilities and whatever item it is that Lisptongue has to keep her safe from Divination Magic. Nyissa nodded.

“Alright, then.”

Lisptongue gave a nod of his own, and fixed his posture on the chair, his face betraying nothing. The broker spoke seriously as he stared into Nyissa’s eyes – and she saw something churning behind the irises. Was that…

“Then let me be clear: From now on, you agree to the job of assassinating Angus Laverne by use of whatever means necessary for the right to access information on whatever happened with your Father and his company before the dismantling of the Assassin’s Guild. In addition, in case you manage to discover what Jackal has been transporting from the new district, I shall provide you with additional information on the culprits and provide their locations for a week after completion of the hit. Is that everything?”

Nyissa felt unnerved by the words, serious as they were, but kept her wits still.

“There’s also the help you’ll give to make the job possible.”

“Ah, yes. I shall also provide you with one item against Divination Magic and a person capable of assisting you on assassination. Now, is that all?”

She nodded.

“Good.”

Lisptongue rose to his feet, adjusted his shirt on his torso and Nyissa saw a few strands of chest hair peek from the collar. He took a drag off his pipe and enjoyed the smoke for a second before expelling it in a ring of smelly fumes. Then, of all things, he extended a hand.

“Shake it, lass. Let’s make this a proper negotiation, as adults should do.”

Nyissa hesitated, for a second, truly put off by the display – but she couldn’t help the desire to do this properly. Her very first hit and she had found it all by herself. Jerome would be jealous.

Slowly, she took the hand – and, once more, Lisptongue grinned. And Nyissa realized something was very wrong. He kept a hold of her hand as she tried to pull back, realizing the trap as it sprung from that same smile he had given her before she offered her services. A mixture of pity and pride at the deceit.

The broker spoke before she broke contact.

“Then it’s a Deal.”

The young woman felt something burn her arm, a crimson light shining from where her skin met the broker’s own, and a tattoo of a chain enveloping her wrist like a thin bracelet. Lisptongue released her, and Nyissa clutched her hand back in shock, staring at the mark as the pain faded as soon as it appeared. That had been an Ability!

“You are a Sorcerer.”

“Well noticed, lass. It was a good deal, I must say.”

Immediately, Nyissa unsheathed her dagger and placed it on the man’s throat, the edge grazing his skin and cutting enough to draw blood. Lisptongue smiled in tranquility, and spoke to her as she huffed on his face.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Who knows what you agreed on?”

“Take it back! Do you think of yourself as superior? Sorcerers can die all the same, Lisptongue – and I won’t hesitate to slit your throat and get the information myself.”

She meant it. That had been a low blow from him, a well-made trap, and she couldn’t understand why… until the man laughed.

“Oh, dear. I’m very much aware how fragile we are, despite our Abilities. But are you sure you can find the information on what happened to Oscar and company? Go on, it’s right there on the shelf. The, ah, third cylinder from the left.”

Nyissa felt as if cold water had been poured on her. The man sounded confident and that was an omen in itself. Someone shouldn’t sound so certain with a dagger to the throat – unless they had serious contingencies. Nyissa considered digging deeper with the blade, slicing that thick artery that doused the brain in blood and watching him suffocate, but growled in the end.

She picked the damn cylinder, popped the lid, and took off the papers. A whole book-worth of them, rolled up so they could fit. She scattered them on the desk and–

Nyissa couldn’t read them. The words… they were just jambled! Letters swam on the paper, stacking on top of each other or hitting another with strength enough to make them sail across the page. She picked up one, then another – then what had seemed like a map, but the stupid lines kept curving and shrinking as if she were hallucinating. Her eyes blazed as she kept trying to read it all, but the more she tried the more effort it took – until a piercing pain made her shout and let go of the paper.

Like someone had stabbed her head. The girl flinched, and felt something drip from her nose. Nyissa wasn’t surprised to see blood.

More of her flesh boiled beneath her clothes, and the details of her face began to collapse with her anger. Her eyes reverted back to their usual yellow, that piercing almost feline glare, and she got a raised eyebrow from Lisptongue. He had sat back on his chair, and was stemming the blood from the cut with a piece of cloth.

“What have you done?”

“Just a deal, lass. Nothing more. No hard feelings, right? I just needed to make sure you’d go through with your part of it. Angus has been quite the bother, and the stakes for his death should be appropriate.”

She snarled at him, spittle flying from her mouth. Her glare would have lit him on fire if she had the power.

“And what makes you think I can’t take that information from you, Lisptongue? I will torture you enough to tell me all that you know, you little shit!”

He had the audacity to roll his eyes. That damned maggot! Nyissa would enjoy setting loose on the man and carving him up like a fish, first kill or not. She was going to make it bloody.

“Bad threat, lass. Unimpressive. And there’s no need to get all pent up for that. I can always tell you that ꊯꌷꌗ ꑀ ꀎ ꌅꋬꄽ꒹ꍏꇘ ꌅꂢꈼꋖꏁ ꋖꊮ꒹ꋖꄍꄐꁁꍬꆴꈚꑑ ꌗ ꑄꌅꄍꃪ ꋊꒊꏁꐄ꒹ꁲ ꏁꁲꋖꈼꌂꅍ.”

Pain. Nyissa actually screamed as the man spoke, the sensation of cold fingers pressing against her skull almost too much to bear. What was that…

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. My bad, kiddo. But the right to access something is quite the clause. You should have been more careful.”

“I’ll kill you. Gods damn you, I’ll kill you, old man!”

“Bah. We need each other, girl – a Guild trained assassin has become quite the commodity with your father’s unfortunate passing and I’m the best broker in town. I couldn’t let that go without a proper assurance, could I? And don’t worry too much about it, but I’m quite safe as I am.”

Nyissa could only growl, too angry to form proper words. He had used her – he was planning on doing worse, Gods damn it! She shouldn’t have ever thought herself so clever.

The young woman held in the tears, but the tightening on her face made her aware of her feelings on the matter.

Her anger burned deep, changing more of her body. Nyissa tried to keep it contained, to revert back the changes, but it was hard to contrate on it. The disguise barely kept itself going.

Still, the older man was acting. He had refilled the cylinder with all that unreadable information and closed it off again, placing a new item beside it. A ring made of silver, lackluster in everything but the black gem on its top. Lisptongue continued moving as Nyissa calmed down enough to speak, and put on what seemed like a glove before taking up a quill and speaking.

“Indah Besem.”

He began to draw a map onto a piece of paper, and when it was done, placed it beside the rest of the items. Then he took a damn drag out of his pipe and gestured towards them.

“Go on. Take it. I’m sure you’ll need this to finish your part of the deal. Do let me know if you have any other requests, lass. But I believe it's for the best if we all go our separate ways for today.”

Nyissa didn’t have the strength to retort. Nor did she have the capability to advance and slit his throat before he spoke a forbidden word and sent her back to the floor, writhing in pain. But Gods above, how she wanted that!

Still, she needed to keep something to herself, and losing more control of her transformation would be more than bad after already losing so much. So the young woman bit her tongue until it drew blood, chewing on it as punishment for her stupidity, and took the items in silence.

By the time she had left the office neither Lisptongue, nor Anya, nor her had said anything else.

***

It was a resounding defeat.

There was no skirting around that – and Nyissa had raged for more than an hour after she got back to her room in the inn. A quaint little place, this one was, managed by a gruff enough old man that asked no questions when he saw her flesh bubbling and limbs changing in size as Nyissa sped up the stairs.

The bedroom was simple, but comfortable. A table and a bed made most of the decoration, but also a painting on one of the walls, a chest at the end of the bed and, most importantly, a mirror.

Person-sized, it stood in a corner reflecting the entirety of the room. The window beside it lit up the room by letting the dying sun in, though the sky was already painted an intense blue and soon, she would need to light up a candle or be doused in darkness.

That would be preferable. Anything to keep her own shame hidden – but at least she no longer had to fear her reflection. The mirror was broken, after all.

Reduced to shards and fine dust after Nyissa punched it in, then stabbed her own reflection repeatedly. She had lost control of her change quite badly, and though she tried shifting for any other face – male or female, human or something else – it kept reverting back into her original form. As if her powers were no longer enough to keep her true appearance hidden.

And she hated it. More than Lisptongue and his Deal. More than Darya Philomena and her piercing cold that had turned decades of efforts and a dozen friends into ice. Nothing could compare to the utter abhorrence Nyissa felt when looking at those yellow eyes.

Yellow eyes. A nasty color to have, especially when they were so big on her head, leaving her with what should have been a fierce or scary impression if they were not so droopy. Instead, all she saw on those dead orbs was tiredness and a life of mockery. Eyes the color of pus, of things grown foul – without shine unless she willed it so.

And her hair, those coarse strands of platinum white that refused to be tamed, rising from her head with no brightness of its own. Nyissa tried to revert it back, willing it to go black or brown or gray – just not that dead white color she loathed. But it was for naught.

The mirror kept showing her more. A wide waist and narrow chest that made her look bloated – a long neck ending in a circular face, hidden by hands that were too long and too thin to be fully human. Her legs were wrong as well, knees too thick and thighs as thin as sticks, all of it attached to too long feet.

Changeling. That’s what she was. A mockery at what a human should be. A bad dream given flesh, as if someone had tried to make a human without ever looking at one.

Nyissa had no words to define how she felt about it, so she raged without speaking, just growling and shouting to herself as she punched her reflection into dust, uncaring of the shards that dug into her knuckles. Pain was preferable right now. Better than grief, better than wrath. Her tongue still bled from how hard she had bit into it on Lisptongue’s office.

Good. Nyissa tasted copper as she laid on the bed, allowing herself to bleed without thought. Her fingers hurt like hell and her tongue burned in pain – but she laid there, suffering, for as long as she could stand it.

Then, she felt it. That feeling of something rippling inside her – that almost itch as she took control of fibers so thin they would very well be invisible to anyone. Nyissa grabbed it by the throat with violence, forcing a new form onto her. One that was distant from all of her feelings and problems, a fresh face to fix up her mistakes or die trying.

She tried to make a human first, but could still feel too much. It was easy to be a human, and it was the form she was most used to being, but there were other species that would keep her mind sane.

Nyissa chose an Arenad. Desert-folk alongside the Sphinxes, but close enough to humans that she could emulate their form. Making the ridges on her suddenly bald head and shaping her teeth into the sharp pointed rows they had was difficult, and required concentration or they’d revert back to their original form, but Nyissa dove to the task for as long as she could.

It was a good distraction. By the time she had stopped, the night was already out in full and Phivrel had awoken the lights that kept the streets marginally safe. Houses and other buildings lit their candles as well, enjoying the few hours of rest before most people went to sleep.

From her window, Nyissa could even see the docks on the east side of town besides the great Lighthouse of Phevril, a large construction left behind from when the Kingdom was far greater than it is now. They had turned it on, the great white light it projected spinning slowly as it guided ships to the coast.

Her father had taken her there for her birthday, years ago. Nyissa and Jerome had even seen the great magical Artifact that kept the whole thing working, after Oscar managed to stealth them in. The light was–

She cleaned the tear that fell without her consent. She felt like crying now, too tired to speak. Too hurt to move after her own stupidity. The little girl, that orphaned daughter, reigned her tears one last time.

Just for long enough that she could remove the shards of glass from the back of her hands and sweep the shards into a corner. Then, she took her Healing Potion and drank a quarter of it, tasting the awful sourness as her tongue healed and the cuts and bruises on her body mended. She half expected the tattoo on her wrist to disappear with it, but the mark of her mistakes lingered even on her new form.

After that, there was nothing more to do. Even if she was hungry, even if she was tired, Nyissa Umbra could no longer hold that portion of her feelings in. So she laid down in bed, pulled the thin covers until they hid her away from the world, and wept.

She couldn’t tell why now. Nor for what reason specifically. Maybe it was for all of them – but that mattered little, for in the end, things were too difficult. The burden became too heavy to carry.

And Nyissa, failing one last time that day, could do nothing but grieve.