Eleanor bit her lips, trying very hard to prevent further questions from escaping her as her new boss walked away, looking to the world like a perfectly normal, if quite beautiful, teenage girl.

Lady Jean had proved entirely too accommodating, even going so far as to debrief her and Sigurd on the mission and enchant their equipment far beyond what their funds would allow them to buy. But that didn't mean she'd appreciate having to answer every little question she had.

I need to calm down. I have already spent months plotting against the most powerful of Treon's noble houses. What can be worse about the few remaining stuck-up pricks? Nothing, that's what.

Unfortunately, no matter how much Eleanor tried to convince herself, her gut kept twisting, a surefire sign that something would happen. She didn't know what, but she had experienced it often enough that she no longer doubted her instincts.

"If you keep making that face, she might start thinking you are afraid,” Sigurd muttered, pulling a long silver lock back from where it had artfully fallen on his face.

Eleanor rolled her eyes, "At least I didn't try and fail to seduce her."

The bard squawked, "I didn't try to seduce her! That's a child! A child! I'm old enough to be… Let's just say she's far too young for my tastes."

"Alright, alright, don't get your panties in a twist. She looks like your kid anyway." With that, they stood up and left, too. They had a job to get to, and Eleanor wouldn't let a lack of initial feeling stop her from cultivating a good relationship with another Council member.

They swiftly left the castle, not even needing to discuss what path to take as if by long-practiced habit. The flickering torchlight revealed a hidden passage few knew existed just beyond the tapestry depicting the Treaty of the Scales. It twisted and turned beneath the grand halls of the Revolution's new stronghold, leading them deeper underground until the air grew colder and the castle's sounds faded.

The passage was dank, but it had been recently cleared of debris and traps in the aftermath of their last mission. Lady Neer had ordered a thorough search of the castle after it was revealed that some parts of it were hidden to divination magic, and in her absence, the search had been headed by their new boss. The teenage Archmage might've appeared innocent and polite, but she was a force of nature and had taken the Divination Division's failure as her own. Eleanor couldn't help but admire that, even if she found her general attitude unsettling.

When they finally reached the exit, a heavy door that blended seamlessly into the wall, Eleanor pressed her hand against a hidden panel. A soft click echoed, and the door swung open, revealing the city streets beyond.

The slums. Or what used to be the slums.

Eleanor paused for a moment, scanning the area out of habit. The streets here had once been filled with desperate souls and dirt that clung to everything. They were cleaner now. No children roamed aimlessly; they were all in school or orphanages as part of the Revolution's social reforms. And the adults who used to sit, eyes hollow with despair, waiting for death to claim them, were gone too. Eleanor heard that they had been sent to a rehabilitation facility where they could be helped in the hopes they could regain some semblance of a future.

It was a level of progress Eleanor hadn't thought possible, even long after she realized who she was working for.

"Something on your mind?" Sigurd's voice cut through her thoughts. The bard stood beside her, leaning casually against the doorframe, his lute slung over his back.

"Just appreciating the view," Eleanor replied. "Things have changed. Not long ago, this place was a graveyard for the living."

Sigurd nodded, though his expression was distant. "Having a revolution has its perks, I suppose. It allows for changes that would have never been possible under the old regime. It also requires the stomach for a lot of bloodshed and the risk of it derailing."

"That's the way it's always been. You don't get good things if you aren't willing to shoulder some risk," she replied, matter-of-fact. She gestured with her chin. "Come on. We've got a job to do."

They set off into the narrow, twisting alleyways under the watchful eyes of the remaining locals. The slums, though improved, still held their secrets, and it would take much longer before they could be declared entirely safe. They passed rows of tightly packed houses, their windows boarded up from the world.

It didn't take long to find what they were looking for. They turned into a particularly dingy alleyway, its walls covered in grime. At the far end, a door that looked like it hadn't been used in years was hidden behind a stack of barrels. Eleanor approached it, knocking twice in quick succession.

A panel slid open, revealing a pair of eyes that glinted in the dim light.

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"Password?" the guard's gruff voice asked.

"Long shadows fall, but none cast deeper than the sun's," Eleanor said calmly, meeting the guard's gaze without flinching.

The panel slid shut, and after a moment, the door creaked open, allowing them entry.

The room beyond was lit by crystal lamps hanging from the ceiling, casting everything in a warm glow. The space was larger than it appeared from the outside, filled with wooden tables and low, cushioned seats. A few patrons occupied the tables, nursing drinks and murmuring in low voices.

Sigurd scanned the room, his eyebrows raising slightly. "You come here often?"

Eleanor rolled her eyes, her tone dry. "I'm a spy, Sigurd. Of course, I come where secrets are sold."

He chuckled, but before she could say anything more, he tilted his head slightly toward a nearby table, acting oblivious to the attention they had gathered. Good. That was precisely the point of coming here with such a conspicuous person.

They made their way to an empty table and sat down, close enough to the others that their conversation could be overheard. Eleanor leaned back in her chair, speaking loud enough to be heard without it seeming deliberate.

"The little Lady is being insufferable again," she said, her voice light with irritation. "Honestly, I don't know how much longer we can keep up with her demands. She thinks she can run the whole city by herself."

Sigurd grinned, playing along. "Archmage my ass, she always has that 'holier than thou' attitude. And here I thought wizards were supposed to be reclusive."

"She's so much worse than I thought," Eleanor scoffed. "She's controlling. Can't leave anything to anyone else. And her lectures... by the gods, I'd rather be sent to the front lines."

Sigurd snorted, shaking his head. "Still, she's useful. If we didn't have her, we'd be stuck in the mud like everyone else."

They continued their casual banter, the conversation meant to paint a picture of dissatisfied servants. From the corner of her eye, Eleanor noticed one of the patrons at the nearby table glance in their direction more than once. It wasn't long before the man—completely unremarkable in appearance, with features so average they seemed designed to be forgotten—rose from his seat and approached them.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked politely.

Sigurd gestured to the empty chair beside him. "By all means."

The man sat down, glancing between them. "I couldn't help but overhear," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Sounds like you two know quite a bit about the Archmage."

Eleanor raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest. "Maybe. Why?"

The man smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Information like that could be valuable. I know people who would pay handsomely for details about what goes on in the castle. Especially anything related to the Archmage."

Sigurd, never one to miss a beat, leaned in slightly, his tone conspiratorial. "Oh, we know plenty. But the question is... what's it worth to you?"

The man's expression didn't falter, but his eyes gleamed with interest. "Why don't we take this somewhere more private? I know a better place to talk."

Eleanor exchanged a glance with Sigurd before nodding. "Lead the way."

The man stood up and gestured for them to follow, weaving his way through the bar with a practiced nonchalance. Eleanor and Sigurd trailed behind him, scanning the room for any signs of trouble. There were none—just the usual hush of whispered conversations and half-empty mugs. These people knew better than to follow another patron and risk their lives.

The man led them deeper into the labyrinthine backstreets of the slums, taking a winding path that seemed designed to disorient. Eleanor remained silent, committing every turn, every alley to memory. On the other hand, Sigurd played the oblivious bard's role perfectly.

"So," he began, his voice light and conversational, "you work for someone important, right? Someone with deep pockets I'm guessing, if you can pay for information about the castle? Or is this more of a freelance operation?"

The man glanced back, his face impassive. "Let's just say my employer values discretion. You'll find out what you need to know soon enough."

Sigurd hummed, pretending to think it over. "I can respect that. But how soon are we talking? I've got a lute lesson later for the son of a high-ranking officer, and the students can be so impatient."

Eleanor fought the urge to roll her eyes as the man skillfully deflected every question Sigurd tossed his way.

After several more turns, they arrived at a small, unremarkable square. In the center of it, partially hidden by a pile of broken crates, was an old sewer grate. The man stopped beside it, crouching down to lift the rusted metal cover with surprising ease. The stench of stagnant air wafted up from the dark hole.

"In here," the man said simply, motioning for them to jump in.

Sigurd raised an eyebrow, looking between the man and the sewer entrance. "You're joking, right? This is starting to feel more like a bad idea. I can't afford to redo my hair later."

The man's expression didn't waver. "It's the fastest way. You said you had information worth a lot, didn't you? We can't risk anyone overhearing."

Eleanor exchanged a glance with Sigurd, her hand deliberately resting on the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath her cloak. This was suspicious, no doubt about it, but if they backed out now, they'd lose the thread. She gave a nod.

Without a word, Sigurd grinned and jumped in, his descent echoing softly as he landed below. Eleanor followed, her landing silent and graceful. The man climbed down after them, pulling the grate back into place overhead, plunging them into semi-darkness.

The sewers of Treon were ancient, built long ago to manage floodwaters from the Great Slitherer during the rainy seasons. They were dry now, and the water channels had been abandoned as the weather had changed in recent years. Eleanor could smell the musty scent of old stone and damp earth, but there was no sign of recent use. The tunnels stretched out in both directions, wide enough for ten people to walk side by side.

Their guide lit a small crystal. He started walking without another word, and they followed, the sound of their boots on the stone floor, the only noise in the oppressive silence.

Sigurd decided to fill the quiet. "You know, I've always wondered… who builds these things? I mean, someone had to plan out this whole underground maze, right? Can you imagine the blueprints? Must've taken years. And what happens if you take a wrong turn? Do you just wander around until you find another exit?"

The man's shoulders stiffened slightly, but he didn't respond. Eleanor stayed quiet, her eyes scanning the walls for any identifying marks. The sewers were vast, but she was confident she could retrace their steps if needed.

They walked for what felt like miles. The light flickered as they passed through larger chambers, the echo of their passage bouncing off the high ceilings.

Finally, the man stopped in front of another ladder leading up to what looked like a trapdoor in the ceiling. He climbed up first, pushing the door open with a low creak. Daylight spilled in, illuminating the tunnel in pale light.

They emerged into the inner courtyard of a villa, its high walls shielding it from view of the surrounding buildings. The space was well-kept, with manicured gardens and a small fountain. But what drew Eleanor's attention were the guards—at least two dozen of them, all heavily armed, standing in a loose formation around the courtyard. Their eyes followed the trio as they climbed out of the sewers.

The man turned to them, his face finally breaking into a grin, though it was far from friendly. "You really should learn how to act better."

Eleanor's lips twitched, hiding a small, satisfied smile.