The rattle of the padlock was the first warning Kildare had of company. He pulled the window shut as quietly as he could, then stepped away.

The door swung open, and he stepped forward eagerly.

“Is he here? Can I talk to Basalt now?” he asked.

It was one of his guards from before. The man motioned him forward, holding up loops of chain.

Kildare groaned. “Again?”

“Sorry mate.”

He held out his arms, letting the guard wrap his wrists with the chains and lock them tight. Then he opened the grating and let Kildare out of the room. Kildare paused. The guard gripped Kildare’s arm and guided him down the hallway.

As they walked, Kildare strained to listen for any other sound, but all he could hear was the muffled wash of waves outside the house, and their own footsteps on the battered hardwood floor.

The guard pushed open a door at the end of the hall and motioned Kildare inside.

The room was brighter than his little cell, with large windows. An empty fireplace sat at one end between two large built-in bookcases, both of which were empty, with crumbling shelves.

The room itself seemed dusty and not in much use, but two chairs sat in the middle with a small side table between them.

Basalt sat in one, sorting through a plate of pastries. A tea pot sat to one side of the table, steam curling from the spout. The richly decorated tea service and tray, not to mention Basalt’s fine clothes, seemed jarringly out of place against their rough settings.

Basalt looked up and motioned him forward. “Kildare. A pleasure to see you.”

Kildare glanced over his shoulder. The guard just raised an eyebrow and nodded him forward.

He took the seat across from Basalt, bowing his head respectfully. “Sir.”

Basalt slowly went about pouring two cups of tea. One, he placed in front of Kildare. The other, he placed in front of himself and carefully added cream, sugar, slices of bright yellow lemon. He picked through the pastries again, finally choosing a flaky braid with soft cheese.

Kildare swallowed. Yesterday morning, eating apple turnovers with his team in front of the cafe, seemed so long ago.

Basalt finally looked up at him, tapping his stubby fingers on the table. “You know what I like about you?” he asked.

“What, sir?”

“So many of these thieves—” Basalt waved his hand. “Whether they’re individuals or a team. They’re just so cocky. They always have to have a smart reply. They think they know everything. But you—you know your place.”

Kildare bit the inside of his lip as his neck grew warm. “We have a reputation to uphold, sir.”

Basalt threw his head back, laughing. “Reputation? Don’t give me that rot. Your team, your reputation, died last night when that rotted Alfaren woman left you for the city guard.”

Kildare swallowed again. “So why am I here?”

“Because the man who came up with the idea of getting the puzzle box out of that museum can surely come up with a way to retrieve it from one of his own teammates.” Basalt leaned forward. “Isn’t that right?”

“I would appreciate the chance to try, sir.”

“Chance? There’s no chance here, shifter.”

The hair on the back of Kildare’s neck rose. He dug his fingers into his pant legs. “Sir?”

Basalt rolled his eyes and reached across the table, gripping Kildare’s chin with one hand. With the other, he wiped along Kildare’s cheek, then turned his palm up, showing him the thick smear of makeup on the base of his thumb.

“It makes no sense to pretend any longer.”

Kildare lowered his gaze to the floor, shoulders tensing. Waiting.

Basalt sighed. He grabbed the neck of Kildare’s shirt and dragged him upright, then shoved him toward the large windows. Kildare stumbled, slammed into the windowsill with his hip.

Basalt gripped his hair and forcefully turned his head.

This side of the house sat right against one of the small dockside marketplaces. A small platform was in the middle of the market. Cages lined the edges of the marketplace, all empty save the one directly across from the window.

Fir.

The Alfaren’s arms were shackled to the bars across the top of the cage, and he sat slouched forward as if he was asleep. Or unconscious.

Kildare felt sick. He and Fir had narrowly escaped a market like that when they were kids. He dug his thumb into the chains around his wrist.

Basalt’s voice whispered close to his ear. “I also know about Serene. Bold of you, to presume to take something that is mine.”

“That’s enough,” Kildare muttered. “I get it.”

“Do you, though? Do you understand what I will do to them if you fail me?” Basalt gripped the back of Kildare’s collar and pulled it tight against his throat.

Kildare choked and took a step back to relieve the pressure.

“This is the reality of your situation,” Basalt said quietly, stepping close to Kildare’s side. “Right now, Serene may be under my contract, but I’ve let her live life as if she was free. I raised her, clothed her, fed her, and paid for her training. All she has to do is work for me occasionally. I did not step between you two—I didn’t mind if you became lovers.” He smirked. “Although, again, if you thought you could steal her from me, you were mistaken. But...if you fail to retrieve that puzzle box from Mockingbird, I will collar her. I will see her, and you, and your Alfaren friend down there on the slave block.”

“Threats like that aren’t necessary,” Kildare choked out.

“No, perhaps not.” Basalt shoved him hard, making Kildare’s shoulder thud into the window. Then he let go and stepped away. “But I want to make myself clear.”

Kildare pressed his hand against the window, trying to push the mental images of Serene and Fir in slave collars out of his mind. He straightened.

“Do you know who Mock could be working for?” he asked quietly. “Anyone who would want the puzzle box? Do you have any enemies that would want to make you upset?”

Basalt tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowed. Kildare kept his face calm, blank, desperately hoping that Basalt would just underestimate him. That he didn’t know about the shifter ability to sense ley. That he wasn’t about to hand some kind of ley-imbued box over to someone like Basalt.

As long as he pretended that this was just about a puzzle box, a collector’s item...as long as he could fool Basalt...then maybe, the Alfaren would make a mistake.

Kildare held what he desperately hoped was an innocent look, trying not to fidget or give away his nervousness. The question was a risk, but whatever answer Basalt gave him might be useful.

“Of course I have enemies. But I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you, shifter. As for who took the puzzle box ...“ Basalt shook his head. “I have no idea. But you’re clever. I’m sure you can figure it out.” Basalt tapped Kildare’s cheek with one of his single-knuckled fingers. “Just keep in mind what I said.”

Kildare nodded. Basalt clapped his hands, and the guard opened the door, motioning Kildare forward. Kildare obeyed, mind spinning.

There was the possibility that he could be lying. That he actually did know about the shifter ability to detect ley. But at the same time, it was a closely guarded secret, just like the wind messages.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

He couldn’t stay frozen in fear. He had to act, one way or another.

But what if he guessed wrong...

Kildare shoved the thought away.

The guard led him through the hallways, one hand on his arm as usual, until they reached a small open foyer. Without a word, the guard unlocked the chain around Kildare’s wrists. He tucked the chain into a pouch at his side, then held a slightly larger key out to him.

“Go free your friend,” he said. “Your rooms at the Broken Chair are still available.”

Kildare took the key cautiously. “That’s it? No watcher from Basalt’s band going with us?”

The man smiled. “Basalt’s men are everywhere. Rest assured, he’ll be watching.”

Kildare nodded. “And Snitch?”

The guard shrugged. “He schemed against you. We were unsure if you would want contact with him again. But if you do, he’s currently being held in a cell in the city prison, courtesy of Basalt’s bribes. But only for tonight, you understand.”

Kildare nodded again.

The man opened the door.

The ease of his leave-taking made Kildare want to hesitate. It couldn’t be this easy, could it?

He slunk toward the doorway, half expecting someone to stop him. But no one spoke, and as soon as he was on the doorstep, the door swung shut behind him.

Kildare dashed across the market to the cage holding Fir. The lock only took a few seconds for him to push the key into and open, but despite the metallic rattle, Fir didn’t move.

“Fir? Fir!” Kildare wrapped one arm around his friend and fumbled at the chains pinning Fir’s arms above his head. He finally got the key into the lock and turned. With a click, the chains went slack. Kildare untangled Fir’s wrists from the chains and dragged him out of the cage.

He quickly examined Fir’s face and arms. No visible bruises. Chafing on his wrists, but that was to be expected. Fir’s skin looked a little darkened from being out in the sun without shade for most of the day, but Alfaren didn’t burn like humans. He’d be all right.

Kildare knelt beside him and gently slapped Fir’s cheek. “Hey. Wake up! Fir!”

Fir’s eyes fluttered. He squinted, face scrunching in confusion, then suddenly bolted upright. He looked between Kildare and the cage, looking on the edge of panic.

“It’s all right, we’re fine.” Kildare gripped Fir’s upper arms tightly and pulled him to his feet. He threw another glance up at the windows of the house and could almost imagine he saw a dark shadow standing in the room where he’d met with Basalt. Watching.

Kildare dropped the key on the ground and turned his back, gently guiding Fir away from the square. The Alfaren let himself be led, his arms drawn in close, almost hugging his torso. One look at him, and Kildare could tell Fir was fighting back the terror of being back in a slaver’s cage, chained and helpless.

“It’s all right,” he whispered. “Just come this way. I’m here. They’re not going to take you away, Fir.”

Once they were out of sight of the house, Kildare pulled Fir to the side of the street and glanced around, trying to get his bearings. They were still close to the docks, if the smell was any indication, but in a residential area. And not a nice one. Kildare eyed the houses—they all seemed to lean in over the street, blocking the sun. Thankfully there didn’t seem to be anyone about just yet, but he wasn’t eager to wait around.

Fir gripped his wrist, and Kildare looked down, then at his friend’s face. Fir had his eyes closed, and he took a deep breath, then opened his eyes. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine. Don’t apologize.”

“It’s just... Kil, I panicked. It was bad enough that they threw that bag over my head, but then after a while I didn’t hear you ahead of me anymore I started asking questions, and then when we stopped and they pulled the hood off and I saw the cage...” Fir shuddered. “I completely panicked. I think they hit me in the back of the head just to shut me up.”

“I’m sorry I let us get into that position.”

Fir shuddered again, then straightened. “What’s your side of the story?”

Kildare glanced around again. A man was leaning against the corner of a house, picking at his fingernails. He put his arm around Fir’s shoulders. “Let’s walk.”

Fir casually glanced behind them as they walked, and Kildare felt his muscles tense. “One of Basalt’s?” he asked.

“I’d rather not stick around to find out.”

“Blight, Kil. What did you guys talk about?”

Kildare tugged on the collar around his neck. “He wants us to get the puzzle box from Mock. If we don’t, he threatened to make all of us slaves. Me, you, Serene...” He cleared his throat.

Fir ran his fingers through his hair. “Rot it all.”

“Yeah.”

“Do we want to retrieve Snitch first?”

Kildare sighed. “I think we’ll need to. He was in league with Mock. Maybe he knows something. Probably not. But either way, I want to give him that chance.”

Fir nodded. “All right. Where to now?”

“The Broken Chair.” Kildare adjusted the collar of his shirt, hoping it hid the shifter stripes enough for him to walk through the streets. “I’ll send Serene a message and let her know to meet us there.”

“... Kil?” Fir said in a low voice.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. For being stupid. For getting myself into debt and needing money. I know that’s one reason you went ahead even with the dead guard—we should’ve run.

“Shut up. It’s not your fault, and that wasn’t the reason.”

Fir blinked, looking surprised, then nodded, lips twisting into a frown.

“The six thousand?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Later.” Kildare suppressed another sigh. He was going to have to apologize for keeping his best friend in the dark about... well, a lot of things.

But first, he had to reach Serene. Make sure she was all right.

***

The bartender had the room key ready and waiting for them as soon as they stepped foot into the Broken Chair. He led them to a room tucked into the back of the inn—not the same rooms they’d stayed in the night before. It was spacious, clean, and nicely furnished, with a small living space and two bedrooms, rather than the four bedrooms and larger living area of the other room.

The only door out lead them straight past the kitchen and the bar, and the windows were too small for anyone other than wyverns to squeeze through. Kildare had to wonder how often Basalt utilized this room for his special guests. He accepted the key and closed the door after the bartender, then glanced around.

“Fir, can ley be used to make listening devices?” he asked, flicking a finger against an ornate golden vase set into a niche behind the door.

The vase rang with the dull sound of brass. He smirked. The rooms may have looked nice, but they were really just dressed-up prison cells.

Fir glanced around the room, folding his arms over his chest. “Maybe? I’m not sure. I’m not a manipulator. Besides, who cares if Basalt overhears us? He knows what we’re going to do.”

Kildare shrugged. “This is true.”

“He also knew about Serene. Somehow.”

Kildare tried not to flinch at the accusatory undertone to Fir’s words. He flopped onto the couch, not caring that his rumpled, dirty clothes would smear the damask upholstery.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, leaning his head back, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to see the look on Fir’s face. “I just... I was afraid of what you would all think. The questions. The accusations.”

“Yeah, but you would’ve won us over, eventually.”

“I just wanted to start small. Work you guys up to the idea, you know? But more and more time passed and I couldn’t think of how to even start the process, and by that time I figured that enough time had passed that you guys would get mad at me.”

“Stars, Kil. We all knew you had a lover, anyway! And Snitch was already convinced it was Serene. I can’t remember how many times he tried to get Mock and me to bet that she’d seduced you with a sob story.”

Kildare scratched at the back of his neck. His stomach squirmed. “That’s not how it started.”

Fir snorted. “That’s always how it starts with you.” Then he reddened. “I mean, not the whole seduction part, the sob story part.”

Kildare laughed. “All right, all right, so I’m predictable. Got it.”

Fir smiled wanly. “So... yeah. You didn’t have to keep it from us.”

“One of you could’ve said something, you know.”

“No,” Serene said. “He’s right. It was up to you.”

Kildare sat up and swung around.

She stood in the bedroom doorway, buttoning up a blouse over her dragonsbane top. “So, I’m not going to say I told you so. But—” She pulled her hair from beneath the dark fabric and swept it back over one shoulder, and as she did so, Kildare glimpsed two splotchy, red marks on her cheek.

“What happened?” Kildare started up to his feet and took a couple of steps across the room.

Serene pursed her lips. “I tried to get you out. Eras didn’t take kindly to it.”

Kildare gently cradled his hand against her cheek.

Serene stiffened for a moment, then pressed her cheek against his palm. “I’m not mad at you,” she breathed. “Well, not completely, anyway. I’m just worried.”

“You had a right to be,” Kildare murmured. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

Fir groaned. “Yeah, you in love is as bad as I envisioned it.”

Without moving his hand from Serene’s face, Kildare reached over the back of the couch, picked up a throw pillow, and lobbed it across the room at his friend.

Fir snickered as he ducked.

Kildare rubbed his thumb against one of the red marks on Serene’s face, then dropped his hand. His chest burned, smoldering in anger at the thought of someone striking her. He tamped it down and gestured between the two of them. “Serene, meet Fir. Fir, Serene.”

“Good to finally meet an actual face, not just a threatening shadow,” Fir said, grinning to tone down the sting of his words.

Serene grinned back. “Pleasure. Nice to know that I have a chance to get to know you in person rather than lurking outside your window.”

Fir laughed. “Sharp.” He glanced over at Kildare. “All right, I admit. You made a good choice.”

Kildare glanced back and forth between them. So far, so good. “So, we’re all good?”

“For now,” Serene said. “But no more secrets.”

Fir hitched his thumb at her. “I agree. So, what’s our plan going forward?”

“We steal the puzzle box back from Mock and whoever hired her,” Kildare said. He glanced at Serene and saw her nod in agreement.

Fir frowned. “Seriously? We’re not going to run?”

“We can’t run.” Serene’s voice was quiet. “Not from Basalt. Not from Eras. She could track us down.”

“She can’t be that good.”

“She is,” Serene said forcefully.

Fir’s frown deepened, but he stopped pushing her.

“I think a question that we need to decide on first is, do we want Snitch back?” Kildare said.

He’d half-expected Serene to look annoyed at the suggestion, but instead, her eyes turned thoughtful. He looked over at Fir and saw him nodding.

“He’s useful,” Serene said. “I think we should rescue him.”

“Well, that went quicker than I expected it to.” Kildare started to stand.

Serene pressed her hand on his shoulder and stood herself. “Stay here. Fir and I can case the prison and see what we find.”

Kildare frowned. “Are you sure? I can—”

Fir shook his head. “Not with that collar.”

Kildare put his hand on the collar and grimaced. Of course. If he went out like this, he’d instantly be identifiable as a shifter slave, even if he wore makeup to cover his stripes, and a scarf or coat bulky enough to hide it would look suspicious in the day’s heat. “Can’t you just pick the lock on it?”

Fir waggled his hands. “They confiscated my picks. I’ll try to pick some up somewhere while we’re out.”

Kildare groaned. “I hate not feeling useful.”

“Use this time to think of what you will say to Mock,” Fir suggested.

“That’s a good idea.” Serene smiled. “Got to keep your mind busy, at least.”

Kildare rolled his eyes and flapped his hand at them. “I’ll just order room service and enjoy myself while you guys are gone.”

Serene chuckled and squeezed his shoulder gently. It was a reassuring pressure, one that flooded Kildare’s chest with warmth. He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm before letting her go.

“Be careful,” he whispered.

Serene leaned down and pecked him on the cheek. “Of course, darling.”