The girl - the booth-brat from dinner - got up early. This was kind of a problem because Barin had asked Gray to help Harriette study, and the girl was one giant distraction.

She stumbled into the dining room, her platinum hair catching the gentle morning sunlight flooding in from the large front window. She was already fully dressed. Her jacket was buttoned up tight, right to the neck.

Harriette stared with her mouth open.

She wasn’t the only one staring. The girl had the attention of the few scattered patrons they had so early in the morning. She had the kind of face that would earn a fortune in Dierne, from artists and sculptors wanting her to pose.

She demanded the best table be cleared immediately.

She wanted a meal made for her, perfectly, that wasn’t on the menu, and her cold gaze followed Barin as he disappeared through the kitchen doors to talk to the head cook.

She snapped her fingers at Alistair. Alistair winced, and strode over with the coffee pot.

‘I don’t want coffee,’ the girl said. ‘I need myrtle tea.’

‘We don’t have that here,’ Alistair said tightly.

‘Course you don’t,’ she said, clicking her tongue. ‘So silly of me to assume you’d have a basic herb to make tea for your paying customers.’

Harriette leaned in close to Gray, her voice low and fast. ‘Who’s that?’

‘Nobody,’ Gray said.

Gray wrenched his gaze away from Alistair and the girl, and focused on the elementary alchemy textbook in front of him. He tugged it closer. His eyes were killing him in the gentle light.

He was jammed in the far corner of the dining room with Harriette, sitting at a table piled with her books. She had a mug with hot chocolate turned cold in front of her, and had one knee curled up in a childish pose. Gray was trying to eat a bread roll with cheese in between coaching her through her notes.

Which she was kind of resistant to.

She’d kept trying to read her new book about some boy called Jack who battled selkies and giants and djinn. Gray had to yank it out of her hands and sit on the damn thing, to get her to focus on her study.

‘OK,’ Gray said, swallowing a huge bite of his bread roll. ‘Let’s go over this one more -’

‘Nobody is looking at you like you kicked her puppy,’ said Harriette, dusting crumbs off her trousers.

Gray blinked at her, reaching for his deepest reserves of patience.

Harriette was four years younger than Gray – only ten – and she had dark auburn hair the exact same shade as her father. She always reminded Gray of a fox – sharp-faced, silver-tongued, and light-footed.

Gray had been running Harriette through her alchemy notes for almost an hour at the request of Barin. Harriette was at the end of her tether and honestly, so was Gray.

Gray glanced up at the girl. Alistair had disappeared.

The girl whistled at Gray, waving him forward with two fingers.

Gray pressed his hand over his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. ‘Memorise this formula,’ he muttered to Harriette, pointing at her text book, before standing and walking over to the girl.

She had a map laid out on her table, her perfectly manicured hands spread over it. She shot Gray a cool stare through her platinum lashes.

‘The road to Sirentown is blocked,’ she said. ‘I need a local map, a detailed one. I need to know all the other roads out of here.’

‘Buy one at the counter,’ Gray said. He turned on his heel.

‘I’ll tell the manager you’re being uncooperative, shall I, little boy?’

Gray paused.

Harriette watched Gray - with that stupid book about Jack and the djinn back in her hands - and was definitely not studying. Gods. Barin would have Gray’s hide. Barin cared deeply about Harriette - heck, Alistair, too - getting good grades.

If Harriette’s intelligence stat score didn’t go up by at least three points by the end of her exams, Barin would be unbearable.

The girl huffed out a small laugh. ‘Thought so. He’s got a tight hold on you, doesn’t he? You owe him a life debt?’

Gray turned to face her, squaring his shoulders. ‘I’ll get you a map, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Two coppers. But it won’t do you any good.’

She raised a pale eyebrow, leaning back in her booth. ‘Why’s that?’

‘Unless you want to take the roads that go through the forest - which I don’t recommend unless you have a guide with you - we only have one road out to Sirentown. You’ll have to wait ‘til they clear it.’

‘I can’t stay here.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘How long until they clear the block?’

‘It usually takes a few days.’

She fidgeted with her stag ring. ‘That can’t be the only option.’

‘You could go back the way you came,’ Gray said. ‘South. Through the ravine to Reviness. And go from there.’

‘That's a five-day ride,’ she snapped.

Thinking they were done, Gray turned.

Then, coldly, ‘You take paper currency here? I’m all out of coppers.’

Gray glanced at the paper note she slid across the table. The king’s haughty face stared up at him from the paper note, along with an embossed numeral ten.

Gray tried not to double-take.

A ten ardent note was an obscene amount of money.

‘We,’ said Gray, trying to control himself, ‘take paper currency.’

‘Forest map?’

Gray stiffly crossed the floor, doing mental gymnastics to add up her change. Discreetly, behind the counter, he examined the note. But, he’d never handled money like this, and he didn’t know how he was supposed to check if it was real. Judging by the assholery of the girl, she was legit stinking rich. Probably, the note was real.

He returned with a detailed map and a pocket full of coins.

‘And where do I get a guide?’ she said, carelessly sweeping the change into her silk purse.

Gray shoved his hands into his pockets. She crossed her ankle over her knee, her immaculate boot on display. Faint freckles dusted her cheekbones. Gray thought she looked younger, in the morning light. The girl was likely around Alistair’s age.

And travelling alone.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Though, if her travelling companions had gotten sick of her and kicked her out of their group, Gray wouldn’t be surprised.

‘Kyrdon Hall,’ Gray said, reluctantly. ‘You know where that is?’

‘Yes.’

‘They have representatives there,’ Gray said. ‘They’ll assign you a certified guide, and your name goes down on a list in case you go missing.’

She let out a small, disbelieving sound.

‘And they’ll check your ID,’ Gray said pointedly.

She frowned, and Gray thought maybe she wasn’t familiar with the word ID in their northern dialect.

Gray struggled to find the words in his rusty southern Lismerian. He and Alistair had always spoken Lismerian with Alistair’s mother Elona, before she’d passed away. But that had been years ago, now.

‘Your stat papers,’ Gray said in stilted Lismerian.

Every citizen of Lismere had enchanted stat papers, and they laid out everything.

Name and date of birth? Yep. Parents' details? Oh, yeah. Job and pay? It was on there.

And the individual score against the eight different skills most prized by the Augustes? Of course.

Strength.

Dexterity.

Constitution.

Intelligence.

Wisdom.

Charisma.

Luck.

Magic.

This girl’s stat papers were so poorly forged, Gray could see where the scribe had smudged the ink, and the stag symbol at the top had an extra antler.

She glanced up at Gray sharply.

To make things even more insulting, her stat papers had a score of forty next to strength, which was on par with someone who’d won three battle tournaments in a row.

Gray swept his gaze over her.

A strength score of forty?

A score of forty in strength meant she could get a job as a soldier or guard, and get paid really well for it, to boot. She’d be working side-by-side with warriors who had trained for years and could snap a person in two.

Please.

A clear lie.

And she had a stat score of thirty-five in intelligence.

Gray bet if she sat the senior exams today with Alistair, there was no way she’d score a thirty-five. The valedictorian at his school barely had a ten.

‘What did you just say?’ The girl shot at him in clipped Lismerian.

Gray carefully picked the words out in Lismerian. Maybe he’d said it wrong the first time. ‘They’ll check your stat papers.’

She steepled her fingers in front of her, and drew in a deep breath. Sneered. ‘Nice accent.’

‘Uh-’

‘Who are they?’ She nodded briefly to the booth by the door. Five leather-clad warriors were eating enough food to feed a dragon. ‘Tell them to stop staring at me.’

Gray winced. ‘Tomb guardians,’ he said. ‘They just got off night shift, so I think they’re just staring into space, and not at you.’

This was a bald-faced lie. They were absolutely staring at her. Everyone was staring at her.

Two of the town guards who were eating breakfast by the dying fire were making eyes at her like she was some ethereal goddess who’d descended down from the mountain. Clearly that hadn’t heard her speak.

She had a moment of unfiltered surprise. ‘You have Ancients' tombs here?’

‘Mostly in the old graveyard,’ Gray said, aching to get back to get back to his table. It wasn’t just Harriette who had exams today. All of them did. Gray’d been counting on having time to study this morning. ‘A few up on the mountain. Underneath the town. Most of them are still intact, too.’

‘Unbelievable,’ she said.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gray saw Barin and Alistair come through the double doors with trays of food. Alistair slammed down a steaming plate of scrambled eggs, roasted vine tomatoes, stewed apples with cinnamon and yoghurt, and spinach and goat’s cheese hotcakes on top of the map for the asshole.

‘Where’s the ham?’ she said.

Gray peeled away and slid into the chair opposite Harriette before Barin could yell at him.

‘Let’s go over this one more time,’ Gray said to Harriette quietly, flipping through her textbook. ‘If you combine chemistry and conversion, it’s alchemy. If you combine alchemy and magic, it’s potion. Got it?’

Harriette glared at the page of notes in front of her, her chin deep in her palm, her auburn hair pulled into tufts. ‘Yeah …’

‘Wait,’ said Alistair, slipping into the seat next to Harriette, his rag damp and covered in crumbs. ‘I have a question. What if I combine chemistry and magic?’

Gray levelled him with a stare. Tried to quickly judge his mood.

Alistair’s lips twitched.

‘That won’t be on the elementary exam,’ Gray said.

‘OK, but what if I combine chemistry, conversion, and magic?’ said Alistair.

Gray took another bite of his roll. His mouth was covered in cornmeal crumbs. He struggled not to show his irritation, and gave a muffled, ‘That means you’re a genius, Ali.’

‘OK, but what if I-’

Harriette let her head fall onto the table with a thump. ‘This crap is not helping. Are we done now?’

Gray bit his lip to stop himself laughing, determinedly not catching Alistair’s eye, and definitely not looking over at the girl, and instead watched the tomb guardians in their booth.

The tomb guardians were a staple in town, always guarding the Ancients’ tombs in Krydon from tomb raiders. One guardian was new, freshly assigned by the crown in a five year bout of duty as was the protocol, straight from Dierne. One look at her, and you could tell; she had her chestnut hair coiled tightly back in the southern fashion, tightly buttoned and laced clothes, delicate gold jewellery, and brightly painted nails.

Barin leant against the back wall, an accounts book in his hand, watching her.

Then, Barin caught Gray noticing him watching her.

Gray hastily dropped his gaze, clearing his throat, and studied his bread roll intimately.

It had taken Barin two years to stop being angry after Elona died, and then another year to start looking at women again. Watching the new tomb guardian put him in a good mood, which Gray was all for.

Alistair ruffled Harriette’s auburn hair. ‘Since when do you have trouble with this stuff? You’ll be fine.’

Harriette raised her head. A page of her notes stuck to her face. She snatched it away, crushing it in her fist. Her face was pale and she had tired smudges under her eyes.

Gray leant in close. ‘Are you OK?’

She swept a glance at Gray, and then turned to face Alistair. Alistair was her favourite.

‘There was someone following me. I think. Following me home. Last night, from my violin lesson. He was wailing outside my window.’

Alistair frowned, but he didn’t say anything. His curly hair was sweaty from standing over the coffee pot this morning, and he had a fresh burn on his arm from one of the ovens.

But he didn’t give a shit. He hadn’t even run it under cold water.

‘What, like a prank?’ Gray said quietly. ‘Or kids from school?’

‘I don’t know.’

Alistair helped himself to the remains of Gray’s breakfast. ‘Could be a swamp-vampire.’

Gray nodded reasonably. ‘There are swamp-vampires in the area. They say they have them guarding the oldest vaults within the tombs. We should ask.’ Gray jerked his chin at the group of tomb guardians.

Harriette gave Gray a glare so hot he was surprised he didn’t explode on the spot.

‘Ah, shit,’ said Alistair. ‘It’s not a swamp-vampire, Harriette. They don’t exist. We’re teasing you. I’ll walk you home from your violin lesson from now on, OK?’

Harriette looked like she was going to say something more, but instead leant her pointed chin back into her palm.

Alistair ferreted around in his pockets and eventually pulled out an old, dented pocket watch. He fiddled with the dial on the side.

‘Here.’ He pushed the pocket watch into Harriette’s hands. ‘I’ve set it eight hours ahead. According to this watch, it’s always daytime. That will confuse the hell out of swamp-vampires, and they’ll think it’s daytime and leave you alone.’

‘Speaking of time,’ interrupted Barin, his voice booming from the far side of the dining room, ‘time for school.’

‘Yay, exams,’ said Harriette flatly, wheeling away from the table.

‘Speaking of tomb guardians,’ said Alistair in Gray’s ear, quietly imitating Barin’s baritone voice, ‘I saw the new tomb guardian with Longwark in Raven Drive last night.’

Longwark was their alchemy teacher. It wasn’t unusual to see him out at strange hours. He’d collect herbs, fungus, and other bits and bobs from all over town and the neighbouring forest, especially at night. Sometimes he’d disappear for days at a time, hunting down ingredients for alchemic creations. People said he had a huge personal store in his attic.

‘Thanks for that visual,’ Gray said.

‘Not with her, with her,’ he said. ‘It … did not look friendly.’

‘What the fuck? Should we report him?’

Alistair frowned deeply. ‘It looked like he was threatening her.’

Gray paused, his eyebrows raised.

‘I think he’s trying to break into the tombs,’ said Alistair. ‘I think he figures the new girl is the weakest link.’

This was a leap, even for Alistair. He always assumed the worst of Longwark. Honestly, everyone did.

‘Pffft,’ Gray said, shoving him, ‘you’re so dramatic, you know?’

‘I’m serious,’ he said.

‘Nah. Why would he be trying to break into the tombs?’ Gray said. ‘There’s curses and creatures and protection in there. You’d be mad to try and break in.’

Alistair shrugged. ‘Why does anyone try to break in? Treasure.’