Asimina watched the overweight merchant waddle into the room. Sweat covered his brow and neck, leaving a thick stain around his collar and his hair plastered to the scalp. She fought the urge to look at the surrounding officers, instead forcing herself to remain calm and seem unbothered.

Spiro, the merchant, paused upon seeing her sitting before him. “Why isn’t he here?”

“He?” she asked. The words barely got out of her throat as she nearly locked up.

“Him,” Spiro waggled his hand. “The mercenary, your captain.”

Phineus, standing behind her and to the right, placed a hand on her shoulder. The officer to her left didn’t provide her any physical support. Stelios’ icy glare drilling into the merchant’s weak gaze was support of an entirely different sort.

She cleared her throat and thumbed through the papers they’d brought along. “We will get to that as we finish up our contract.”

“Fine, fine,” Spiro said. “The Dawn Rose is incredibly busy at the moment, so I would appreciate it if we could manage this as expediently as possible. When can your Captain be here? Or will you handle the conclusion entirely?”

She licked her lips and swallowed once. “I will be handling the contract.”

Spiro nodded and opened his bag. “Now, let’s get this through with. I’ve brought along your first payment,” he pulled out a purse jingling with keys. “We will have another installment sent in three months as per agreement.”

Asimina nodded to Phineus, who grabbed the pouch and started counting, lips silently mouthing the numbers as he went. She glanced briefly at Stelios, who didn’t spare her a single glance.

It really should be Mihail sitting where she was right now. Except he’d gone completely missing. Presumably, he was out there somewhere. She hadn’t known about him and Sabas, not until after Stelios told her. She could understand him being upset, but vanishing at this moment really was inconvenient.

Mihail had experience sitting on these kinds of deals, years of them, while this would be her first. Next would be Stelios, but the man had been voted down by the other officers. They feared he was too confrontational and risked their entire bounty.

Phineus would’ve been a brilliant negotiator, she was certain. If only he could speak properly. He had experience, not only inside these negotiations, but with general merchants as well.

Gods, Asimina would’ve preferred if they’d hired a merchant to deal on their behalf over doing it herself. If not for the innate mercenary lust for coin, she might’ve attempted it.

So now here she was. If not for the events inside the fold, Asimina could’ve likely escaped this role. Unfortunately- she winced at the thought, guilt and pain driving their shovels into her. Sabas had gathered her under his wing while in the fold, something the other officers had picked up on.

They were reading too much into it, but they didn’t care about that. Soldiers learned early on to look to their leaders. Order came from the top down. Except, Asimina had no one to look to.

Phineus was mute and Stelios looked like he was imagining a thousand ways to choke the life out of Spiro. It came to her and the cursed contract in her hands. She’d read it front-to-back, back-to-front, to make sure she wasn’t missing anything. Still, she felt blind.

She coughed into her hand before opening her folder. They didn’t know the exact measures the Arkrotas had put in place on the Sentinels and the Dawn Rose, but they couldn’t risk the merchant guild attempting to pay them off in segments.

Usually, this was sort of preferred, especially since so many soldiers were bad with money. When the company got their whole payment up front, there would usually be a few men or women crawling back asking for an advance of their next payment, since they’d gambled or drank it away. With installments, the quartermaster had deniability and could more easily enforce some discipline on their spending habits.

However, the Dawn Rose merchant’s guild had been in an absolute fervor since returning, so Mercy’s Redoubt was forced to consider the idea that there wouldn’t be a guild to pay them in six months’ time.

“There are some protocols we are forced to invoke,” Asimina said, leafing through the papers. Her meticulous reading came in handy and she quickly picked out the right page. “First and foremost,” she tapped her finger on the paper. “The Loss Clause.”

Spiro paled. The fat merchant licked his lips before rapidly skimming his own reports. “No, that can’t be. It says here you only lost thirteen soldiers. Are you trying to pull one over on me?”

Asimina nearly winced, but halted herself. She inhaled slowly, looking over the small attachment she’d added to the page. “We’re not trying to run off with keys we don’t deserve, sir,” she faltered, unsure if sir was the right way to address the merchant. He didn’t seem to react, so perhaps it was fine. “As per our agreement, every lost life counts towards the Loss Clause, but so does the amount of soldiers that quit because of the job at a two-to-one ratio.”

Spiro glared at her. “So that’s what, thirteen dead and thirty who quit. Still not enough for your clause.”

Asimina blinked. He knows about that ones who quit as well? Then why did he question me? Unless, she worried at her lip and stared across the table. The merchant was sweating profusely and there was a distinctly unhealthy pallor to his skin. But it was cold eyes that stared back at her.

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She shook her head. “Of course, that pulls the Loss Clause up to twenty-eight of the thirty percent losses needed,” Spiro didn’t move or change his posture, except for dabbing at his forehead. She couldn’t bait him so easily, it would seem. “Except, that one officer left once we returned from the fold.”

“Pish,” the man waved her off. “That puts you to twenty-nine, instead of twenty-eight. Didn’t they teach you basic arithmetics where you come from? Here we would never let our children go so under-served, but you don’t strike as someone from Limclea. Or maybe you’ve taken a few too many hits to the head? Are you feeling alright, lady? You seem a little flushed.”

Asimina grit her teeth. And looked away. No, she wasn’t a scholar, but she wasn’t stupid. How had the man pulled her number so easily? She swallowed, trying to control herself. He’d clearly seen the writing on the wall and was instead trying to null their contract entirely. But he could only do that if she let herself get angry. And he did not have that kind of control over her.

She glanced up from the papers, lightly shaking her grip. Phineus squeezed her shoulder hard. For a non-combatant, he had a firm grip. It would’ve likely hurt a less solid person.

Spiro was lightly scratching at his nose, right where her own diverted slightly off course from an improperly set break. She frowned once, and a grin peeked through the curtain of a beard he carried around his mouth. Cocky, self-certain, and condescending.

“We can’t all be scholars, right?” His smile widened. “Some of us have to go out and do the brutish jobs-.”

“Unfortunately, Sabas died during the mission. As he was the Captain, the third addition to Loss Clause state that his loss carries far more value than even regular officers!” She exclaimed, cutting off the merchant. A flush rose in her cheek, further reddening her as she struggled between embarrassment and anger.

“That’s what happened to him,” Spiro muttered. “Unfortunate, but not expected.”

Asimina grit her teeth but kept on task. “With Sabas’ added value, that puts us above the Loss Clause limit.”

“Hmm, it’s not that I don’t believe you, but I guess I’m having a little trouble tracking all the losses. Can you run me through it once more?”

“Sabas, our captain, thirteen dead, twenty-nine soldiers and one officer leaving,” the words came out harsher than Asimina intended. Phineus’ nails dug into her neck hard enough that she could actually feel the points bending against the pressure. “If you cannot keep up, then perhaps the merchant business isn’t for you. As according to this next clause,” she leafed through the document, finding the right page. “We can require a full payment as of finishing the job, if we believe there’s significant turmoil within the economics of the employer.”

“I don’t know if-“

“King Phormos literally had to intervene and has put, as of yet unknown, sanctions on your business. The Dawn Rose is in turmoil. You said as much when you entered.”

Spiro’s lips thinned. “I guess that’s true enough.”

“We finished the contract as was agreed, but suffered severe losses and so require a full blood price payment within the next week. Phineus will deduct the first installment from what remains to be paid. Remember, Captain Sabas was a Tier 15 braced and will be paid like it.”

Spiro nodded, still looking thin-lipped. “Of course, that is assuming that you actually finished the job.”

Asimina’d started to rise but stilled then, looking at the merchant. “What do you mean?”

“Well, there are rumors going around that the boy’s been seen at the Sentinel’s compound. That he was even seen entering a potragos under his own power.”

Asimina fell back in her seat. “The fold collapsed on him. No one could’ve survived that.”

“Yeah,” Stelios growled. Though his words were quiet, Asimina could feel the heat sealed in his breath wash over her hair and down her back.

“But he did. You’re free to ask around. Plenty of Sentinels saw him. At least, if you pay them well enough,” Spiro grinned then, and Asimina understood. He had no intentions of paying them. He was always going to sweep the rug out from under Mercy’s Redoubt. Except now they’d lost their leader, and they were floundering.

Their commission was lost. They wouldn’t have anyway to pay their men. Wages were lost, no families or widows would be paid. She slumped over, letting her head fall. She ached from her time in the fold.

Injuries old and new burned then, right through any defenses she’d build. Her shoulder, still sore from Ranvir’s monumental strike, to the first time she’d come home after a brawl. Her parents’ faces as they saw her bruised eyes and cut brow. Their disappointment when she hadn’t joined the Collegia, like her brother, and instead left to fight. Brute.

“The job is finished upon the end Sentinel’s rising star from the local Legea charter,” a strained voice spoke. It was barely loud enough to be heard over Asimina’s ragged breathing. Phineus coughed twice before continuing, this time more quietly. “Death is not specified within the agreement.”

“That was the intent, though,” Spiro said, not consulting his papers. “It was what we agreed upon when first making the contract.”

“But it is not what is written,” Asimina said, scanning the part Phineus had pointed out with one of his strong fingers. “I will send someone to the Sentinels. We will discover his condition immediately.”

“That will be unnecessary,” Spiro said. Clearly, he knew more than Asimina did. Perhaps the Sentinel—Ranvir—really had survived somehow. “However, our agreement was still to the death of Ranvir, even if the contract does not explicitly say as much, and you are just as bound to the spirit of the deal as to what was written.”

Asimina hesitated. She… In Chorófos, that wouldn’t be the case, but in Limclea and other places that didn’t value scholarship so highly, there might very well be a binding element of spirit woven into a contract.

She licked her lips and looked down at the paper, shifting through to the end. The seal Sabas had placed at the bottom, speckled with red and silver. Blood and mana. He bound himself to the contract in spirit and word.

It was so stupid. She rubbed her hands across her face. Feeling the bumps and ridges of scars. Spirit contracts were, to her understanding, uncommon, but it was mostly used to avoid culpability and still get the results you desired, usually at a much greater fee. Which would explain why Spiro was fighting it so hard, willing even to risk her assaulting him.

Red blood and faded silver mana glared back at her. The seal the binding had been made in was cracking at the edges and turning to dust.

Faded mana, she realized. Then she laughed. That was why it couldn’t be Phineus and Stelios. They’d been there, they would’ve been included in the binding, unable to tell anyone. Since the fold had failed, they could not confirm his death and so could not complete the contract.

“I wasn’t here,” Asimina said, pointing the name next to the seal. “Captain Sabas died and I am his successor. Finishing the contract fall on me, and I wasn’t there. I’m not bound by any spirit contract. We will send a runner to the Sentinels to hear about Ranvir’s condition. If his condition hindered his future with the Sentinels, then we have finished our contract.

“I will return in the morning with the report,” she got up from her chair and snatched her folder. “We will see you in the then,” she left the pale-faced merchant sitting limply in his chair, unmopped sweat running down the side of his nose to lose itself in his mustache.