A/N: So, the one shot series didn't end up being a one-shot series after all, although I'm still planning to write a Nightlin-centric one-shot series between Erenne and this one. In the meantime, here's a plot bunny that wouldn't go away.

Disclaimer:I do not own the Chronicles of Elantra. They belong to Michelle Sagara.

XxXxX

CHAPTER 1

When Cian opened her eyes, her bedroom was filled with the gray light of very early morning. She groaned, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand and staring up at the glass ceiling above her. It looked like the beginning of a clear, sunny day to her eye, and her frown deepened. She'd hoped for a little rain, something to drive the fief's residents indoors, but she supposed of all the things her father could control in the fief, the weather wasn't one of them.

Not that she would have asked him to even if he could, considering this course of action was definitely unsanctioned.

With a sigh, she slid out of bed, glancing around the room. Her eyes landed on the thick, leather-bound tome on her desk, and she glared at it mutinously. So much for her plan to wake up a few hours early and skim the first two chapters. It figured that the only time she actually slept through the night was the time she had counted on waking up. Well, there wasn't any helping it now. Maybe he wouldn't ask about the book.

She snorted softly to herself at her line of thinking, glancing at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were shifting a little too close to blue, a sign of how much she really believed that. If it had been a bet, she probably wouldn't touch it.

It had been the dream, she thought, frowning as she stared at herself in the mirror. That stupid dream had kept her asleep again. She could feel the details of it beginning to blur in her mind and slip away, and it annoyed her. Barrani were supposed to have perfect recall. She sometimes did—and even her imperfect memories were relatively sharp compared to those of mortals. But she could never remember that stupid dream.

Cian opened her wardrobe, divesting herself of her sleeping robe and staring at the selection of clothing inside. She ignored the gowns, instead pulling out a dark shirt and trousers. She tugged those over herself, slipping on a pair of gloves and a pair of soft leather boots as well. Her gloves were black, a silvery design engraved on the back of the hands—a rose on each hand. Once that was done, she opened her drawer, eschewing the jewelry and elaborate hair decorations for a simple strap, which she used to tie her long dark hair up into a high ponytail. She opened a second drawer, this one filled with metal objects of a different sort. She selected six weighted throwing knives, slipping two into hidden slots in her boots, two in her gloves, and two into hidden pockets in her shirt. Barrani clothing was useful like that. It made those sort of allowances.

She grabbed her sword belt and buckled it around her waist, then paused for a moment as she reached for the saber that rested on its stand, in the corner of her room. The rapier's hilt gleamed a cool silver in the early morning light, the ornate design cradling her hand. She slid it out of its sheath. It went without a sound, and she took a moment to admire both the magic that had gone into the sheathe and the skill that had gone into forging the blade. She let it rest in her hand, adjusting her grip so that the elegant guard covered her palm, and took a few practice swings. Satisfied, she slid it back into its sheath, letting it rest at her hip.

The sword was also Barrani-make, and had been a present from her father, once her mother had deemed her old enough to have one and once Andellen had deemed her competent enough to not accidentally slice off her own fingers. Once she had started taking up what her father occasionally referred to as her 'hobby', Kaylin Neya had taken her to see Evanton, claiming that the enchantments on her sheath would be useful.

She had to admit that they were.

After a moment's hesitation, she reached for her cloak, tossing it on over her shoulders. Dressed like this, she was known anywhere in the fief she went—although in fairness, if she were dressed in a sack she would be known anywhere in the fief she went—and now might potentially be one of those situations her father would say called for discretion.

With her hood up, she might not look inconspicuous, but she didn't quite look like the fieflord's daughter either. And at the moment, that would be a good thing, since the particular scumbag they were intercepting was probably expecting her. Satisfied, she lowered her hood and walked out into the hallway.

It was early enough that the halls were quiet. Their inhabitants were almost all Barrani, so none of them needed sleep, but there were hours where a certain amount of activity was acceptable and areas where it wasn't. She took another glance at the sky. Her mother probably wouldn't be awake for another half hour or so, and that was if she was getting to work on time today. That was often a big 'if'. She considered making her way to the dining hall but decided against it. She had to leave early, so it wasn't like she would be present for breakfast anyway, and the etiquette at home was a little more relaxed than Court etiquette was.

Besides, there was the chance that her father would actually be in the dining hall at this time, and if she had her way, she didn't want to see him until she returned and had a full two hours to flip through Nerian's Principal Magical Theory.

She made for the kitchens instead, casually filching an apple from the bowl and tossing it in her hand. She rubbed it against the fabric of her cloak and leaned against the counter, taking a bite.

"Good morning, Cian."

Crap.

She almost choked. Almost. Her eyes widened, becoming the sharp blue of surprise, but she managed to inhale and swallow in succession, not in tandem. A full-blooded Barrani would have been able to do it without struggling. Cian, unfortunately, had her moments. But she turned, and managed what she hoped was a decently polite bow without any apple juice dribbling its way down her chin.

"Father," she said neutrally.

She held her breath, wondering if he knew about the book. His eyes fixed on her for a moment, their color shifting slightly towards blue as he trailed them over her choice of clothing and the apple in her hand.

He knew.

"You aren't joining us for breakfast?" he asked, almost casually.

She cleared her throat. "I, unfortunately, have to leave early today," she said. "I gave the others strict instructions to assemble at eight."

"You are planning to intercept Chandler." It wasn't a question. Her response was a fief shrug, because why bother denying it?

"Yes," she said. "...Does that go against anything you're planning?"

He frowned at her for a moment, before calmly shaking his head. "No," he said. "The human named Chandler's activities are of no consequence to me at the moment. You may do as you wish where he is concerned."

She exhaled and nodded once, taking another bite out of the apple. The Roses very rarely got involved in anything big enough to start treading on the fieflord's toes. The one time they had—and that was one time—Cian had immediately dropped all involvement with the project. Despite what others thought about the Barrani, that wasn't a game she wanted to play.

Still, judging from the way her father was looking at her, she guessed that there was more to the story. She shot him a puzzled frown for a moment, taking another bite of the apple. If he noticed, he said nothing. He hadn't attempted to stop her, so Cian assumed that she wasn't in any particular danger. At least where Nightshade was concerned. He and her mother had very different definitions of danger.

She leaned towards his definition most of the time, but made a mental note of it just in case as she took another bite.

"...Have you looked at Principal Magical Theory?" asked Nightshade.

She swallowed. This time, she had the grace not to choke.

"Yes," she said. It was true, in fairness. She had looked at it. Looked at it, cursed at it, contemplated burning it—she just hadn't read it.

"I see," said Nightshade. His tone sounded amused, in a way that told her she was soon about to be caught by her own trap. "...What can you tell me about it?"

She hesitated for a moment, raising her eyes to meet his. "It..." she began. "...appears to be a book relating to magical theory."

"By that, you mean you've read one page."

She sighed, defeated. "Two," she said. "I read a full page after I started feeling like I was about to die of boredom."

"A remarkable achievement." His tone was dry. "Your self-control is growing by leaps and bounds."

"You know," she said, "It's occurred to me that I literally have forever to get it read."

"Of course, Daughter," was the cool reply. "In that time, I suppose you would also be able to find a new teacher. I am sure Lord Sanabalis would appreciate your particular brand of humor."

She sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Point taken," she said, sliding into Elantran. "I'll read it after I get back." His brow rose. "...Alright!" she said. "Tonight! I'll read it tonight! I'll stay up all night if I have to, and I'll sit in the library."

"Very well," he said. "I look forward to discussing it tomorrow." He spoke in a tone that told her there would be a discussion, whether or not she had read the book, and how pleasant it would be for her would depend entirely on her actions tonight. She inwardly winced, and made a mental note to actually read enough of the damn thing. Given the way his eyes were beginning to shade towards blue, she knew better than to argue about it.

She nodded once, making her way towards the door with a polite 'Excuse me'. He didn't attempt to block her passage, so she guessed that the conversation was over, but as she made her way down the hall, he turned towards her.

"Cian," he said.

She frowned in confusion, pausing in her walk and looking back at him.

"Father?" she asked.

"Shouldn't you be taking a guard?"

XxXxX

In the end, she had managed to refuse the guard, partly because Chandler was cowardly and sneaky, but a minor threat and partly because she would never live it down. Or rather—she would, because every other member of her hastily thrown together organization was mortal—but she had no desire to wait the requisite six or seven decades it would take for the story to die out. She stood in the shadow of one of the fief's buildings, an area that had been carefully cleared of squatters, and kept her eye on the bridge across the Ablayne, her hood up to hide her face and her shifting eyes.

A sound behind her drew her attention, and she turned her head just enough to see who it was. Cian relaxed as she identified the intruder, removing her hand from the space where she kept her daggers. The other person was blond—a human girl around Cian's age, which would have been extremely impossible were it not for the fact that Cian was still very much a child by Barrani standards—and was dressed in the same attire, her blond hair pulled back and clipped up so it was out of her face. She carried a long wooden staff in one hand, and wore the gloves with the rose symbol on the back of them. Cian and the rest of the Roses knew better than to question the efficacy of Laila's chosen weapon—they had all seen her break bones before with a well-placed swing.

"Everyone's in position," she said, coming to stand next to Cian and concealing herself in the shadow as well.

Cian glanced back at her. "Ari has eyes on the bridge?" she asked.

Laila nodded once. "Eyes, arrows, and instructions to shoot if things go south."

"And Squatter's Row's secure?" asked Cian.

Laila snorted, her grip tightening on her staff. "I left it to Jacob and Pedri," she said.

"Meaning?" asked Cian, quirking an eyebrow.

Laila flashed her a small grin. "Meaning it's secure, or the rest of us will be in for a show when you find them."

"Alright," said Cian, nodding once. "You get back in position. Back me up on my signal."

She grinned. "You got it," she said, disappearing back into the streets. Cian watched her go, before turning her attention back towards the bridge. She waited. This was the worst part—the waiting. It would get easier with time, she knew. She was immortal, and as such, she was sure a time would come when she wouldn't feel the passage of time so acutely. But she was eighteen now, a child by Barrani standards and barely more than a child by human standards. She felt the passage of time, and she knew that it wasn't entirely unfounded. Her youth wasn't infinite, and she was finding herself falling more and more into the shape of her name.

When she took hold of its shape entirely, she would be considered an adult by the Barrani, and that would mean no more child's play—she would be qualified for the real games.

But for now, she put those thoughts out of her mind and focused on the bridge, and on Chandler.

Chandler was one of those people that had managed to distinguish himself as more criminal than anyone else in the fief, which was an achievement, considering Cian and her Roses weren't strictly on the legal side themselves. He was a slave trader—his favorite targets were abandoned or orphaned children, something the fief of Nightshade had in abundance. He had been remarkably hard to get a hold of, but after careful investigation and the right flow of funds, they had managed to glean that he would be meeting with his contact from the City, and to do that, someone—either Chandler or the contact—would have to come to the bridge.

She hoped it was Chandler, personally. As a result of her youth, Cian was perpetually impatient, and she wanted to get her hands on Chandler. His kidnapping of children on the street had been worthy of note, but Cian had taken his attempted raid on Squatter's Row as a personal affront. And while the fieflord had washed his hands of most of the criminal activity in the fief, that didn't mean Cian couldn't pick and fight her own battles.

She watched the streets. They were empty, which didn't mean much—the fief's residents always knew when something was about to go down. Her eyes snapped up at the sight of activity, one of her hands drawing nearer towards her hidden knives. A group of five men were headed for the bridge, four burly thugs and one smaller man in the center. The man in the center wore good clothes, an obvious sign of wealth in the fiefs, and a statement that he wasn't overly worried about being attacked for it. She frowned, doing the mental calculations.

Her people were well-hidden, but there weren't many of them, and she already knew that Chandler would bring a guard.

Four humans—possibly skilled fighters, but just as equally thugs with bludgeons. At least two of them were carrying bows. She frowned. Ari could get a shot in, but if one of them shot back, he'd be limited afterward. Unless she took down one archer. Her fingertips brushed over the hilt of one of her knives, her breath catching in her throat.

She could make that throw. But then they would scatter, and then they would likely lose Chandler. If they let him reach the bridge, though, they would lose him anyway—his contact probably had more guards with him. And she didn't have the shot on Chandler—his guards knew what they were doing. They shifted around so much that she was just as likely to hit one of them as she was to hit him.

And here she thought she had bled the fief dry of competent criminals. Oh well.

She took a deep breath, clenching her fist. Alright. Nothing else for it then. She would have to go with the direct approach. She exhaled, mentally preparing herself.

Pushing her hood back from her head and drawing herself up to her full height, she strode out of the alley way, coming to stand in front of the approaching party. Cian tilted her head slightly, and met Chandler's eyes, fully aware that her eyes must have been a deep blue. His men tensed, forming a loose half-circle around him, and she swore for a moment that she could feel every member of her own team holding their collective breath.

"Going somewhere, Chandler?" she asked, resting one hand loosely on her sword.

She heard the sound of bowstrings being drawn taut, and glanced at them out of the corner of her eye. They would shoot to injure, not kill. She was still the daughter of the fieflord, and the last time she had walked away injured, her father had blamed her for not paying enough attention to the fight, but if she turned up dead, she had a feeling Chandler would have bigger worries.

It was the third reason why she hadn't cared to bring a guard.

Chandler, noticing where her eyes had gone, quickly motioned for his men to lower their bows. He stepped forward, the bastard, and rubbed his hands together in a gesture of supplication, as he bowed.

"Lady Cian," he said. "How nice to see you this morning."

"It's a lovely morning," she agreed, as if they were discussing the weather. "A little too early for a stroll down the river, though, don't you think?"

"Now, Lady," said Chandler, putting a greasy smile on his face. "I'm sure there doesn't need to be any trouble. We would be happy to compensate your—ah, organization for their concern."

Her eyes darkened a shade, her lips twisting into a scowl. She accepted bribes, on occasion. The Roses weren't strictly legal—in the eyes of the Hawks they would probably be as criminal as anything else that happened on this side of the river. But there were people she would never accept a bribe from. Chandler was one of them.

"I don't think you can adequately compensate me for the other night," she said, her voice measured and cool.

"Ah, yes," said Chandler, looking nervous now. "Squatter's Row, was it? I assure you, honest mistake—my men weren't aware—."

She could play word games forever—she was probably going to end up doing so, but at the moment she was young, and at the moment, she had the freedom to be direct. "Cut the crap," she said. "You have two choices here. You can back out, release your captives, and go back to your miserable existence, or we'll do it for you, and you'll be very much worse for wear when we're done."

He tensed. Her threat got to him, she knew, but he didn't show it. Instead, he stepped back, and his men closed ranks around him, drawing swords. She heard him speak as they did, her own hand going to her rapier.

"Then I am sorry we weren't able to come to a compromise, Lady Cian."

Things always came down to a fight in the end. Cian drew her sword. It came free from its sheath without a sound, and she rushed forward, ducking under the first man's swing and slashing out. The blade caught him in the side, and he crumpled. She didn't give him time to fall, swinging around and meeting the blade of the second swordsman. An arrow fired, narrowly missing her. She felt the wind of its passing as she pushed the second swordsman back, the arrow going just over her shoulder. Cian cursed as the second swordsman retaliated, ready for her now. She was skilled enough to defeat most human fighters, but not yet skilled enough to feel good about her chances in a three-on-one fight. She stepped back, avoiding the fourth man as he drew a dagger on her, but at the same time giving the swordsman the opportunity to advance.

An arrow moved through the air, catching the enemy archer in the chest. The second archer turned towards it, an arrow in hand, but Ari was the faster shot, he fired off another one before the man could notch it to his bowstring. Cian gripped her saber tightly, rushing in as the swordsman attacked her. She swatted aside his blade, drawing the knife from her boot with her free hand and wielding it like a dagger as she slashed at her opponent. As she did, she turned to the left, her eyes narrowing. Chandler was getting away.

She dropped her opponent with a kick, taking off at a run towards him. An arrow struck the ground directly at his heels, a missed shot from Ari. A second grazed his arm, but he was quickly drawing out of her archer's range. She muttered another curse under her breath, her free hand reaching into her shirt pocket to grab hold of one of her throwing knives.

An arm caught her by the wrist, pulling her back sharply against someone's chest. Cian's eyes narrowed, and she turned, ready to give whoever it was a bloody nose, when she saw exactly who had interrupted her. The blue of her eyes darkened.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked angrily.

"Stopping you from getting yourself involved in something way over your head," replied Kaden Handred, a frown on his face. She growled a Leontine curse at him, striking his chest with her free fist. He let out a grunt of pain, but also didn't let go. Cian turned away from him, her eyes widening as she looked at Chandler. He was getting away.

A black arrow drifted across the river, striking Chandler in the back. He crumpled to the ground easily, and Cian froze, stilling in Kaden's grip as she trailed her eyes over at the other side of the river.

A man stood there, dressed all in black with a bow in his hand. No, she realized, not a man.

A Barrani. A green-eyed Barrani she didn't recognize, and one who wasn't carrying a quiver. One arrow, one shot. His eyes met hers, and she saw him smirk, offering her a nod. She didn't nod back.

"Kaden, who the hell is he?" she asked.

Her friend said nothing. Cian stared, watching as the unknown Barrani turned, walking calmly away from the scene. He had never crossed the bridge, but of course he wouldn't. Barrani never came to the Outcaste's fief unless they lived here. He'd made the kill from the other side of the river.

With one arrow. She had six knives, a sword, and six feet of distance, and hadn't managed.

"Kaden..." she began again.

She felt him let out the breath he was holding as he released his grip on her, and she stepped away from him, turning to face him.

"A Wolf," he finally said. "An Imperial Wolf."