Sara watched the carriage move away, smiling a little to herself, then turned toward the front door of the Guild Hall. Not at all to her surprise, Amaya was standing there waiting for her, an eyebrow raised as she watched the carriage as well.

Then she looked at Sara, grinning.

"Len," she mused again.

"Quiet, you." Sara breezed by her, still smiling herself. "Well, that was an interesting few hours."

Amaya followed her through the door, past the wide-eyed apprentice who was on door duty and into the main parlor, which was otherwise empty at that time of day. "News preceded you, somewhat," she told her friend. "We know the king confirmed you...but not until after you nearly caused an incident by showing just how much you care for rules." She laughed as Sara rolled her eyes. "And we know that you apparently made an enemy of the head of the Council. You don't do things by halves, do you?"

"You know it." Sara slipped up the stairs, passing an older master who gave her an inquiring look on his way by—well, at least it wasn't hostile. "To be honest, I think I had that enemy already, I just didn't know it yet," she said to Amaya, who was still following her. "And..." She lowered her voice as they came to the second floor, where Darhk's old office and her temporary rooms were located. "...then we were attacked on the way back here."

Amaya stopped and stared at her, right there in the hallway. "What?" she asked incredulously. "Why? And by whom?"

Sara studied her door for any telltale signs of entry, checking to see if the hairs she'd put on the latch earlier were undisturbed, then nodded to herself, unlocking the door. Nothing happened as she pushed it open, nor when she paused to listen carefully, so she finally entered the room, studying it carefully before sighing and crossing to the bed, flopping down on it dramatically.

Amaya didn't comment on her friend's paranoia. She knew why it was there. She followed Sara a little more sedately, taking a seat, and stared at her, obviously waiting for answers.

Sara, who didn't really have many, shrugged. "One: Attacked in the zone between the palace area and the city proper," she said. "Two: I have no idea, but I think they wanted something specific. No idea what. Three, a group of seven fighters. They weren't great, but they weren't bad, either. Some of them may still be alive. So, we'll see."

Amaya closed her eyes and sighed, then shook her head. "How do you get yourself into these things again?" she muttered.

"My charming personality and good looks." Sara stretched. "Ugh. I've been fighting in this and I stink. Time for a scrub before the meeting."

"After all that, are you ready for this?" Amaya sounded sober and sincere. Which is why Sara paused, and gave the question a few minute's good thought.

Was she? She'd committed to staying—for reasons that included more than a handsome, charming and intelligent thief. The king, to whom she'd offered her blade, had confirmed her. This Guild, which could and should be so much so than the group of killers some people tended to believe they were, needed her.

She thought about the surviving apprentice, still and white on the table as Darhk had drained his life energy away. Thought about the dark-haired young woman who'd eyed her with such hero worship as she'd strode in through the Guild hall doors today.

"I'm ready." Sara smiled. "Well. After a bath."

While going through Darhk's rooms, Sara and Amaya had found a passage in the back of the closet, one that led down to the meeting room on the ground floor. As the time for the Guild meeting approached, Sara made use of it, slipping down there and making sure the doors were thoroughly locked and padlocked. Then she went back upstairs, made a few final preparations and returned.

So, when Amaya in her place as acting second officially opened the door and let the other Guild members in, Sara was already standing there, at the head of the table, back ramrod straight and hands clasped behind her, a cool and competent look on her face.

She was all in dark gray, now, in businesslike leathers that would, she knew, blend with the night far better than pitch black. She wasn't wearing Darhk's emblem—they already knew, here, that she had it and how she'd obtained it—but she was wearing a golden torc around her neck, with polished lapis lazuli at each finial. Nyssa had given it to her, once upon a time, and while Sara didn't regret leaving the League, this was a piece of the past she was glad to hold on to.

Al-Owal, one of the Guild's master assassins and Darhk's second at the time of his death, a big man who'd showed nothing but scorn toward Sara, was the first through the door, almost undoubtedly planning to take the head seat for himself. He stopped almost comically dead in his tracks when he saw her there already, watching him with cool blue eyes, and the others piled around him to get seats, leaving him gaping and having to settle for one down near the foot of the table at the last minute.

Sara would be lying if she didn't admit the sight nearly made her smirk. But she didn't. She stood there, calm, watching, until all her Guild members were there, watching her attentively in return.

The Guild wasn't a large one. There were six masters, in addition to Sara, and about nearly dozen journeymen. There were barely a handful of apprentices; Darhk had nearly halved their complement with his actions…and heavens knew how many he'd ruined or killed before Sara's arrival.

Sara let the watchful silence stretch another minute, then nodded.

"You all already know who I am," she told them. "Sara A'Stella, new head, by right of combat, of the Assassins Guild of Centralis." She paused. "Former member of the League of Assassins in Nanda Parbat."

Pretty much all of them, especially the masters, had heard that through their own chains of information before now—or they weren't particularly good examples of their trade. Still, the low murmur that greeted Sara's words was thoughtful in what she thought was a mostly admiring way.

"I was confirmed by the king this afternoon," she continued, scanning the room. "And I intend to work to make this Guild into what it should be—not what Darhk made it, both by intent and neglect. But to do that, I need your support." She paused another moment. "And if I don't have it, I ask you to either leave this Guild and this city, or to challenge me for its leadership, by the old Guild ways."

A moment's quiet greeted the words—and then a derisive laugh rose from Al-Owal, there by the foot of the table. The big man stood as Sara watched him, leaning on the edge of the table and sneering at her.

"I challenge," he said, scorn on his face. And, then, because he was the sort of man who just couldn't leave it be, "No...little girl...deserves to hold this Guild." He glanced around, obviously seeking support, frowned when he didn't find it and looked back at her. "We're killers, goldilocks. We take what we want. Darhk didn't curtsy to the king or offer him his blade. He was strong! He would have made us into a force in this city. He was working on..." But to Sara's disappointment, he left off that line of thought and shook his head instead. "I challenge," he repeated.

"Accepted," Sara told him calmly—and then, quick as a striking snake, her right hand snapped up and forward, and Al-Owal found himself trying to breathe around a throat full of razor-sharp steel.

A cry rose from the room, and people recoiled from the man, who made an altogether horrible gurgling noise as his hands scrabbled for the knife. Blood surged around the blade, and Al-Owal stared at Sara for one still moment before he fell.

Sara just watched as he did so, and she watched as he died. She hadn't quite wanted to do that—but she'd known all along that it would probably come to it.

She'd been within her rights to throw that knife, from the moment he'd challenged and she'd accepted. Al-Owal's arrogance had led him to believe that she'd play his games, allow him to ready his weapons and probably even move to a more appropriate locale. And for someone else, in a different situation, maybe she would have. She could have beaten him, easily. He was strong, and had some skill, but he was no Damien Darhk.

But if she'd allowed him, at this moment, to pull her strings, to dictate the terms, she'd be showing that she wasn't fully in control here. And she needed to be, heart and soul.

The other members of the Guild were staring at her now, most of them, and Sara nodded, seeing realization—and, in many cases, understanding and respect—in their eyes.

"I'm not here to play games," Sara told them. "If you challenge me, I will deal with it according to Guild law." She nodded coolly at Al-Owal's body. "In whatever way I need to. But if you back me up, I will make this Guild a respected part of the city again."

She scanned the room, inwardly pleased at the expressions facing her. "We're not just killers," she said quietly. "We're guardians and we're warriors. We're both the knife and the shield. We're the ones who do the hard things so that others don't carry that burden." She nodded once, firmly. "Now. Who's with me?"

A few of the journeymen actually cheered. But the first to stand approach Sara, standing and moving toward her deliberately, was Zaim A'Centralis, the oldest member of the Guild here. Sara knew he'd been no fan of Darhk—that he had, in fact, protected the apprentices as best he could—but neither had he left or challenged. That might have been because he was old enough to be Sara's own grandfather—or not. Despite everything, he was still well-respected, in the Guild and in the city, and his actions here, Sara knew, would mean something.

He studied her with faded green eyes as he approached, expression serious—and then, only a few paces away, halted. And then he smiled, an expression full of relief and a certain impish amusement, and went down to one knee, a gesture of Guild member to Guild master.

"My lady," he said, "welcome. You cannot know fully how glad I am to see you here."

It all went rather well after that.

Thanks to his network of informants, Leonard already knew a bit about what had happened at the Assassins Guild hall the night before. Even before retiring, he'd learned that one body—that of a large man—had been carted off that night, and that no healers had been called. It was enough to make him rest easy.

In the morning, as he attended to the daily business of his Guild, he'd learned that the dead man, one Al-Owal, a known crony of Darhk's, had provided the body in question. That one other master, a woman by the name of Yuhanna who was known to be at least accepting of the former Guild leader, had chosen to leave the Guild and, by tradition, also the city.

Everyone else had accepted Sara. And gladly.

Len, leaning back in his desk, had let out a long sigh. He hadn't doubted her. Really, he hadn't. But it was good to hear all the same.

Mick, lounging in the chair on the other side of the desk, gave him an amused look. "You got it bad, boss," he noted shrewdly. "Haven't seen you this interested in someone in a long time."

Len shrugged. Mick knew him well enough that he wasn't going to bother denying it—although he might prevaricate a little on the reasons. "Good for the city, to have someone competent in power. Good for the Guilds."

"Uh huh." Mick shook his head, getting to his feet. "You're going over to Artificers later? Say hi to Ray an' the others."

"After I talk to this fellow who wants to contract someone to steal a book from the University closed stacks." Len frowned, looking at the letter on his desk. "Do me a favor. Before anyone agrees to anything, ask Nathaniel if he knows anything about it. I think this is just some dusty tome that's of interest to almost no one and hasn't been checked out for decades, but I want to be sure."

Mick laughed. "And tip the target off?"

Len smirked at him. "C'mon. You and I both know that even if Nathaniel does think to mention it to someone—which he probably won't—their idea of security there isn't the greatest. Not for us, anyway."

"Right, boss. Have fun with the assassin." Mick cracked his knuckles. "Now, I've got apprentices to terrorize."

"Don't scare them too much. I have a feeling the Assassins Guild is going to become a much more popular choice from here on out."

Leonard's meeting with the book-coveting scholar—who was feuding with the University and thus refused to go by the head librarian's rules for seeing his precious books—further confirmed his thoughts that it was an uncomplicated job. Still, anything targeting the University would pay well—and, hey, they might even get the two entities into a bidding war for the item, at least if anyone even noticed it was gone. (Len had his doubts.) He gave the scholar a tentative agreement, told him to check back the next day for confirmation and a contract, and then left the Guild house, humming to himself as he started the relatively short stroll to the Assassins Guild.

Once he got there, though, he had to knock a few times before the door opened. When it did, the dark-haired apprentice standing there looked downright mortified...but Sara was standing right behind her, grinning at him and looking quite pleased with herself.

"I'm so sorry!" the apprentice said. "Guild Master, uh, Masters, I apologize." She bowed low, as low as if he were the king, which made Leonard smirk—although the faint memory of fear in her eyes and the thought of how Darhk had treated the apprentices lent a dark undercurrent to her gesture.

"It's OK, Sin. I was distracting you," Sara told her cheerfully, winking at him. "Leonard, this is Apprentice Sin A'Stella. She's going to be my second one day, wait and see."

He lifted an eyebrow and bowed to the surprised girl, who blushed and then looked at Sara with such clear hero worship in her eyes that he had to bite back a chuckle. "A'Stella, eh? Are the natives of that city trying to take over my fair Centralis?"

The girl completely missed the teasing tone in his voice. "No!" she squeaked, looking back at him. "I was born there but..."

Sara put a comforting hand on her arm, rolling her eyes at Len. "He's teasing you."

"...oh."

"I'll be gone a while, but Amaya is here, as is Zaim," Sara told her. "When Chase arrives to take over his shift at the door, go practice your hand-to-hand against one of the dummies in the training room, then start reading that book I recommended."

"Yes, my lady!" Sin bowed again, then bobbed back up, looking horrified again. "I'm sor..."

"Sin, I told you that you didn't have to bow to me. That doesn't mean I'm going to punish you for it." Sara gave Len a speaking glance that showed just what she thought of the state Darhk had left things—and people—in. "Now, I'll probably be back by nightfall. I'll send word if I...plan to stay out."

Len didn't miss that "probably"—and neither did Sin, whose eyes became huge and who then looked back and forth between Len and Sara as if she was wondering if Sara had meant what the apprentice clearly thought she meant. Sara, however, simply walked toward the door and left, and Len gave the girl one more wink and followed, offering his arm, which Sara accepted.

"Have a protégé, eh?" he drawled, turning them to the left when Sara paused. The Artificers Guild hall wasn't so far that a carriage was necessary, and it was another lovely afternoon.

"She has potential." Sara's lips twitched. "If she'll just relax a little." She shook her head. "But she's been living in fear for a year, ever since the shopkeeper she was working off a debt with traded her to Darhk as an apprentice, even though she didn't want anything to do with the Guild."

Leonard, frowning, looked back over his shoulder. "Did she sign an apprenticeship agreement?"

"Yes, because they told her she had to—or be thrown in prison for not paying her debt, which was actually one her late father ran up." Sara growled under her breath. "I'll be talking to the City Guard about that. They need to know this crap is going on."

"Please do. Joe West won't stand for it." Len cleared his throat, then, directing the topic back to other matters. "So. The Artificers Guild. The builders and contraption-makers of our city. I don't think there's an equivalent in Stella, though I could be wrong." He glanced down at her. "There's some crossover with the Artisans Guild. And, if everyone can stop arguing, there may soon be an offshoot called the Alchemists Guild."

Sara, who'd been studying the street around him with what he already knew was her usual thoroughness, gave him a doubtful glance. "As in, lead into gold? Hasn't that idea long since been dismissed?"

"Yes, actually. But they've squabbled over a name for some long that people just started calling the offshoot that and it's stuck." Len smirked, remembering the reaction. "It's more of a general focus on...oh, the state and content of matter and elements. Nature of the universe. That sort of fun stuff."

Sara looked intrigued, even as she sidestepped a small child who'd run into the street after a ball. "Isn't that generally more a focus of the University?"

"Yes, indeed," Leonard brought them to a stop in front of a low stone building that was, notably for the city, not crammed together cheek by jowl with its neighbors—almost as if the other buildings were giving it plenty of space. "But here, they have more of a focus on actually blowing things up."

Sara stared at him. "And you want us to visit this place and these people," she said. It wasn't a question.

"What's the matter, Assassin? Scared?"

Sara had definitely never heard "Assassin" sound like a term of endearment before. Leonard managed it.

She considered the thief who was standing them by her side in front of the Guild hall, one of the smile-smirks she was already growing increasingly used to on his face. And she thought of her interview with Zaim, the Guild elder, that morning.

"You're already associating with The Thief," he'd said, the capital letters audible. "That one's father was tight with Darhk, once. Not that it ended well for him." He'd shrugged. "I've heard naught by good of the son, though, as much as one hears good of a master thief." He studied Sara. "Might the two Guilds start to work together again? It was a good alliance, in the past."

Sara'd studied him in return, then given him the truth. "He's offered. We're…in negotiations."

Her words had drawn a chuckle, amused, knowing—and just a touch suggestive.

"Ah, thieves," the older man had said with a touch of nostalgia. "Talented hands, thieves. I knew a fellow once, a master, he…"

It'd taken a bit of an effort to get him off memory lane, not that Sara blamed him if those memories were accurate. And now, it was rather difficult to keep her own mind off the notion of master thieves with talented hands, especially as a rather impressive example of the type was standing there before her, a sparkle in his eyes.

"Not at all," she responded, lifting an eyebrow. "Should I be?"

"Maayybeee…"

The apprentice who answered the door clearly recognized Len, but instead of having to run to tell the Master Artificer, he promptly moved a lever on the wall, and Sara could hear a chime deep within the building. She glanced at Len, who shrugged and leaned against the wall in his boneless fashion, waiting.

A few minutes later, a tall young man with brown skin and an easy smile strolled into the hallway, smile growing wider as he saw Leonard. Len had moved away from the wall when he'd entered, grinning, and the two men shook hands before Leonard turned to Sara.

"Master Assassin Sara A'Stella," he said formally, "this is Jax A'Centralis, soon to be a master of…" He cocked an eyebrow at the other man, who laughed.

"Man, they're still arguing about it," the newcomer—Jax-said with amusement, taking Sara hand and bowing over it. "Who knows?" He smiled at Sara, who grinned back, liking him instinctively. "So, my lady assassin, how did you fall in with this rogue?" His smile grew as Len sputtered. "And what do you know about the situation here?"

Sara regarded him as they started down a hallway into the building. "Just that this is the Artificers Guild hall," she said, "but Leonard said something about an offshoot?"

Jax snickered, then shook his head mock-disapprovingly at Leonard, who smirked. "Whatever you do," he told Sara, "don't tell them that. Gray—excuse me, Master Martin Stein—might very well self-combust!"

"And he's a bit of a fire mage, too, so he very well could," Leonard told Sara solemnly as Jax held a door for them and they emerged into an outdoor courtyard. She eyed him, uncertain whether he was joking, but Jax started explaining a bit more.

"Gray thinks that it's time for a new guild," he said, crossing the courtyard to another stone building behind the first, Len and Sara following. "One that some wag dubbed 'Alchemists.' Close enough, I guess." He unlocked the door, then motioned them through. "It's more to do with other things than making gadgetry and machines like Artificers, or artwork like Artisans."

Sara, thinking of Leonard's earlier words, glanced at him. "Like explosions?"

"No…well, sometimes." Jax paused. "To be honest. But the nature of different metals, different elements, energy sources, things like that. And yours truly…" He winked at Sara, who laughed. "…is the first person to be coming up on the rank of master after having studied with both the head of the Artificers Guild and the supposed head of the soon-to-be Alchemists Guild. So, no one can decide quite what I should be."

"What do you want to be?" Sara asked him, getting a very genuine smile in response.

"Frankly, I don't think they need to split the Guild," he told her, pausing in front of a plain gray door. "Two sides of the same coin. But that's not up to me."

"Who is it up to?"

Jax shook his head, looking at Leonard, then unlocked the door and pushed it open. "Let me introduce you."