Chapter 3

AN: I just wanted to say thank you for the reviews. They truly are greatly appreciated. Good news is that I won't be one of the authors that withholds a chapters because I don't get reviews. So again, thanks to those of you that have followed, favorited, or reviewed my story. It means a lot. And I'll warn you kiddos now; I'll be back in school in the next few days so my update speed with be severely hampered.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Mass Effect universe and more than likely never will, much to my detriment. Because I would totally be okay with owning Aria.

Two weeks. Two weeks since that Miranda Lawson tried to kill me. Tried to fuck my life over and failed. I have heard no mention of my attacker since that night. I've contacted innumerable associates of mine, attempting to find a trace of her so I could successfully return the favor. But this woman refuses to be found, which, in turn, makes it that much more entertaining to locate her. However, I've adopted a new strategy towards her.

Hunt her down myself.

In the two weeks since I was so offensively assaulted, not only in my tavern, but in the supposed safety of my bedroom, I became even bitterer. Ordinarily, I am a world-class asshole. Now, though, I am perhaps seven times worse. My typical endless patience has flown out the window, along with my tolerance for the bullshit I am tossed everyday by those under my authority. Something else that irritates me is that I dream about her. Every night for two weeks her presence has decided to treat itself to my dreams. This, I know, is what has me so…on edge. I have yet to tell anyone about what's going on, even Bray. No, especially not Bray. I'd never go to him about something like this.

But I do know who I'd go to instead. And with his help, I'll easily track her down.

I set my glass of amber liquid down on the white, crystal table in front of me.

"Bray," I say to the platinum headed man. I look at him, which is something I rarely do. To most women, and probably some men, he would be considered attractive, with his navy blue eyes and well-kept beard. He has a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and a straight nose. Under the armor he wears, he's a built man, with large arms and equally muscular legs. Some say that he has the torso of a sculpted hero. Or so some of the customers at Inferno tell me.

"Yeah, boss?" His voice is probably what deters most of his love interests. It's higher pitched than what a man's typically is.

"I need you to hold down the fort for a while. I have to go take care of something." I rise from my favorite piece of furniture, smoothing out my wine-colored shirt and flattening my black pants. The pants are made from hardened leather and the shirt is fashioned from chenille imported from the Citadel, the King's castle and city.

"Sure thing, girl." Another thing that might deter women is that he's into men.

I move to the ornate, iron coat rack in the corner of my little throne room and grab a roughspun cloak. The material is a dull olive tone with frayed edges. It's possibly my most beloved article of clothing. It's more comfortable than anything else I wear.

I walk out of my reserved balcony and down the stairs as I pull on the cloak. I tug the thick hood over my head, covering my notorious features so I can wander down the streets of Varris without getting harassed. Opening the large, double doors of the tavern Inferno, I step out into early nighttime in the City of the Wicked. And into a monstrous thunderstorm. Wonderful.

The heart of this city disguises the immorality that exists here. Everything in the center seems to be gilded in gold and bronze and have an iridescent glow. In the midday sun, Varris looks akin to a city straight from the Palace in the Sky. I cast my gaze up, shielding my face from the rain, to look at the lone wolf fountain, once again admiring a sculptor's massive creation. The way it sparkles in the lamplight is stunning. It is one of the most breathtaking things in the Land of Light, besides myself, of course.

As I travel to the outskirts of Varris, I can't help but to regard the architecture of it all. Every building is made from marble, bronze, iron, and slate. In the streets farther away from the main plaza, the fountains become less extravagant. They begin to lose their showy design. The streets themselves aren't paved with cobblestones and brick anymore. They transform into well-travelled dirt roads. The buildings become structures made entirely of wood and grey slabs of stone. These areas of the city show the poverty and despair that goes hand in hand when living in Varris. Being the Pirate Queen, I can't bring myself to care. Being poor is a risk everyone takes when they move into my city. If they want an easy lifestyle and a secure job, they should relocate to the Citadel or somewhere more homely, like Sur'Kesh. I hear the weather there is quite tropical, being in the South and all. Ideal living conditions, or so I'm told.

Shaking myself from my inner musings, I find myself facing one of the countless blacksmith shops in Varris. It's near the outer rim so it isn't as aesthetically appealing as the inner rim of the city. It's two stories and made from sun-bleached wood and pale grey stones. It has a peaked roof that's held together by tightly woven straw and slate shingles. The oaken door opens and I'm greeted by a highly familiar face. I raise my head and flash a cocky smile.

"Nyreen Kandros," I say. "As I live and breathe."

I look up at the woman, a bit taller than my height of five feet and nine inches, standing in the covered doorway in front of me. She has olive-toned skin that suits her well, jade eyes that are brought out by her ebony hair that's streaked with red. She also has a crimson stripe that reaches across her straight nose and soft cheekbones. Her overall appearance looks rugged, most likely due to the fact that she wore a filthy blacksmith's uniform that consisted of a worn apron and burgundy shirt with the long sleeves rolled over her well-developed forearms.

Nyreen flicks some of her short, choppy hair out of her eyes and leans against the side of the door while crossing her arms.

"Well, I'll be damned," Nyreen says. Her voice is about as smooth as a piece of low grade sandpaper. "If it isn't the great Empress herself showing up on my door step, soaked to the bone. Wouldn't be the first time I've seen you wet." She throws me a smirk from her full lips.

"Yeah, well, I see your still sporting that outlandish haircut," I reply.

"Yours is identical," she retorts.

"Ah, but here lies the difference," I shoot back. "Mine actually looks appealing. Now, are you going to leave a friend out here to waste away in this downpour? Or will you be charitable towards me?" Lightning flashes and thunder claps, enhancing the impact of my words.

"Oh, get in here." Nyreen quickly ushers me through the doorway to her shop. "Head upstairs. I'll fix you something to warm your stomach."

A few minutes later I sit in the upstairs portion of the blacksmith's shop. It doubles as her home because I spot a bedroom off down a short hallway. From what I remember, I note that there's still the bed with a forest green quilt cover, a tall wardrobe, a writing desk with her financial books and papers strewn across it, and a large safe holding what I assume are gems, purses filled with golden coin, and other valuable trinkets. Where I sit now is a small, wooden table with matching chairs. The chairs both have feather cushions on them, which I'm pleased with. Through an open doorway is the kitchen itself. I spy in there and see that nothing has changed, aside from the ingredients of food scattered on the two counters. The same blue tiled countertops accented by rich, brown wood.

"So," Nyreen starts. She joins me at the small table, handing me a bowl of steaming pheasant soup. "What is it that allows you to bring your graceful presence over here to my humble abode?"

I decide to go all business. "I need help locating someone and I know you're the best at this." I grab a spoon from the table and cautiously take a bite, not wanting to burn my mouth.

"This is true," Nyreen says quietly. She speaks louder. "Who is this person?"

"I'm surprised you haven't heard already. Miranda Lawson. She tried killing me in Inferno and then while I was sleeping."

"You know who she works for? That'll help a lot. And a description, so I know what this chick looks like."

"For one, she works for the White Star, that elitist group that serves only to get war started so they can profit. She would be a terrific assassin if she could complete her missions. And as for what she looks like? Dark brown hair, icy blue eyes, flawless body, strong Anadian accent, about my height." Recollecting my assassin's features caused a warm feeling to course through my torso. It is both unfamiliar and unpleasant.

Nyreen gives me a look.

"All right," she says. "I'll look into it. Finish your soup before you—oh, you already did. I'll take that for you, then. You should probably get back to Inferno before Bray makes a mess of the place."

"No kidding."

I rise from my chair as Nyreen grabs my bowl.

"By the way, Aria, I saw that look you had when you were describing Lawson."

I continue walking down the stairs, past the blacksmith forge, and grab my half-dried cloak from the rack. Just before I open the door, I say, "I have no clue what you're talking about." I open the wooden door and step back out into the storm.

Immediately I am assaulted with cold droplets of rain. I quickly dawn my cloak, pulling the hood over my head once more. I wander into the mud-filled streets again. I accidentally step into a large pool of water, getting my boot soaked.

I know this city better than anyone, having lived in it for over three hundred years. I know all of the alleys not to venture into and all of the best places to buy clothing. Tonight, though, I am choosing to do something risky. Cooped up on my private balcony in Inferno, nothing dangerous ever happens, aside from the occasional bar fight, which is quickly handled. So now, I travel down one of the darkest alleys in Varris. I see no one on the doorsteps to houses or shops. What I do see is a severe lack of lamps. I might have someone come remedy that in the future.

Suddenly, I feel something slam into my back. I fall down face first into a puddle of water. The near-freezing liquid splashes into my hair and makes me shut my eyes. I struggle to my knees, only to have something shove me down me down once more. I feel something sharp pierce my lower back, near my spine.

"Fuck," I seethe. "That hurt, you bastard." I push myself to my feet as quickly as I can, flipping my waterlogged, old robe out of my way.

I turn to face my attacker. A bolt of lightning illuminates the sky long enough for me to see who this assailant is.

"Well, well, well," I say slowly. "If it isn't Miranda fucking Lawson." I rush at her and grasp her arm in a vice grip. I spin her around and wrench her arm behind her back. "I won't say I'm glad to see you but this certainly helps in saving me valuable resources trying to find your ass."

Miranda, dressed completely in black leather armor, pulls something out of one of the pouches on her hips with her free arm. She swiftly thrusts it into my side. Another knife. I wince with pain and briefly loosen my grip on her arm. It's all she needs to get away. She then draws a sword out of a sheath on her hip.

I pull the blade out of my side and throw off my cloak. Instantly, the rain soaks through my clothing. I also realize that there's still a knife in my back. I quickly yank it out and feel the wound seal up.

"I won't cease trying to kill you," Miranda says, her Anadian accent thick in her voice. "Not until I figure out how to actually do it, you witch."

"Now, that's just cruel," I tell her. "I can't help that I'm powerful, desirable, and perfect in every way."

She propels herself at me. I barely dodge her sword, getting my left sleeve cut off in the process. The sharp blade opens up my skin for a brief moment. It closes back up in the blink of an eye. I turn to face Miranda, who landed behind me. She charges me and launches into a flurry of hacking and slashing at me. I dodge each blow as best as I can but the woman ends up tearing my clothing to shreds, much to my annoyance. I continue to block her attacks with my arms and jump over her low cuts. When I go to attack her flank, she immediately twists and covers it. I can feel both of us tiring. I have yet to bring out the dark, hot energy that courses through my veins, wanting to save that for when I truly need it.

Finally, I find an opening. She overreaches with her blade and I land a solid punch to her rib cage. I grip her sword arm with my left hand and grab her neck with my other hand. I slam her down on the ground, her back landing hard and knocking the wind out of her chest.

"You're coming with me," I say in her ear. I hit the junction of her neck and shoulder, effectively knocking her out.

I run a hand through my drenched hair, removing it from my eyes. I retrieve my filthy cloak from a puddle of water and mud and throw it over my shoulders. I don't bother drawing the hood up. I evade a couple more puddles as I walk back to Miranda's body. I pick up a few knives from the ground, as well as her sword. I shove the sword in my signature crimson sash, along with the daggers. I lift Miranda's unconscious body over my left shoulder and head back to the center of the city, to Inferno.

AN: Questions, comments, concerns, tips? All are greatly appreciated!