The main square of Marchedor was packed with people, traders, minstrels and every occupation in between milling about as they wove back and forth between market stalls. Cassian had never seen anything like it, nowhere had there ever been such a conglomeration of high fae, faeries, demi-fae and humans coexisting.

Not even Velaris had reached this level of integration, even with the scattered human families that had settled there after the war. He suddenly felt foolish about glamouring his wings. He'd done so on previous trips to the human-populated parts of the continent decades ago, finding it easier to avoid the uncomfortable stares and fearful whispers from those who'd never seen the fae before.

Apparently, it was no longer necessary.

He stared as a lesser faerie with broad wings like a raven strode past, a basket of yarn tucked beneath his arm, the sun glistening off dark feathers bordering his night-black eyes as he hurried through the densely packed square. The male apologized as he bumped into a young human woman, who waved off his words with a smile.

Cassian almost wondered if he should return and bring Nesta, to let his mate see what their efforts had won them. To let her see that the world they'd fought tooth and nail for had blossomed regardless of the adversities.

A city and community that thrummed like a drum, a wheel smoothly turning without fail, full of riches and all wares imaginable.

He was willing to bet if he spent a bit of time searching, he could even procure some flower seeds for Elaine, an early wedding gift. He might even snoop about and see if he could find something for his brother too, perhaps a set of floral socks and panties to match his bride's décor.

He snickered at the thought.

Glancing down at the stationary, he flicked his eyes across Az's map, drawn in black ink contrasting sharply with the blush of the paper. The stall with the paints should be easy enough to find, he concluded, mentally mapping his way through the massive square around him.

Shoving the paper back into his pocket he set off, maneuvering around the denizens into the heart of the rippling crowd.

The heat of the summer was finally beginning to fade in the main square of Marchedor, the usual humid scorch having faded to a warm amber glow that left Anelisse's petite shoulders delightfully heated as she worked dutifully on her paintings, rendering each piece with care.

Well, painting and gleaning information, but seeing as no one had visited her stall that afternoon she was content to focus on the former. She'd already set out an array of her works to dry in the sun, the smell of the pigments crisp in the breeze.

Perhaps one of them would catch someone's fancy; she already had too many canvases that'd she'd need to haul back home that evening. Pulling free a portrait of Celeste that she had just completed, she gave it a once over, contemplating her sister's pretty features before setting it off to the side, away from the others. She'd painted it with a dramatic air, with her sisters long raven locks falling about her shoulders and framing her lovely tapered face, freckles just light brushed across her high cheeks. Not that the portrait had done her any justice.

No Celeste's beauty was nearly impossible to capture, the starlight in her eyes infuriating to try and replicate. She should know too, she'd tried a dozen times to recreate it and to no avail. And this most recent portrait, while an improvement, was rapidly becoming another piece that she'd have to throw out.

Maybe she'd paint a dark landscape over it, since there was no sense in wasting the canvas. Leaving it behind her she made her way back to her easel, her array of brushes, one of Gandriel's many gifts, hanging in the fabric holder beside it. She swiped up one and set to work.

Dipping her broad brush into the dollop of violet paint she'd just mixed, she expertly smeared it at an angle across the length of her canvas, blending the lilacs into deeper shadows. She'd been working on this piece for a few hours now, trying to render the likeness of the setting sun filtering through plush clouds on the coast.

She tapped her brush, contemplating the canvas.

Too dark.

Tsking, she reached for a vial of white paint and scooped out a generous amount onto her palette to mix with the violet until it became a light lavender. Pleased with the result, she began dabbing it across the rounded clouds, the colors now blending the way she'd first intended them to.

Her newfound freedom and stability had given her a few months of practice with painting now, and she had slowly cultivated the natural bits of talent she had to bloom into a fully-formed ability. Her talent had attracted the attention of numerous customers across the trading hub daily, many purchasing her pieces or inquiring about commissions.

She'd even taken up the practice of concocting her own pigments, following in her predecessors' footsteps. And, fortunately for her, gathering ingredients had become quite simple between trading in the square and gathering them on her travels.

Brushing a paint covered hand across her apron she smiled at her creation, another piece that would fetch at least a few copper pieces and maybe some silver.

Her contribution to their little family's finances, regardless of how small it was. Being able to help in any capacity had given her purpose, something she'd never felt before.

And since her mortality tended to put her at a disadvantage when it came to slave trade, she would do everything she could. Especially since Celeste had nearly banned her from joining raids after her attempt to seduce Dermot's first mate had gone south, her sister's face going as white as porcelain when she'd given her the details.

She'd bitten back, insisting that they needed her help and that'd she'd be a key part in pinning down that slimeball that her sister was so keen on capturing. She'd only relented when Gandriel had pled with her to be safe, his tawny eyes nearly round as saucers and filling with tears as he'd begged.

He'd known exactly which buttons to push to make her crack, in more than one context.

So, she'd been on spy duty since, only allowed to venture out with them on the missions her sister deemed safe and assigned to working gathering intel in the interim.

She was sour about it, would have been half-tempted to sneak off and do her own work had it not been for Celeste's sincere concern for her. The lengths to which she went to make sure she was also safe and sought after, as she'd always done.

She wrinkled her nose in agitation. If she'd been fae it would have never been an issue, but with her mortality making her frail . . . frustration did not even begin to describe her feeling towards the infuriating lack of speed and strength that her human blood doomed her to.

"Afternoon, darlin,'" a voice chimed from the front of Anelisse's stall, Celli's familiar, aging face materializing as she peered over the counter and towards the painting. "Looks lovely." She frowned. "You might want to put that pretty necklace of yours away though, wouldn't want to get paint on it while you work."

Anelisse glanced down and realized her sister's pendant had slipped free from beneath her dress and was already speckled in a smattering of reds and oranges. She cringed and wiped the large stone clean on her apron, then quickly tucked the pendant back beneath her neckline. "Thank you, Celli."

"Any time. Here," the round woman offered out a large wicker basket, "for you, your boy and that pretty sister of yours."

Anelisse took the wrapped container of pastries the woman passed to her, the smell of cherries and plums wafting from under the red cloth. She felt her mouth water. The woman's baking was absolutely sinful.

"Oh my goodness, thank you! Here, let me get you your coin—" she finished around in the pockets of her dress, searching for her satchel of coin knowing it was floating about somewhere.

"No need, sweets, it's on the house. Think of it as thanks for all the business you've directed my way." The older woman wiped her hands on her flour-coated apron, her eyes crinkling.

"Nonsense, I've only sent a few over—"

"I've made more profit in the last three months alone than I've done in the last two years, thanks to your generous recommendations to those doe-eyed boys. Think nothing of it."

Anelisse stopped her fishing.

She'd only been suggesting the pastries to the patrons who frequented her stall, namely bright-eyed men and males who seemed eager to earn her attention. She'd happily used them to her advantage, selling them her less-than-perfect pieces and having them go to Celli for a treat after. More often than not, they brought her back one too.

She couldn't say she was above it though, free food was free food. Especially buttery morsels dusted in confectioner's sugar. Her stomach rumbled as the smell of the tarts in the basket wafted up to her nose. She quickly sat the basket down, knowing that if she kept it too close she'd end up eating them all before she even got them home.

She'd been using her looks and the men's interest to her full advantage, both in spying and acquiring things. Even if her attention was strictly honed in on a certain broad-chested male with the most luscious lips she'd ever had the pleasure of tasting. The thought of him had her toes curling.

Despite her vow in the tunnels, she'd been thankful to have made an exception for blondes in Gandriel's case.

"Besides, you lot are taking off tomorrow aren't ye? Give you something to remember me by while you're gone."

"If you're certain, Celli," she leaned over the stall to hug the elderly woman, her presence reminding her a great deal of the still missing Martha. Despite their searching, there'd been no word of her or Adder's whereabouts. "I look forward to seeing you when we return."

"And I you, child, now back to work with you!" Celli waved. Anelisse watched as the elderly woman made her way across the brimming square, dodging in out of patrons and nearly slamming into a hulking figure of a man.

She blinked in surprise, catching sight of the man's rounded ears beneath shoulder length hair. He certain didn't look human, not with how large and broad he was. Demi-fae, perhaps.

He politely righted Celli, the old woman looking up at him with awe as he inclined his head and gently moved past her, heading straight for Anelisse's stall. Pushing stray ashen locks back, she offered the man a smile as he finally reached her. Maybe she could con him into buying one of her paintings. He didn't look the artist sort though, even as his earth-toned eyes roved over her stall.

"Afternoon, sir, can I help you?" He was certainly pretty for being human too, something about the sharp angles of his face ringing a bell of familiarity in her mind. Where had she seen features like that before?

She tapped her fingers mindlessly on the counter of stall, contemplating.

"I'm looking for paint." His voice was deep and gravely, though certainly not unkind. He offered out a slip of unexpectedly flowery paper, a list printed in neat writing across it. "These pigments, if you have them."

She flicked her eyes over the page, sounding out the letters in her mind as she read through the list. Celeste and Gandriel had both insisted she learn to read and while it had taken her a while to get the gist of it, she'd managed to master enough to get by.

"Afraid most of these colors were made by the female who ran this stall before me," Anelisse frowned as she turned toward her own shelf of paints she'd mixed, the colors vibrant in the sun as she pulled them down and lined them up. "You're welcome to go through these though, see if there's any you like."

Turning back to her palette, she grabbed a new brush, thin and fanned this time, and dipped it into yellow, then orange before turning back to her canvas. Hopefully he'd buy at least a few vials of the paint, a few less things she would have to pack up when she left for the evening and the following months.

He sifted quietly through the paints for several minutes, picking out a selection of colors that told Anelisse he certainly wasn't the one the one who would be using them.

"I'll take these."

She put her brush down, admiring the rays of sun she'd started painting before stepping over and beginning to pack the paints, double wrapping them in cloth. He'd picked seven, which would net her a few silver pieces.

"Are these your paintings?" the man inquired, motioning towards the various canvases, a mixture of media and subjects; the vast majority a variety of renditions of Gandriel's torso, painted in various hues. She grinned.

"They are, see something you like?"

He smirked at her, "No, the style just reminds me of a very close friend's work."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself." He didn't seem the type who'd want a half-naked portrait of a male above his bed anyway, although she didn't like to judge. More for her to stare at later.

She was nearly done wrapping the vials and about to bring up the matter of payment when the man flitted his attention behind her and let out an odd choking sound.

"Where did you get that?" The tremor that suddenly filled his voice had Anelisse flicking her gaze up towards him.

He'd frozen, his eyes growing wide as saucers as color drained from his deeply tanned face, his gaze locked on the portrait of Celeste she'd set aside. She peered back over a shoulder at the canvas and felt her brows narrow.

"That's a painting of my sister, I made it."

"Let me see it." The words came out as an order, one that had Anelisse's spine straightening. Just who did he think he was?

Sensing her stare and offense he amended with a breathless, "Please," even as his attention remained wholly fixed on it.

She stopped her wrappings, distrust filling her as she walked back to the large canvas and picked it up before bringing it forward to the man. He took it from her with a reverence that had her brow shooting further into her hairline.

He stood there in silence, a wide array of emotions flickering across his features as he stared and stared at the piece, his breathing uneven. Anelisse shifted awkwardly on her feet, concern filling her at the man's sudden interest.

She'd should have known better than to have left it out. None of the slavers had seen her sister's face as far as they knew, though, so why his sudden interest? Unless he was angling for information-

He snapped his attention back to her as though he had just remembered she was still there, holding onto the painting as he stared at her, despair marring his handsome face. "Your sister?"

She nodded.

"My sister. I painted it a few weeks ago." Anelisse grew more apprehensive even as she kept her casual tone, revealing nothing. She watched the man as he gingerly ran his hand over the canvas, gently outlining Celeste's features, his roving eyes absorbing every detail.

Celeste was going to be absolutely ticked.

"You look nothing alike," he muttered more to himself than her, as though he were searching for an answer that would not come to him. She easily fell into her rehearsed persona, lies beginning to spool from her lips.

"We share a mother but have different fathers." She gave a slight smirk, lifting a hand to her mouth and whispering conspiratorially, "You know how things tend to go when women grow tired of their husbands and find, new dashing lovers."

The man seemed to miss the implications, still fixated.

"Where is she? What is her name? Is she human?"

Oh, he was certainly snooping for information now, although rather badly. Well, two could play at that game.

"Her name is Isabelle, she works in the Ruby District." She pointed toward the southeast corner of the square. "Head down to the south side of town; she's at the Orchid." She laughed, a disarming trill. "And of course she's human, she is my sister after all." She was suddenly glad for the artist license she'd taken with painting her sisters hair down, hiding her delicately pointed ears. She gave a dramatic sigh, fanning herself, "Of course there are some embellishments in the painting to try and lift her confidence, since, you know, she's not the pretty sister." A mischievous wink.

Some of the intensity left the man with that bit of information, as though whatever had consumed him had wavered, something that didn't add up. He shook his head as if to clear it from a daze before pinching the bridge of his nose between gloved fingers.

"Why?" Anelisse's inquired, keeping her tone light even as her need to protect her sister rose. He certainly wasn't acting like any of the smugglers she'd met, they'd all at least had the intelligence to be somewhat subtle.

Unless he wasn't one-then why his unexpected curiosity?

The man remained silent for long minutes before he spoke in a broken whisper, "She just looks like someone I used to know . . . someone who was very important to me."

Oh. Intrigue filled Anelisse as her need to snoop rose, maybe Celeste looked like an ex-girlfriend then. She slapped her own gossiping nature down, knowing the sooner she ended the exchange the better. Smuggler or desperate ex-boyfriend, it didn't matter.

"Huh, small world." She reached for the painting, intending to take it back and begin packing her belongs, it wouldn't hurt to close up shop early—but he snatched the painting away. She nearly snarled at him, contemplating chucking her palette at him and demanding the canvas back.

What was this guy's issue?

"How much?" His eyes were stony as they fixed on her, his grip tight on the canvas. She shook her head and reached for it again, Mother help her if she had to pry it from his fingers-

"It's not for sale," she wiggled her fingers for it, "so please, if you'll let me see that—"

"How much?" he said again, iron will filling his tone. "Name your price, I'll pay it."

"Honestly, there really isn't any amount you could pay—"

He dropped a heavy satchel before her, coins clinking as they settled. Her eyes widened as she gaped at the purse.

"How. Much."

"Well, you're home early," Celeste noted from her spot at the table, chewing on a crusty piece of bread as Anelisse snuck into the apartment, her art supplies and canvases tucked under her arms and carrying a basket that smelt suspiciously like pastries.

Celeste had been back for several hours, having already packed her belongings and beginning to plot their routes out for the next few weeks on the Loreley. Gandriel had yet to emerge from his room, no doubt trying to squeeze every single deep V-necked shirt he owned into his ridiculous amount of luggage.

"Sold out early today, so I thought I'd get a jump start on packing." Anelisse's voice was a high trill as she hummed mindlessly, dumping her things onto the couch before she scuttled towards the table, her footsteps bouncing.

Celeste lifted a single brow. Her sister was being unusually . . . chipper.

"Sold out early?"

"Yep, sold every last vial of paint I had and a couple portraits too." She swiped up piece of bread, humming as she smothered it in butter and jam. "Made enough money to cover us for the next few months."

Celeste nearly spit out the mouthful of water she'd just taken, her eyes flaring wide. She forced herself to swallow before sitting forward and looking at her sister with suspicion.

"You're kidding."

"Nope." Anelisse shoved the piece of bread into her mouth, chewing noisily as she dropped a heavy bag of coin onto the table, the satchel landing with a solid thunk as gold and silver pieces spilled out of its top. Celeste brows met in the middle, her jaw going slack.

That was certainly more than enough to cover them for a few months, more like a year. She eased back into her chair, brows still knotted. What had her sister gotten herself into this time?

"How?" Concern filled her as she flicked through the scenarios that might explain whatever sister had done to acquire the coin. Was she back gambling in the Quartz district? She'd certainly done better this time than the last if that was the case.

Anelisse dusted off her dress before sitting across from her, refusing to meet Celeste's gaze as she nonchalantly explained, "I sold your portrait."

Horror washed through Celeste.

"Excuse me, you did what?"

"Don't worry," she waved her hand back and forth dismissively, "it was just some random man who thought you looked like his ex-girlfriend." She grabbed another piece of bread. "Besides, I already sent him down to Isabelle just in case, she'll be able to pry any information from his lips, if he had any."

Celeste blinked once, then twice.

"Did you think that might be a bad idea?" Even with her trying to keep a low profile she worried for the safety of her courtesan friend, even if the woman tended to turn the men who came to her into putty. "Or even think you should have asked me before you did that?"

"He was loaded and practically bawling over it, I've never seen a man that size get so emotional." She grimaced in disgust. "Besides, we can use the coin and whatever information Isabelle gets. I really don't think he was a slaver though."

She was half tempted to leave right then and head down to the Ruby district, just to ensure that whoever that man was wouldn't be causing any trouble.

"Do you remember what he looked like at least? Any distinguishing marks?"

Her sister squinted her eyes as though trying to remember. "He was human, a very tall, attractive human, but still human. Broad chest too, built like an ox, and that jawline—"

"Anelisse, focus, please." She needed useful information, anything that might help her pin the individual when she set out to hunt him. "Hair and eye color? Any notable markings or scars?"

"Dark, and not that I saw. He just looked like some soldier or mercenary, though he didn't wear any distinguishing regalia. Barked orders like a commander though; bit of a hard-ass. Though that aura dissipated pretty quickly once he looked at the painting. Like I said, former lover."

This was a disaster.

"Anelisse," Celeste rubbed her eyes. "Why?"

"What'd Anelisse do?" Gandriel inquired, slinking from his room, his hair damp from the bath he'd just taken. He reached across the table for a piece of bread and spotted the pile of coins. "Holy Mother-that's a lot of money. Where'd you get that?"

"She sold my portrait to some random man." Celeste muttered with her face in her hands, not certain if she was more concerned with a smuggler having just acquired her portrait or an ex who thought she looked like his lost love.

Neither option was palatable, but the money . . . they could certainly put it to use. But Isabelle . . .

"Like I told Celeste, I think she reminded him of an ex-girlfriend and wanted the piece as a memento."

"He must have really missed his amor," Gandriel snickered.

"He'll probably pleasure himself to it tonight," Anelisse giggled. "Or maybe ask Isabelle to give him a hand with it—"

"ANELISSE." Disgust leached into Celeste at even the thought of something so vile being done to her image—

"Oh, don't be so offended, you probably made him really happy. Besides," Anelisse licked the jam from her fingers, gesturing at the obscenely large pile of coins on the table. "At least he bought you dinner first."

Celeste groaned.