Blind Devotion

by dnd4evr

While on the run from a haunting past, a half-orc warlock finds himself the chance companion of a blind elf doctor. Despite her quirks, he finds great comfort in her company, and the two make fast friends...even if their enemies are never far behind. All original characters that are HIGHLY INSPIRED by the cast of Critical Role.

9. The Storm

Al jolted awake to the sound of a fist pounding at the door. In the instant it took to realize his heartbeat was thumping through his ears, he also noticed Jayce's bed was empty.

Did he lock his money ticket out of the room again?!

Just then, the door opened on its own and Jayce stepped through. Al blew out a sigh of relief and flopped back onto his pillow, as the adrenaline took its sweet time to bleed out of his system.

"Mornin', you two," Jayce beamed brightly. "Dahlia and I grabbed a treat for breakfast. Any of you want fried pastries while they're still hot?"

Gauth immediately sat up with a grin on his face. "Fried pastries? Are they sweet?"

"Brushed in honey and filled with custard," Jayce said with a wink. He stepped to the side and Dahlia moved past him, holding a surprisingly large folded paper box. Al had to rub the sleep out of his eyes to confirm he wasn't dreaming; Not only was Dahlia's hood finally down, but her blindfold was off! What happened last night? Did he get drunk again? He remembered an argument and going to sleep, but nothing that would have prompted her to take off the blindfold. She was almost obsessive about keeping herself covered. What changed?

She was actually more attractive than he had assumed. Maybe his "cleaned up well" assessment wasn't as far off as he thought.

He finally sat up himself and watched Gauth delicately pick a small fried ball out of the box Dahlia was holding. Jayce, in his distraction, had disappeared.

"Where'd Jayce go?" Al yawned.

"Next door to wake the siblings," Dahlia said simply. Gauth tossed the small ball into his mouth and crunched it with vigor, and Al almost laughed with how his friend's eyes nearly bugged out his head.

"This is...is very...amazing!" Gauth struggled to find the right words as he nearly failed to stop himself from grabbing a handful. "What are they?"

Dahlia nearly giggled and instead just gave a sweet smile. "They're called loukoumades. These are filled with chocolate custard, which is apparently not the norm when it comes to these little pastries."

"Wait, chocolate?" Al said with a joyful start. He hadn't had chocolate since leaving home, years ago. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," Dahlia said with a smile. "Have you had it before?"

"Corellon's grace, not in years!" Al nearly laughed as he hopped up from his bed and nabbed several. "I can't imagine this was cheap!"

Dahlia made some comment about the price, but it fell flat as Al found himself in a vivid memory of his father. The taste of the chocolate custard was remarkably similar to the cream filled delights in his mother's special chocolate box, and he held on to the recollection of hiding in the closet with his dear parent, stifling giggles, as his mother vocally ranted about disappearing sweets in the next room.

They pulled off the same stunt almost five times before she finally clued in to their hiding place. After that, his father had to buy his own chocolates, but he never missed an opportunity to share them with his precious son.

Al snapped back to reality when Gauth loudly cleared his throat and claimed an errant nut piece had made it to his windpipe. It took Al a second to realize his vision was blurry because he had begun to shed tears at the memory.

"It's okay, Dahlia, I'm fine," Gauth smiled, but he gave Al a concerned look as the half-elf quickly wiped his face clear of evidence.

"Well, you're talking, so I guess you are," Dahlia said with clear relief in her voice. She moved to sit back down by the box of pastries on the bed. "If your airway became obstruct- Ah, sorry, if you did start choking, I'm not sure how I would clear it. You're quite a bit bigger than me."

"Then it's a good thing I'm fine," Gauth said again, but he turned to Al and mouthed the words "Are you okay?" as quietly as he could. Al quickly and very subtly gave a nod, and went back to shoving another pastry in his mouth.

"Fuck yes, loukies!" Zoe cheered as she ducked in the room. "Gods above I haven't had these in ages!"

Dahlia squeaked in alarm as Zoe's arms brushed just a bit too close to her in a bid to grab at the box of loukoumades. Rather than interfere, Dahlia kept her hands tense and ready to bat away offenders by her shoulders as she leaned uncomfortably far back to avoid any accidental contact. Zoe barely noticed as she retreated with her prize, the entire box, which she held to her chest in victory.

"John! Check this out!" Zoe spun and held out the box to her bleary-eyed brother, and her wild swing nearly caught Jayce in the stomach. "Loukies! Just like the ones we used to sneak from the kitchens!"

Jonathan stared down at the box with dumb disbelief. He knew he was dreaming. There was no way such an aristocratic treat would be available to him after a year of being the scum of the street, and yet, there they were in all their honey-glazed glory. The way they caught the lamplight made them almost glisten in front of him.

Well, if it was a dream, he was going to take advantage of it. He gingerly took one pastry and nibbled off the closest edge, and almost immediately recoiled.

He nearly spat out the food, but a year of trauma prevented him from actually doing so. "What heathen put a custard in this?!"

"What the hell?" Zoe mumbled as she twisted to box to look inside. The loukoumades looked perfectly fine on the surface.

Jayce grabbed the box and yanked it out of her grip before she could more closely investigate. "If y'all are so insulted by a fuckin' treat, you ain't required to partake," he hissed.

"What? No! I want one!" Zoe whined. "What's inside them anyway? Just custard?"

"Chocolate…" Jonathan gagged, but he choked the rest of the treat down anyway. It would be bad to waste food, after all.

"Okay now I really want one," Zoe huffed as she dove for the box again. Her hand snapped into the box and back out with the precision of a striking snake, a honey dipped prize pinched between her fingers. "John just hates chocolate, that's all. Plus I don't fucking care if someone stuffs a loukie; Make's them better, as far as I'm concerned."

"How can anyone hate chocolate?" Jayce asked, the doubt dripping from his voice. He passed the box back to Dahlia, where Gauth once again grabbed a generous handful before anyone could protest.

"Oh fuck yes that's amazing!" Zoe groaned around a mouthful. "Whoever stuffed these is a damned genius."

"In her defense," Dahlia cut in, albeit quietly, "the baker's wife did say she was 'bucking traditions' with her interpretation of the pastry."

For the first time since they entered the room, the siblings truly noticed Dahlia on the bed. Zoe and Jonathan both were taken aback in shock, as they had only known her with the blindfold on and the hood up. Her green eyes were absolutely enchanting in the laternlight, almost magically so, as they found themselves staring.

Zoe recovered faster than her brother. "Wow. So that's what you'd look like. Your eyes are gorgeous!"

Jonathan, struck dumb at the sight, wholeheartedly agreed but found himself mute in Dahlia's presence. Al silently noted the reaction and tucked it away in his mind for another day.

Dahlia, however, winced and turned away. She put down the box and attempted to fidget with the hem of her gloves, but she had yet to put them back on since her conversation with Jayce in her room. Instead, her fists went tight and she nudged the box further away, as if it was the sole reason for the attention on her.

"Hey now, I get it's tempting to call her out on it," Jayce said with a disarming smile as he shifted a step closer to her, "but ya gotta understand she's choosin' to trust us with this. There's plenty of fuckers in her past, some of whom I've met, who would jump at the chance to cause her harm-"

"Like the one who cursed her," Gauth interrupted with a nod.

Jayce snapped his fingers and pointed at Gauth. "Exactly. So showin' us her face is how far she's willin' to go to trust us. Any of you break that trust, you got my gods-damned word I'll make ya pay for it. We clear?"

There was a general agreement, and with the threat hanging in the air, Jonathan managed to resurface from his stupor.

Al barely managed to grab more of the pastries before they were devoured by the rest, but he kept his eye on Jayce. Why would a man who barely knew this healer woman be doing so much for her? There had to be a reason, and the uncertainty gnawed at him. His curiosity continued to creep into the back of his mind as Jayce went over the plans for the day.

"First thing's first, we gotta talk to Wolf," Jayce began. He moved the now empty pastry box to the small desk under the window and shrugged off his coat. "We promised t' meet 'er this morning, and it'd be damn rude to ditch her now."

"Plus, being as she seemed to be involved with the city, she may know when the auction is being held," Dahlia added.

"Makes sense," Zoe grumbled. "You and Jayce slip in, Gauth follows as bodyguard, and Al sneaks in behind...while John and I do what?"

"And on potentially no tickets," Jonathan said with a sigh. "You might not even get past the front door."

"Fuck," Jayce grunted as he dropped his head into his hand. "Forgot about the damn tickets. Ain't sure I could afford one, let alone two."

"If there are even seats available on such short notice," Jonathan said. "Most of the time, the tickets are already spoken for by noble families, to be redeemed-"

"That's it!" Zoe barked as she hopped up to her feet, and she allowed herself a mere second of joy at startling her brother. "Al, you're one of those sneaky types, right? A trained rogue?"

"No I'm-!" Al barely caught himself in time. "Damn. Yes, a rogue. You actually got it right."

Zoe took on a mischievous grin and cracked her knuckles. "I happen to know where two tickets are right now. I will bet you every fucking coin I've got that my dad has a pair of tickets to the weekend auction in his office desk; It was a matter of damned pride that he was always there to rub elbows with the rest of the hoity-toity elites of Westruun. If the rest of you run interference, I bet Al and I could sneak inside and grab the tickets before they even realized what was happening!"

"If," Jonathan cut in with a nudge to Zoe's hip, "the auction is late enough in the day that we actually have time for a foolhardy caper like that."

"Then we better hope it is," Zoe said with a low growl to her voice and crossed her arms. "Otherwise we're up shit creek without a paddle."

"We still don't know our part of the plan," Jonathan added.

Jayce nodded as he picked up his leather armor. "I was thinkin' on that last night. Way I figure it, whoever's sneakin' in has gotta get out, and I'm pretty sure a place as fancy as the World Market ain't gonna take their deliveries through the front door. John, yer already pretty rough lookin', so I figure you walking the back alleys ain't gonna catch attention; You find that back door and keep it covered, and send us a message if ya see anything suspicious. Zoe, you got the front. Bein' from the Cobalt Soul, you said it yerself that you ain't gonna look out of place, so you look for anything that stands out. Sound good?"

"That's…surprisingly well thought out," Jonathan said before he could successfully hide the awe in his voice.

"Hang on a second! What's the plan if I actually see something?" Zoe huffed. "I don't have that message spell."

"You give chase, and find us when the target stops," Jayce said simply while he clipped on his armor. "No one can run forever, but you can leap ten fuckin' feet in the air; anyone'd be hard pressed to lose you."

"And you'll be…?" Zoe trailed off, waiting for an answer with a scrutinizing glare.

"Here, if we can't find you. We all know the place, so if we get split up, we'll come here anyway," Jayce answered. "If any of us ain't back here by nightfall, assume there's trouble."

"If it's a morning auction, that's a long time to wait," Al smirked. "How about noon as a cutoff? Obviously we'd do nightfall if it's an afternoon showing."

Jayce shrugged. "Fine with me. Anyone else?"

As Gauth had been the most quiet, all in the room turned toward him. He coughed awkwardly. "I am the bodyguard, and I come back to the Riversong after we save the Margrave. That's all I followed."

Dahlia adopted a kind smile, one made softer by her finally visible eyes. "It's okay, Gauth. You'll be with Jayce and me, and we can help if you need it. I know you'll do the same for us."

Gauth felt a surge of pride to be trusted so thoroughly by his teacher. He couldn't stop himself from grinning, even when he noticed Al give him an eye roll.

Jayce finished clipping on his armor and pulled his coat back on. "Anythin' else before we meet Wolf?"

Zoe, the absolute picture of sarcasm, raised her arm as if she was a tyke in school. "Yeah, are you sure you're not the boss?"

The room burst into giggles as Jayce dropped his head into his hands. Al was starting to like the new additions to the team.

As promised, Wolf was waiting for them in the common room, having arrived just after Dahlia and Jayce returned with the pastries earlier that morning. She began grilling them on their past exploits as soon as they were seated, and was quite pleased to hear about their eradication of an infestation of kobolds in the Ironseat Ridge, albeit with some generous interpretations of events. The way Al, Gauth, and Jayce told it, a certain irritating gnome was never part of the proceedings.

Dahlia just kept silent.

"While I know you've said you haven't done much by way of adventuring yet, I'm still impressed with what you've done," Wolf said as she pulled a messenger bag into her lap. She began to paw through the contents, and the group could hear the rustling of papers. "Thirty kobolds on your own is pretty impressive in its own right, of course."

"To be completely fair, they're easier t' take down when they're scared shitless," Jayce smiled. "Thank Dahlia for that one. She cast some magical sounds that were damn terrifyin' and made my job a helluva lot easier."

"Oh! So that was the secret!" Al cut in with a mocking gasp. "You didn't actually fight them off on your own!"

Jayce turned to Al with a look that was the picture of annoyance. "In the time you've known her, have you ever heard Dahlia brag about a damn thing? If she didn't want to make a big deal out of it, neither did I. Just figured the truth'd be prudent here."

"That said," Wolf said with a sharp enough inflection to cut into their conversation and demanded their attention, "I have your letter of recommendation. I can't guarantee it'll do more than get you in the door, but it's there."

She handed a folded letter tied in twine to Jayce, who took it gratefully and offered a respectful nod in return.

"Speaking of your invaluable assistance," John said as respectfully as possible, "do you happen to know what time today the World Market will be holding an auction, if any?"

Wolf rolled her eyes. "Like I'm to believe you're all interested-"

A scrap of paper, tucked into the back of the twine-bound letter, shifted loose and fluttered to the table as Jayce moved to slip the letter into his coat. As soon as it landed, the words, "Bye Mom. I'm leaving." were easily readable in a simple hand.

Wolf exploded from her seat, her hand snapping across the table to snatch the note as she ducked around them to charge for the door. Before most of them could blink, Wolf was gone.

The table was stunned into an awkward silence for several beats before Dahlia cleared her throat.

"Can...someone please explain to me what just happened?" she asked nervously.

Zoe shrugged, even though she was unseen. "Let's just say someone's got family troubles like the rest of us."

"I'd rather have an explanation than an approximation, but thank you," Dahlia mumbled.

"I am also confused," Guath added, partly to prod the team to further explain for Dahlia, and partly for his own curiosity. "I could not read the note, so I don't know why she acted that way."

Jonathan, who had seen the note clearly from his seat next to Jayce, piped up. "The note said, 'Bye Mom. I'm leaving.' I don't know if the child is male or female, but it was obvious Wolf was worried."

"She could have at least answered the question before she left," Al hissed under his breath.

Dahlia, who clearly heard him, glared at him in disbelief, but Al was too distracted to even register the look.

"We do have another option," Jayce sighed. "I can walk in usin' that disguise spell and just, ya know, ask. We don't have t' get complicated about this."

"Obviously with a different face," Jonathan added. "It might be suspicious if your 'character' shows up later that evening with company. Most nobles have runners to ask that sort of thing."

Jayce nodded and gave the disguise some thought. "Good point, John. Any suggestions? Comin' from a noble background, 'n all."

Jonathan shrugged. "You can't go wrong with a quilted doublet. Oh, and carry a stiletto on your hip; all runners have one."

"I hope I ain't got to pull it…" Jayce mumbled. An imaginary blade was just as useful as a pair of granite boots at sea. "But easy enough. Let's head out and start scoutin' the area. We only got one shot at this, and the consequences are gonna be dire."

"No kidding," Zoe mumbled. "I still think Al and I should head out to the Riddle estate for the tickets. One way or another, we're gonna need them."

"It ain't gonna do us good if it turns out to be a morning auction," Jayce cautioned, as he finally placed the letter of recommendation in his inner coat pocket. "Let's head out there first, and if it turns out we got time, you two can peel off."

"Still can't see why you're not the fucking boss," Zoe mumbled.

Jayce sighed and rolled his eyes, as he didn't feel like belaboring the point anymore. "Let's head out. Gods be willing, luck will be in our favor today."

The sentiment was shared among them all as they grabbed their gear and headed out to the streets of Westruun. As they walked, no one spoke as the gravity of the situation began to weigh on them, but their minds were far from silent.

xXxXx

The World Market was a beautiful building, walled in marble and flanked by columns of impossibly beautiful people, each bearing tightly folded wings as they held up the roof. Carved into the facing edge, the facade depicted the nations of Exandria, all arriving with good for trade, toward an approximation of Palest Westruun in the center. Even though Jayce was disguised as a dark-skinned human man who looked absolutely at home among the upper-middle end of the mercantile class, he found himself entirely intimidated by the whole towering beings. Although they were facsimiles, he found himself wondering if they were golems, like the Black King, simply sleeping until they were called upon to serve the people of Westruun with their terrible might.

With a gulp and a deep breath to steady his nerves, he stepped inside.

The foyer of the World Market was opulent, with a pale marble floor cushioned by deep green plush carpet, and gilding that followed the edges of similar marble panels along the wall. Large porcelain planters, filled with small, beautifully lush and green trees, despite the season outside, accentuated the ends of benches along the walls. These places to sit were in perfect view of the large landscapes hung on the opposite walls, and with the natural light coming in from the glass ceiling, it gave the impression of being a large and open place, despite being only middling in size.

At the far end of this hall stood an impressive oak desk, manned by a flustered woman with copper hair and amber eyes, and Jayce was struck by exactly how sharp her nose seemed to be on her otherwise soft face. He stepped up to the desk and politely cleared his throat to get her attention while she scrambled to organize loose papers across the desk.

She did not react, so Jayce cleared his throat again, a little more forcefully, and this time caught her eye.

"Good day, ma'am," Jayce said with a bow. As he and John had rehearsed, it was without his typical accent, although he adopted the particular vocal sharpness that was common in Westruun. "The Riddle Family would like to confirm the time for this afternoon's auction."

The woman sighed in relief and thrust out a pamphlet toward him so suddenly Jayce almost had to scramble to catch it. "It hasn't changed; It's still four in the afternoon, but the line-up changed yesterday. Please send that along to your patron so they have the information they need for the event."

The woman immediately went back to her work, organizing the same pamphlets into piles and occasionally ripping apart the errant page that did not live up to her standards. Jayce half-heartedly bowed before a hasty exit and jogged to the alleyway nearby where his friends were waiting.

"Good news," he said, in his own voice, as he entered the shadows. "Auction's at four, and it's currently…"

Jayce, Al, and Gauth all turned to Dahlia expectantly, and the siblings were surprised when she confidently stated it was twelve minutes after eight that morning.

"Which means we have seven hours and forty-eight minutes until the auction," Dahlia stated flatly, until she noted the quiet shock of her companions. She then cleared her throat and meekishly added, "Approximately."

In truth, only Jonathan and Zoe were staring, and the others were sharing a silent gloat over their friend. Jayce dropped the disguise spell with a tap of a hand to his chest, and the only thing that didn't change was the boastful grin that commanded his features.

"Seems you n' Zoe are clear to go rob a baron, Al," Jayce said as he turned to the rogue.

"Earl, actually," Jonathan cut in. "Earl Hamund Dysley Gauwilh Riddle the First."

"That is a nonsense name," Gauth huffed. "Why is yours so simple if his is not?"

Jonathan sighed. "Because Jonathan is my Fifth Name."

"What the hell is a Fifth Name?" Jayce asked. It was obvious he felt having a fifth name was pretentious.

"It's a pet name," Zoe groaned as she rubbed her face in frustration. "We both have one, although my parents were so generous as to make my actual name my Fifth Name."

Al's curiosity demanded he ask. "Then what's your real name? Or full name. Not sure what's appropriate to ask here."

With another sigh, Jonathan set his shoulders and turned to the half-elf. "With all due respect, sir, I've only just met you. Perhaps some other time, when we've become better friends."

Al grunted and crossed his arms. Now this was going to eat at him.

"And on that note, let's go!" Zoe hissed as she stomped past Al. "We need those tickets!"

Al jogged after her, calling out over his shoulder to meet back up at the Riversong, and caught up to Zoe as she continued to march through the city streets. As much as his gut was screaming at him to drop it, he couldn't help but ask.

"I'm guessing the name thing is a sore topic, huh?"

Zoe snapped out her arm with a well aimed punch, cracking Al across the jaw with all the pent up rage she had for her adoptive parents. All spun and stumbled, but managed to keep his footing as he immediately checked for blood or loose teeth.

"What the fuck?!" Al huffed, as he worked his tongue over his teeth. "Ow! You fucking hit-!"

"Of course it's a fucking sore topic, you asshole!" Zoe screeched at him. "I earned that damned name! I earned it, and those gruel-puking boil-brained gutter gobs told me I better be fucking grateful that I got to keep it as a fucking pet name!"

Al watched Zoe in shock as she turned away and seethed into her hands, pacing almost erratically along a small stretch of the street. He brushed his jaw one last time and, after he confirmed his teeth were all still in place, he reached out to grab Zoe's arm. Unfortunately, she saw him coming and ripped her arm out of his reach before he could grab anything.

"Don't you fucking touch me, you othlir," she hissed.

Al's jaw went tight, pain sparking through it, as he glared at her. She met his gaze, daring him to egg her on, to provoke her, to give her a reason to blow off that rage pumping through her veins. As much as he wanted to oblige, to get in a few hits of his own and get her back for that incredibly personal insult, Al stepped back.

"Take it out on your damned parents, Zoe," Al spat. He turned away and again rubbed at his jaw. "I have no problems ditching you in the street; those aren't the only tickets in town, and I'm a fair hand at getting what I want, without getting caught."

"Fine!" Zoe growled. She threw up her hands in frustration and let them rest on her hips. With a tense puff of breath, she leaned her head back, and took a moment to feel the sunshine across her face. If the Margrave really was a target, it was a strange day to die. It wasn't glum enough.

"Besides," Al's voice cut through her thoughts, and it had a strange tone of mischievousness to it that piqued her interest. "Nobody said the tickets were all we had to get, right? I'm sure you wouldn't mind sticking it to the folks, considering how you obviously feel about them."

Zoe's face twisted into a half smile, one that was simultaneously suspicious at his motives and amused by the implications. "Like, what, some favorite thing going missing? Or some expensive thing getting mysteriously vandalized?"

Al returned the smirk and crossed his arms with a shrug. "You tell me. You actually know them."

Zoe rolled her lip over her teeth as she unsuccessfully tried to bite back a smile. Her mind was already swimming with a potential shopping list of purloined goods that would be particularly missed by her adoptive parents. Some of them were even magical! There was at least one that would impress that goliath in the group, and after the previous night's outburst, she wouldn't mind being more solidly on his good side.

After all, she didn't want to end up like those ankhegs.

xXxXx

The Riddle Estate was solidly in the Opal Ward, just down the street from Margrave Zimmerset's home, the plain and utilitarian Margrave's Keep. It used to be a matter of pride for Jonathan and Zoe that, as children, they could stick their heads outside the estate gate and see the Black King, the twelve-foot-tall statue of the city's founder, glistening in the morning sunlight in the center of the city.

Zoe stood on the other side of that gate now, and swallowed back bile from the notion she would be crossing it again. Al, at her side, scanned the front gardens through the fence, noting the tall trees that reached the third floor, the scattered shrubbery that added cover to the edges, and a beautiful fountain inspired by the domain of Melora, the Wildmother. Zoe noted how his gaze barely glanced over the twisting, sculpted vinework that cascaded water down smooth stone petals, and she grimaced. She once thought that she was so lucky to be living in such a rich house, but she had become jaded in her years. It seemed misery didn't care how rich someone was, and followed her mercilessly.

"I don't suppose your family has any secret entrances into the family estate," Al mumbled, as he continued to scan the grounds. "The fence won't be too hard to pass, but we're exposed for almost fifty feet up to the hedges that line the house, and I've already counted three guards on patrol. How paranoid is your father?"

Zoe shrugged. "Considering he claims he and his father built most of the current economy in Westruun, probably pretty damn paranoid. He used to regale to us how dear ol' Grandad fought tooth and nail to secure our inheritance from those filthy commoners who demanded a redistribution of wealth."

"And let me guess, that whole 'adopted' part meant you used to be part of the riff and rabble of the streets," Al huffed with an ironic smirk.

"Yep…" Zoe sighed. "Boy, did they love telling me how I was rescued from the gutters to live the gilded life. And trust me, it was not lost on me that the fact that it was plated in gold didn't change the fact that it was shit."

Al snickered under his breath, but then nudged Zoe's arm. "Back to the matter at hand. Passageways?"

"That I know of?" Zoe grumbled, and she rubbed her temples as she rummaged through her memories. "Two...I think. One went to my aunt and uncle's house, the other let out in an alleyway by the milliner's. Or some sort of shop. I only went through it once and I remember the window display having hats."

"Was it far?" Al asked as he looked down the street. The shop couldn't be too close to the center of the Opal Ward, as the land would be taxed too heavily for anyone but the nobility to live on.

Zoe tapped at her head as she tried hard to remember. "Uh...no… Well, maybe. I was barely ten and it felt far, especially in the dark. Probably because my gait was a lot shorter though."

"What time of day was it when you stepped out of the passage?" Al started to wander down the street as they talked, and he did his best to look across the nearby buildings as inconspicuously as possible. Most of them were sprawlings estates, like the Riddles', but he knew the rich were too fond of convenience to allow only their neighbors to surround them.

"Why does it matter?! It was over a decade ago!" Zoe snapped at him. She jogged to catch up once she realized he had walked away. "I barely remember going through it, let alone where it came out!" She sighed. "But I do remember stopping at a pastry shop for a treat for being 'brave'. I guess it was late, because the governess had a strict rule about sweets before dinner."

"And do you remember if the sun was in your face as you stepped out of the passage?"

"Are you-?! Why is this even important?" Zoe said with exasperation, her head briefly hidden as she roughly dragged her fingers down her face. "How does this even help you?!"

Al rolled his eyes. "It gives me an idea which way the alley was facing, which helps us narrow our search. So where was the sun?"

"I don't remember," Zoe sighed. Now she felt bad for snapping at Al. "Like I said, it's been at least a decade."

Al continued to scan the street, and finally found a clue. A small artisanal pastry shop, and just beyond it, a milliner's storefront, easily identifiable by the opulent display of decorative hats in the window. Even better, it was only a few blocks from the Riddle Estate, and the milliner's store had an alley just to the right of the building. With a nod to himself, Al immediately ducked into the shadows, with Zoe tagging behind.

"If we're lucky…" Al mumbled as he dashed to the back wall, "it'll be relatively easy to find this door." He glanced over his shoulder to check Zoe was still close by. "Hey, Zoe, is the lock magical or mechanical?"

Zoe felt much more confident in this one. "Mechanical. He never trusted magic to be powerful enough to guard against a wizard with 'Dispel' up his sleeve."

Al shifted his fingertips over the brickwork, paying attention to note if any of them slipped ever so slightly from his touch. "I'm surprised he'd allow his son to learn magic then."

Zoe shrugged. "That was more Aunt Ginny's idea than 'dad'. John was learning magic anyway, so sending him to school was just the best way to get it done safely."

A brick crackled from the pressure as it settled against a hidden contraption, and Al smirked. "You're going to have to regale me with your family tree someday. It sounds like quite the drama."

"Oh trust me, there are whole tragedies that look like cake walks next to my family," Zoe grumbled. "Find anything?"

"Something...but I can't tell if it's the hinge or the lock." Al leaned his ear against the wall and shifted the brick again, being careful to avoid putting pressure on it in case it was a false button. "I don't suppose there's some secret family rhyme for remembering the passcode, is there?"

"Pfft. It's stupidly simple. Up, down, left, right. Just like how you cross yourself for the Lawbearer's service." Zoe suppressed a chuckle. "For an agnostic, 'dad' sure does like religious imagery."

With the added clue, Al managed to find, and press, all four loose bricks, which caused the counterweight inside to drop. The door opened inward, designed to seamlessly mesh with the normal bricks of the wall, and revealed a steep stairwell that dipped into the dark earth below.

"And there's our way in," Al smiled as he patted his hands free of dust, more for victory than for cleanliness. "Where's it let out?"

Zoe remembered that part easily. "Kitchen. Plenty of improvisable weapons and food if we ended up locked in."

"Great. We can grab a snack before we rob your old man," Al snickered. "Anything else I should know about the indoor security?"

"Uh...nothing I can think of, beyond don't assume the staff are helpless," Zoe replied. She stepped up to the entrance and saw nothing but a dark, cold shadow that stretched beyond what little light made it in from the distant street. She shivered.

"It's darker than I remember," she mumbled, gripping her arms.

The stone began to grind as the counterweight was released from it's latch, and the door threatened to swing shut on the two of them. With a shout of "I hope you trust me!", Al ducked inside and pulled Zoe in after him. He braced both arms against the opposite walls of the small and meager landing, and after Zoe crashed into him, it was quite clear he was the only reason she didn't go tumbling down the steep and irregular stairway.

She also immediately noticed she was plunged into complete darkness.

"Okay… Thanks for the warning," Zoe huffed, lightly pushing Al until her back touched the now closed doorway. "You do realize we could have just waited for it to close and reopened it, right?"

"Yes, we could have," Al said softly as he waited for his eyes to acclimate to the darkness. "That's assuming the lock doesn't seize for a certain number of hours. I once came across a mechanical lock that became more or less a literal brick wall for some time after it was used, to prevent pursuers from catching whoever went through. Pity for them, I got to it first."

Zoe waved out her arms and bumped Al with more force than she intended, which caused him to yelp in surprise. "Oops! Sorry, just, ya know, totally blind here…" She gripped Al's arm, but then paused. "Fuck me… Is this how Dahlia deals with everything? Just...darkness, like this? All the time?"

Al shrugged and slowly began to navigate the steps in front of them. "As far as I know. Now, I can see, so keep a hand on- Dammit! Not so close! You're stepping on my heels!"

"Well, excuse me! I'm fucking blind right now!" Zoe spat back, but she did relax her grip a bit. Every step Al took, he almost pulled her downward, and her body was beginning to shake from the constant reminder that falling forward would definitely break some bones, if not flat out kill her.

Al grunted in frustration and tried to lead her down the stairs as he had seen Jayce deal with Dahlia. Unlike Dahlia, though, Zoe had no confidence in her ability to move without sight, and so she clung to him awkwardly, like a frightened child. Al was quite grateful that whoever designed that particular hidden escape route only planned for one flight of stairs, as he was unsure his patience would last for longer than that.

"Okay! We're at the bottom. Now stop hanging on me!"

Zoe stumbled away from Al and clumsily smacked into a nearby wall. She hated this. She turned toward where she hoped Al was standing and put on a brave face. "So, are we lighting a torch or what? I can't see a damn thing and unless I do, I won't be able to lead you through here!"

Al cursed under his breath. As much as he wanted to limit their exposure, she had a point. Unless, of course, the passage was actually just a straight shot, in which case he could just lead her by the hand. He glanced over his shoulder and was pleased to note all he could see was a single path.

"Looks like it's a straight shot," Al smirked. He nearly grabbed Zoe's hand, but then thought better of it and grabbed her elbow instead. "Follow me, and keep your voice down. We don't want to alert someone that we're here, especially since this passage lets out in arguably the busiest room in the house. Since we've got...about two blocks before we're there, tell me what the hit list is, and where to find them. That should make the trip faster."

"And what about keeping our voices down? Isn't talking kinda what we don't want to do right now?" Zoe grumbled.

"Voice down, not shut up," Al grunted. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he began walking her down the passage. "So, list?"

Zoe nearly tripped over her feet in the darkness but recovered well and swore under her breath. "Tickets, self-writing pen, and his snuff box are all in his office. Mother's youth charm is in her private powder room, and right next to the bed is a special music box that Father never let me touch. One of the servants moved it, once, just to dust or something, and Father was so furious the poor guy nearly got his hand cut off. Even if we miss everything else, we need to get that box."

"Wow. You're really dead set on sticking it to him, aren't you?" Al whispered. Their voices weren't carrying far, but he didn't want to risk it.

"Of course. The bastard tossed out his flesh and blood son without a second thought. How long do you think the adopted mutt is going to last?" Zoe spat.

Al couldn't imagine the kind of contempt a father could have for his child to give cause to act like that. He was not so naive to believe his own experience was the default of fatherly behavior, but a part of him liked to wish it was the norm, and not the exception.

They walked in relative silence, with the only noise between them being simple questions and responses about the layout of the house. By the time their noses began to detect breads, roasting meats and vegetables, and a simmering gravy, Al felt confident in his mental map of the grounds. He guided Zoe up to the door, which was made well enough to prevent even light from slipping through the edges, and began inspecting the exposed counterweight contraption off to the right.

Zoe audibly took in a deep sniff of the air and sighed contentedly. "Man, the only thing I really miss from this place is the food. And Aunt Ginny."

"She someone special?" Al mumbled absentmindedly as he squatted down to check the gearbox. It was as complex he suspected, with an automatic locking mechanism that would prevent the door from opening multiple times in rapid succession. It was a bit of a guess, but the timing coil looked as if it would last a couple of hours. That meant they couldn't leave the way they got in.

"Oh hell yeah she was. She actually treated us like kids, and would take us out on the town. The number of times she pissed off the governess because she got us cakes or let us get dirty was hilarious!" Zoe had to work hard to suppress giggles at the memory. "There was one time-!"

"Shh!" Al hopped back to his feet and leaned his ear against the wall. It wasn't exactly clear, but voices were distinguishable through the wall, which meant their voices could be heard too. He listened as a couple of servants passed, loudly complaining about their master's demands, and they audibly wondered if he was taking it out on the staff because his heir disappeared.

Zoe waved out her hands until she brushed Al's back, and then, using that as a reference, found his shoulder to pull herself closer to the door. She leaned against the stone, but barely heard the kitchen staff clattering beyond it.

"Anything good?" she whispered.

"Unless you have any recently missing siblings I don't know about, your father seems to be pretty upset that you up and vanished from the Soul," Al mumbled. He turned to Zoe. "I don't suppose this door is quiet when it opens?"

Zoe shook her head out of habit. "Nope. It grinds as much as the one on the street."

"Great…" he groaned under his breath. He held his breath and listened to the wall again, mostly with the hope that he would hear a bell signaling a meal, or a break for the servants, or some sort of signal that the room would be momentarily empty.

He almost wished Dahlia was there, as her ability to just know the time of day was just as useful as it was creepy. That, at least, could give him a clue as to whether or not an opportunity was coming. As he was, Al was completely in the dark about the servants' schedule.

Oh the irony…

"So what's the plan?" Zoe whispered. She secretly hoped she was still facing the right direction, as Al had been quiet enough for her to lose in the darkness.

"Unless you happen to know the servants' schedule," Al grumbled as he continued to listen for anomalies or anything useful through the door, "we either need divine intervention or a distraction. I don't have a lot of hope that the former will happen any time soon."

Zoe mulled it over and shrugged. "I could step out. That would be damn distracting."

It probably wasn't the best plan, but it was a decent one. Al nodded out of habit, but thankfully continued. "Then we'll do that. Be loud, be annoying, be whatever it takes so I can slip in and grab a disguise. Then my first stop is the office, for those tickets."

"Don't forget the self-writing pen and the snuff box. Oh! And if you manage to make it to the lounge, there's a sword on the wall that's supposedly enchanted."

Al pinched the bridge of his nose. "Zoe, the bigger the object, the more likely we'll be caught. I don't have infinite pockets."

Zoe pouted but grumbled defeat. "Fine, yeah, makes sense. Just thought it would sell for a good gippy, that's all."

Al tapped around for the opening mechanism again and steeled himself for facing off with a rather off-the-cuff heist. "Last questions; What do the snuff box and pen look like? And what did you mean about not assuming the staff were helpless?"

"Exactly that," Zoe said quietly. "Some of the senior staff are ex-Shields, and Father had them train the rest of them in basic defense. As for the pen and snuff box, they're a matching set; mother-of-pearl lids on both, with a silver crest of Westruun. Easy."

Al nodded and tapped at the latch. "Good. Keep in mind we won't be able to leave the way we came, because this door has one of those timed locks. Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Zoe mumbled. "Just gotta be annoying, right?"

Al snickered. "I know I haven't known you long, but I have a feeling that's not going to be that hard."

"You're an ass," Zoe snickered, "but yeah, I get it. Okay. Ready."

Inside the kitchen, the staff were bustling about, as usual. Two pages rushed about with crates of a late morning delivery of meats for the evening meal while the chef and the cook gave them conflicting information as to where the delivery was meant to land. The cook-maids, of course, supported their matron of the kitchen, and as the Riddles had employed mostly women for their culinary needs, the pages found the louder voice to be the cook. Predictably, this irritated the chef to no end.

"You're a blight on my kitchen, woman!" the chef roared, as he forcefully moved a crate of smoked pork shank to his preferred corner of the kitchen.

"Your kitchen?" The cook guffawed as she continued chopping vegetables for the bone broth to simmer. "You were hired for your bluster. I, on the other hand, was hired for my cooking!"

Kate, a simple maid who had been recently moved to the kitchen staff, fought off a wave of nausea as the daily drama unfolded behind her. She paused for a moment to place a hand on her stomach and grimaced at the reminder. A part of her wished desperately that the missing heir would return, so her so-called secret privilege would no longer be needed. Of course, the master of the house had been wary of Lady Elsabeth disappearing, since he had learned she was once again in contact with the prodigal son, so his precautions were already well underway.

Come hell or high water, the Riddles would have an heir.

Kate jumped as the cook screeched, "You're worse than that adopted mongrel!" right behind her.

And then she jumped higher when Lady Elsabeth announced, "You called?" after materializing quite unexpectedly next to the cooking hearth.

"L-Lady Elsabeth!" the cook stammered and nearly tossed her knife in her surprise and panic. The rest of the kitchen staff, Kate included, bowed their head and waited for instructions.

Per the young lady's typical demeanor, Lady Elsabeth immediately swept through the kitchen like a hurricane, sampling dishes and generally being a terror to the staff. Kate nearly squealed in shock as Lady Elsabeth's hand snapped past her and snatched a peeled apple with all the speed and accuracy of a striking snake.

Thankfully, the ruse was successful. No one noticed an extra footman in an oddly fitting jacket slip into the house.

Al, with his back straight and his gait measured, carried his folded cloak in his arms with a folded white towel on top. He kept his head tilted down just enough to avoid eye contact, and slowly made his way upstairs.

As he climbed the stairs, another figure came down toward him. By his more complete suit uniform and the gold pocket watch chain, Al immediately assumed this was the head servant, the valet. If he was correct, then Earl Riddle himself should be on the grounds somewhere, and that did not bode well for him.

The valet paused in the stairwell, effectively blocking Al's path. Al, respectfully, paused and bowed slightly.

"...I don't recognize you, boy. Who are you?"

"Timothy, sir," Al responded with his head still bowed. "I was a porter until recently."

The valet gave Al a scrutinizing gaze, but Al refused to drop his mask. He must become the role if he is to be considered trustworthy, after all. The more he believed the lie, the more likely the valet would believe him.

There was a tense few moments of silence as the valet moved to stand next to him on the stairs. Al was well aware of the requirements of elite positions, and so made sure to never make eye contact. He hadn't been properly addressed, after all, and it was rude to look one's betters in the eye before permission was granted.

A shout and a clatter rang off from the direction of the kitchen and immediately caught the valet's attention. With a thinly veiled threat for Al to finish his "work", the valet swept off to the lower floors to determine the cause of the alarm. Al allowed himself a sigh of relief and picked up his pace to raid the upper floor. The tickets were the main target, of course, but the pen, snuff box, youth charm, and that special music box were all on the list.

In an effort to grab the essential objects first, Al began creeping through the hallways, checking corners and over his shoulder to confirm he was alone before continuing. He listened at doors, actively avoiding those with sound or movement to avoid the upstairs staff. His first step was to identify the master of the house's private office; the tickets should be in there, and after that, anything he grabbed would be a bonus.

He listened in at another door near the end of a hallway, and he internally began to fight with himself. Why did he even care? He barely knew this town, absolutely didn't know the people, and he was still sore over Zoe punching him for what seemed like a minor slight. He realized with a start that his main motivation to rob Earl Riddle was to see for himself what kind of man, what kind of father, would so callously push his children away.

Al checked the hallway once again before pressing his ear to the door. Inside this room was a quiet calm, ever so slightly disturbed by the scratch of pen on paper, and the soft voice of a man dictating a letter to an associate. Al briefly caught a few numbers, figures of gold in the thousands, and it was obvious to him that the man inside would be the earl himself.

Al cursed under his breath. Of course that man would be in his office so early in the day.

Footsteps pounded down the hall and Al's heart felt like it slammed into his throat. His head whipped around to find a hiding place, and in his panic, wasted precious seconds to spot a corner he could duck behind. He slipped around the corner and found himself face to face with the windows that looked over the front yard of the house, and he fervently prayed to whoever was listening that no one would be looking in those windows at this early hour.

Then he realized his cloak, and the decoy towel, were no longer in his hands.

The charging footsteps pounded closer and closer as Al switched the topic of his prayers to the small pile of textiles he had left by the office door. He couldn't decide if he wanted the charging person to be as blind as a bat or as blind as Dahlia, but he begged the divines above to strike the sight from that person, or at least their periphery vision, as they got closer.

The footsteps stumbled to a halt, and Al could clearly hear whoever it was clear their throat. Another male servant of the house immediately spoke up through the door.

"My lord! Your daughter has returned to the house! She's demanding an audience!"

The response was quiet, and Al risked a peek around the corner to see what, exactly, was going on. The servant had stepped forward to open the door, almost standing over the small pile of cloth dropped just next to the doorframe.

The servant looked nervous. "A-are you sure?"

There was the briefest of pauses, and Al heard a chair scrape across the floor. The clack of hard heeled shoes crossed a bare wood floor as the servant began to visibly cower from the source of the noise.

The voice was dark and demanding, but still quiet.

"Did you dare just question me?"

The servant immediately ducked into several desperate bows. "I-I'm so sorry, my lord! Sh-she's, uh, headstrong and striking out at those who-"

The servant was cowed into silence by a simple look from the man hidden within the room. In a blind panic, the servant nearly stumbled over his own feet as he bolted back the way he came.

Thankfully, the Earl neglected to close the door as his footsteps regressed back to the far wall, likely the location of his desk. Al flexed his feet, mostly to reassure himself that his boots were still flexible and quiet, and then began to cross the hallway to the towel and cloak he had left behind.

Once those were safely scooped into his arms, he risked a glance into the office. The master's desk was a large, roll top model that faced a window, affording it plenty of natural light. It was covered in organized piles of papers and books, all neatly stacked into specifically designed cubbies, and as he watched, a pen danced across a set of arranged papers as Earl Riddle himself paced the room, softly dictating his thoughts to the air. The earl was a tall and proper man, with Jonathan's brown hair, but much harsher features and a wide chin, with eyes that would rival that of a sharp-eyed bird of prey. His back was perfectly straight, his hands clasped behind the small of his back as he paced, and Al noted the earl's shoulders filled out his coat quite well. Al wondered if the man was once in the military.

Loud voices were already beginning to ascend the steps, and Al knew his chance was fleeting. Praying for a stroke of luck, Al slipped into the room and kept himself pressed against the back wall. He was relying on the earl's bias of ignoring his staff to find a good place to hide while Zoe's distraction inevitably made its way upstairs.

He felt a little childish, but he managed to duck behind an overstuffed chaise as Zoe was nearly shoved into the room.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?! I said I wanted to stay downstairs!" Zoe snapped at the quickly retreating servants. "Gods smite you all, I have stuff to do today."

"It seems the Soul have yet to beat some manners into you," the earl sighed.

"Hi to you too, Dad," Zoe hissed. "What, was it really too hard for you to get that peg leg out of your ass so you could hobble downstairs to greet me?"

The earl hissed through his teeth as he sucked in a deep breath of air before turning to face his adopted daughter. "You will address me properly, Elsabeth Bryellia Elyn, if you are to speak to me."

Zoe's fists went tight at her sides, her knuckles straining against the monk's gloves she wore. She glared right into those eyes that demanded their subjects cower like prey and she did not back down.

"No."

Al held his breath as Earl Riddle glared at his daughter, his nostrils flaring in rage as his body was coiled like a spring. Al was honestly amazed Zoe spoke with full voice, having obviously committed to her treason against her father.

His voice was quiet, but as threatening as a blade to her throat. "You will address me-"

"No! Fuck you and that whore you call a wife! You won't call me by my own name, my given name-!"

"I gave you your name, you brat!"

Al found himself rooted to the spot as Zoe and the earl advanced on each other.

"You stole my name and gave me that pretentious jumble of letters-"

Zoe never saw it coming. Her vision went white as Earl Riddle's fist backhanded her across the jaw and sent her sprawling into the hallway.

She caught herself on the hallway wall as rage focused her vision to a single reddened point. She was so focused on Earl Riddle's face that she completely failed to notice Al had slipped over to the desk behind her father.

With a roar of fury, she launched herself at her father, her fist connecting in a powerful blow to the man's sternum. She tried to uppercut into his solar plexus as he stumbled backward, but in her anger, she miscalculated the distance and was too close to effectively strike. Earl Riddle took the closed distance to throw his arm under Zoe's shoulder and back around her neck, twisting her backwards as he locked her neck into his hip.

"First," he hissed as Zoe struggled to breath through bloody teeth, "I should lash you for disobeying me. I should cut out your tongue for your insults against me. I'm tempted to cut off your hands, but if you are to be my heir-"

"B-bullshit!" Zoe gasped. "You're gonna replace me, just like John-!"

Earl Riddle twisted hard, and Zoe's cry of pain was cut short as her airway was cut off. Her feet scrambled for solid purchase as the earl bent her even farther backward.

"I replace the weak, Elsabeth. I replace the broken. You are neither. You are my investment, and you will live up to my expectations, or so help me…"

He bent down to hiss directly into Zoe's ear.

"I will destroy that waste of flesh you call my son."

Zoe's heart pounded against her ribs as she matched her father's gaze. "You-you wouldn't!" she choked. "He's your own flesh and blood!"

"I know you've been in contact with him, daughter," the earl growled. "It would be the work of an afternoon to find him. I know you're fond of him, and so, if you wish him to live, you will return to the Soul, you will throw yourself at your studies, and you will wait-"

A blade flashed from the sunlight behind them as a hand pressed it to Earl Riddle's throat.

"For an appropriately timed interruption," Al hissed.

An uncomfortable pause suffocated the room as none of them moved, even as Zoe began to choke on her own blood. Al swallowed his trepidation and pressed the knife just a bit closer to the earl's Adam's apple, and scraped the blade against the man's skin as Al stood behind and sized up a kick at the back of the man's knees. He gripped a small bag on his belt and untied the leather cord with a flick of his thumb.

"You will let her go, and you will do so quietly," Al whispered, "or I will bleed you out like a gutted pig."

The earl chuckled. "You seem to think I have no guards against assassins, vagrant."

"If you have any that can stop my knife from this distance, and can be activated while your hands are around your daughter's neck, then by all means, I'd love to see it," Al growled. "Let. Her. Go."

With a smirk, one Zoe had learned to avoid since a young age, the earl let her go and she collapsed to the ground. Immediately she scrambled to her feet, but somehow she already felt as if she was too late.

"Zoe, go get your things. I'll take care of this one," Al said with a nod to her. Zoe immediately dashed into the hallway and disappeared, as even her footsteps were too light to hear.

"You've made a powerful enemy today," the earl said with a venomous grin. "How far do you think you can run?"

"Far enough."

Al kicked the earl in the back of his knee, which caused the man to buckle forward, and then slammed a bag of ball bearings on the earl's head. The earl twisted on the way down, which caused the bag to more glance off the man's skull than strike him, but it was heavy enough to briefly daze the lord of the house. Al made a split second decision to strike again, but again, the earl twisted, this time onto his hip, and he snapped out his leg to strike at Al's knee in revenge. Al danced out of reach, but it gave Earl Riddle enough space to activate an amulet under his tunic.

A cacophonous sound of bells reverberated through the room as a dome of light surrounded the earl, and Al felt his bones shudder with the thunderous noise. He dashed out of the room, his hands full with his blade and bag, and his knees nearly buckled with every pulse and pound of that magical alarm.

He needed to escape, but he was practically deaf and his vision was going blurry from the thumping in his skull. He knew the earl's security would be there in any second, so his only options were to run or blend in. As he was still wearing the footman's jacket, he sheathed his dagger, shoved the bag in an inner pocket, and ripped off the cloak, which he balled and shoved against his stomach as the alarm continued to pound the air around him.

His legs were starting to buckle as the hallway started to flood with men wearing strange wool hats, but his ruse must have been good enough as he passed unnoticed. Each man and woman dashed by him without a glance as they ran through that hallway. He stumbled to the stairwell as his legs failed him, and pitched forward as two men were dashing up the stairs. While they interrupted his fall down the stairwell, they did not deem him important enough to help, and Al landed at the bottom by slamming his knee into the floor.

His head was still pounding as he laid there on the floor, trying to will himself into movement. He had to get up, and out, to safety. The longer he stayed, the more likely he would be caught, but his body was refusing to listen. He didn't even know where Zoe was.

Al gritted his teeth and forced pain through the growing bruise on his jaw. He had to get up. He had to force his leadened limbs to move. He had to-

A pair of hands hooked under his shoulder and forced him to his feet. At first, he nearly panicked that it was part of the staff of the household, but to his shock, it was Zoe.

"Come on!" she grunted as she obviously struggled to get a grip on him. "We need to go!"

"I...know!" Al wheezed, but he managed to pull his feet back under himself. "But...how?"

Her voice sounded faint and far, with a strange muffled quality, and Al struggled to catch her words as they stumbled along. She said something about the front door, and before Al could protest, they were already there.

His eyes were surprisingly unfocused as Zoe pulled him along the front path to the house, and the guards only gave her minor pause. She had said something about getting Al to a healer, which was probably true, and they let her pass. Whatever that thunderous sound did to him, it obviously had lasting effects.

In just a few moments, Al and Zoe were tucked away in a nearby alleyway as members of the Shields rushed by, intent on investigating the Riddle Estate. Al's hearing was beginning to return, accompanied by a dull ringing in his ears, and Zoe took a moment to bite into a handkerchief she had in her pocket to sop up some of the blood. Even though the commotion was up the street, they both knew it was a matter of time before someone noticed them, and the second both of them could get back on their feet, they ran.

xXxXx

Dahlia had been pacing for nearly the whole time they had been waiting at the Riversong, and honestly, Jayce could hardly blame her. They only had the rooms for a few more hours before they'd have to move to the common room downstairs, and that would make any planning sessions far more public than any of them were comfortable with.

Then again, knowing her, Jayce wondered if she was more worried for Al and Zoe's well being. He watched her curiously, unable to settle himself to read a chapter or two to pass the time, and he found it odd how aware she was of her hands. As she paced back and forth between the window and the door in his room, she would almost scratch at her mid arm, below her wrist, and then twitch when she realized there was no glove. Dahlia would pull at her fingers, then shake them out before doing it all again. Then, to a pattern only she seemed to know, she would mumble the time elapsed.

"One hour and thirty-eight minutes…"

Jonathan twitched, but continued dancing small fireflies of pastel light through the air for Puffpaw to chase across the other bed. Even Gauth seemed tense, and fed up with the waiting, but he was keeping his grievances to himself as he sat in the far back corner. Jayce looked back at the same page he'd been trying to read through since they had gotten back. He snuck a glare at the seemingly carefree cat when he was sure no one was paying attention.

Something slammed into the door with enough force to startle them all, and Dahlia yelped in shock as she recoiled from that end of the room. Jayce jumped to his feet to first steady her, and then stepped toward the door to pull it open himself.

Zoe and Al were on the other side. Zoe had an ugly bruise blooming on the right side of her face, and a caked concoction of blood and spit clung to her chin and on the breast of her monk's vest, while Al was bleeding from his ears and his eyes were red from burst blood vessels, as well as a matching bruise on the left side of his jaw.

Jayce found himself speechless as the team behind him desperately called out for either a sibling or a friend.

"Just let us in!" Zoe cried as she threw herself, and Al's added weight, at him. Jayce stumbled out of the way as Dahlia managed to catch them first.

"Are you both alright?" she said quickly, her voice choked with concern.

"Do I look alri-?!"

The whole room was instantly suffocated in a tense silence as Dahlia set her jaw and breathed deep through her nose. Now that her eyes were visible, it was clear that she would have matched Zoe's eyes, had she been able to. Zoe, to her credit, looked as if she instantly regretted her choice of words.

"I'm assuming you're in pain, so I'll let that pass. Tell me what you need."

"Save your magic for the Margrave," Zoe hissed, but it was obvious she was more upset at herself than Dahlia. "Al needs it more than me. He's barely standing."

"What happened to you?" Jonathan asked. He was already at his sister's side, and his attempts to give her an arm for her own relief was ignored.

"We met Dad."

Dahlia sat next to Al as Gauth awkwardly shuffled his way through the room to help place his friend across the now empty bed. Sparks were already dripping from her fingertips as she brushed her glowing hands across Al's face. Even as more pressing issues were fighting for his attention, Jayce briefly wondered if she could "see" Al now.

"And yer dad...did that?" Jayce gasped. "What the fuck he'd even do?!"

Zoe sighed as she sat on the other bed and accepted Jonathan's peace offering of Puffpaw. "He activated a magical charm that sends thunderous noise out from where he's standing. Stand too close to him for too long, and your insides get pounded into jelly."

Jayce watched as Jonathan cast a familiar spell to clean the front and face of his sister, but it seemed to be a much smaller casting of that particular magical cleaning. While she looked better, she still had a rather ugly bruise on her face.

Jayce crossed his arms and looked at the siblings while Dahlia worked. "Okay, that explains him, but what the hell happened to you?"

Zoe sighed and looked toward Jonathan. He offered her a reassuring smile as Puffpaw gently bumped her head into Zoe's chin, and she hugged the cat closely and avoided everyone's gaze. She seemed to shrink into herself, as Dahlia did when that demon had a hold of her.

What kind of demon was Zoe dealing with?

"Got into a scuffle on the way out, that's all. You know, had to save Al's ass and all that."

Jayce sighed and nodded. "Fine. Ya don't wanna talk about now, but yer gonna have to talk about it eventually. It's pretty clear even your brother could tell that wasn't true."

Zoe glanced at Jonathan, and he looked hurt, but gentle. So different from his father. She couldn't match his gaze for very long and buried her face in Puffpaw's fur.

Puffpaw responded by throwing her paws around Zoe's neck and purring loud enough for Dahlia to perk up across the small room.

Jayce glanced over and it was clear Al was coming around, so he turned back to Zoe. "Did you get the tickets?"

Zoe shook her head. "If anyone did, it was Al, but I didn't have a chance to ask him on the way out, on account of him being out of it like he was. I did manage to grab father's music box, and one of mother's necklaces."

Jonathan looked shocked. "Don't tell me-"

"Yeah it's that fucking box he was so pissy about and that necklace she had enchanted. I wanted them to actually care about something going missing because they obviously didn't lose much sleep over losing you!"

Again, the room was choked for words, but then Al cleared his throat, and everyone looked toward him. Despite being sprawled over the bed, he had two green parchment tickets fanned out in his hand.

"Mission successful," he wheezed. The smile was forced, but it still helped alleviate the tension in the room. He tried to sit up, and when Dahlia didn't stop him, he pulled off the unlucky footman's coat. "I got a few other things too, but that was the big thing."

"Perfect. Good news," Jayce smiled. "You feel good enough for the auction house later?"

Al rubbed at his face and groaned. "My ears are still ringing, and everything's sore...but I think I can make it. Give me an hour or so to rest up and I'll be fine."

Jayce nodded. "Sounds more'n fair, after how you two crawled in. We got the rooms until noon, so provided we get out before then, you got time to rest. If you need space, we can all shove off to another room."

Al sighed. "Yeah, that'll help, but Jayce… Fuck it. Jayce, I need you to stay behind."

Jayce was so shocked he barely stopped himself from a reflexive recoil. "The fuck? Why? Ain't you friends with Gauth?"

Al rubbed at the bridge of his nose and tried his damnedest to ignore the pervasive ringing in his ears. "Yeah, but the last time I asked him to cut my hair, he nearly chopped my ears off."

"Big hands, tiny knife," Gauth huffed, as if that explained everything.

"And what's with the sudden haircut craving?" Jayce asked.

Al leaned heavily on his knees. "Because...I'm pretty sure Earl Riddle saw me, or at least thinks he saw me, and I need to change my look as soon as possible before he gets some sort of description out. It'll be easy enough; cut my hair short, and shave. Poof, new me."

Jayce was still reeling with disbelief. "And why not-"

Al held up counting fingers to emphasise his point. "Dahlia's blind, Zoe's hurt, John's fussing over Zoe, Gauth's clumsy with a small blade, and my hands are shaking. You're literally my only option."

"Then...I guess we'll all be next door," Dahlia added softly, but she dug through her bag before she stood up to leave. She pulled out a pair of silver scissors, and held them out, the blades safely hidden in her palm, toward Jayce.

"Use these," she smiled. "I know from experience that they're easier to control than a knife. Knock on the wall if you need anything else, too."

"You got it," Jayce mumbled dumbly as he took the scissors. He knew they would be easier to control, but he was also concerned their small size would take forever. He'd probably still use a knife for the larger chunks of hair, and then shape it with the scissors. He was no professional, of course, but he knew the basics. He occasionally helped the ship surgeon with haircuts and the like when he was still a cabin boy, mostly to keep himself busy.

He was so preoccupied with his mental planning that he failed to see Gauth leave the room last and very clearly offer Al a thumbs up and a wink. Al responded with an eye roll, but only barely managed to turn away from Jayce in time to hide his blush.

Jayce tried his best to avoid awkward movements as he sat behind Al. "So... How short you want it?"

"Around as short as yours," Al mumbled. He didn't want to admit it, but Gauth's silent signal had primed his mind for all sorts of daydreams that he really didn't want to throw at a practical stranger just yet.

Al's hair nearly went to his shoulders, and Jayce pulled off his gloves. "You sure? Yer takin' off a good chuck if ya do that. Don't hair grow slow on half-elves or somethin'?"

Al couldn't help but smirk at the comment. Not many people realized that, and he was surprised Jayce would know. "You're thinking facial hair, but honestly, I'm not attached to it. I just tend to avoid public places, and that includes barber shops and surgeons."

"So I reckon it's been a while," Jayce chuckled.

Al failed to respond as he felt Jayce's fingers run through the hair on the back of his head. The brush, the gentle tug, the slight pull to the side. It was a more subtle touch than he initially expected, and by the gods it was so easy to forget Jayce's lineage when he wasn't looking at the man.

Then the grip became suddenly more forceful as a regretfully dull utility knife was applied.

"Ow!"

"Sorry! Sorry," Jayce winced. "Guess I haven't sharpened my blade recently enough. No harm meant, Al."

Al rubbed the back of his head and bit at his lip. He couldn't forget who Jayce was. What he was. He shouldn't forget. It would just set things up for failure, if anything actually happened between them.

"It's fine. What about those scissors Dahlia gave you?"

Jayce picked them up from the bed. "Eh, they're a little small, but I guess it's better than a dull blade. Thankfully, we ain't in a rush just yet."

Al dumbly nodded and winced at the ringing in his ears. He couldn't wait for that to fade. It was so hard to concentrate on anything with that annoyingly tenacious distraction in his own skull.

Jayce finally applied the scissors, and Al let himself drift off into a lulled half sleep as the other man began trimming his hair. How long had it been since his last haircut? Occasionally, he'd trim his facial hair, just to keep it from getting particularly unkempt, but he barely did more than that.

His thoughts began to drift again. Jayce's fingers brushed the back of his neck, and he vividly began to dream of that night in the mine. Specifically, the subtle shiver Jayce had made when Dahlia touched him in a similar way. He wondered what that felt like, what would make a man like Jayce moan in ecstacy and relief like that, and he began to wish and wonder if Jayce would touch him with the same intent and desire he felt deep in his heart.

And then he remembered what Jayce looked like. Again, he felt disgusted with himself, but it was beginning to hurt in a new way. Just what was he feeling?

"There. Pretty sure that's all I can do," Jayce said. He set down the scissors and started brushing the hair into a pile. He really hoped Al didn't ask-

"So, how's it look?"

Jayce allowed himself to grimace, as Al was still facing away from him. Jayce put on his usual smile and quickly tried to twist the words. "Looks very rouge-ish, like ya got a 'devil-may-care' attitude."

Al twisted around to look Jayce in his yellow, slitted eyes, and he was rewarded with a face that clearly was barely hiding his own disgust.

"...You butchered my hair, didn't you?"

Jayce rolled his eyes and sighed. "Well, it's been literally fuckin' years since the last time I cut anyone's hair, and sure, the lines ain't straight and the layering's kinda off, but it's short, it'll pass for a new look, and who're you tryin' to fuckin' impress anyway? You said it yourself; ya stick to the damn shadows."

Al was actually surprised. "You...tried to layer my hair?"

Jayce ran a hand through his own hair. "Yeah, well, ya got straight, thin hair. Stitchy said best way to deal with that was with layers, so...I did my best."

Al couldn't contain his shock. "Wow. Gauth usually just runs a blade through it and says he's done. I didn't realize a sailor would actually know that much about hair. And who's Stitchy?"

Jayce shrugged. "Ol' surgeon, on my last ship. Could stitch up a wound faster'n most men could blink, hence the nickname. He took over cuttin' hair and trimmin' beards, on account he had the tools. I'd help a bit when I was bored."

"Huh…" Al found himself wondering what actually happened on a ship, and if it was completely different from his own assumptions. "Speaking of, let me borrow your straight razor."

Jayce pulled back in his own shock. "What? No! That's mine!"

"Come on, just hand it over. Two minutes, tops! I know you use that thing practically every day; don't think I didn't see you use it while we were on the road! Like anyone's going to care! Who were you trying to impress, huh?"

Al had begun to advance on Jayce, more to intimidate the man than anything else, and because it was funny to see someone with orcish heritage reel back from him. Unfortunately, Jayce caught himself and pushed the half-elf back into his seated position.

"I ain't tryin' to impress anybody, just got a look I'd like to keep consistent. Case'n point, Dahlia knows the world by feel; it ain't hard to guess what she'd do if she couldn't 'recognize' us by touch. Ain't sure about you, but I'm rather invested in keepin' our cleric close."

Al sat back and failed to keep the disgust from his face. "So, you're grooming for a woman. Wow. Did I ever have you pegged wrong."

"The hell you gettin' at?" Jayce snapped, and he sprang from the bed to face Al. "I said, I got a look I like to keep consistent! That's the whole damn haul of it, an' not a dredge more!"

"Great. Fine. Now if I'm going to scrape off my beard with a dagger, I'd rather do it in peace," Al growled.

Jayce easily took the hint and snapped up his gloves and the scissors before he marched his way to the hall, quietly fuming. Why did that man have to be so incredibly irritating? And after he had tried so hard to help! How did Gauth stand him?

Jayced paused for a second to rub the tension out of his forehead. As much as he'd miss the goliath, it may be in his best interest to teach the man to read so he could take that irritating varlet as far away as possible.

With a final deep breath to settle his nerves, Jayce stepped over to the next door and gave it a gentle rap with his knuckles. The door immediately yanked open, revealing a surprisingly eager Zoe.

"We could hear you yelling at each other through the wall," she said flatly. "Did you mess up his hair that badly?"

Jayce ran a hand through his own hair as he sighed in defeat. "Ain't my best work, but it ain't terrible either. Could've been worse. No, Al got huffy over some imagined slight after I wouldn't hand over my straight razor. That's all."

Zoe suppressed a snicker and stepped to the side. "Sounds like Al."

"Oh come on, Zoe. We've known him for a day." Jonathan watched the two of them enter the room as he continued to stroke Puffpaw's fur as she sat on his lap. "Don't go throwing around snap judgements like that."

"I also just spent a few hours with no one to talk to but him; I think I can make a few judgement calls," Zoe teased as she sat next to her brother. Immediately, Puffpaw switched to Zoe's lap, and she shot a smug look at her brother. Jonathan sighed and rolled his eyes, but then turned to Jayce.

"So, sir Jayce-"

Jayce winced, but let Jonathan continue.

"-now that we have the tickets, I'm assuming we follow the plan as previously discussed?"

Jayce nodded and stepped over to the other bed, which was only occupied by Dahlia. Gauth had chosen a seat on the floor in front of the window opposite the door, which made escaping the goliath's curious and scrutinizing gaze all but impossible. With Dahlia between him and that rather intense look, he felt he would have at least some buffer for whatever comment Gauth was obviously planning.

"No change. Al's hurt, but ain't out of the fight, and the two of you are more of scouts in this anyway. Gauth, Dahlia, and I'll be in the thick of it, so if anyone's gonna need to be in top shape, it's us three."

He looked over to Dahlia to gauge her reaction to his assessment, but she seemed distracted, and she was twisting a bandage over and over in her hands. Her jaw was tight and her shoulders were tense. He turned and tapped her on the arm, just above her elbow, as he had before, and while she jumped, startled, she did not lash out or scream.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

"I just-! I can't- I-I won't- Why do I have to go in with you?! I'm useless for this sort of thing! I can't lie, I'm blind, I-"

"Hey! Hey, breathe." Jayce paused just long enough to see she had followed his instruction, then continued. "I'll be right there with you. I'll be doing the talking, you just follow along. And you're far from useless, Dahlia. I literally saw you stitch a man's gut together in the middle of a kobold-infested cave-"

Zoe whistled in awe and Gauth shot her enough of a look that she immediately squashed her incoming comment.

"-and that's hard enough to do with functioning eyes. You've got this, and you ain't alone. If…" Jayce quickly tried to think of possible scenarios that might cause her to panic. "If anyone tries talkin' to you, I'll cut in. You ain't gotta say a damn word the whole time. I promise."

Dahlia forced herself to take another deep breath and nodded. "If...if this goes well…" She twisted the bandage even harder, making it look more akin to a heavy cord than a strip of cloth. "Could we get more chocolate things? You had asked if the chocolate was Marquesian and I'm really curious what that meant."

Jayce sputtered a laugh in relief and brushed his hand across his face. He wished he could have done that to her, but she was already obviously raw; he didn't want to push things so close to the dire hour. "Ya got my word, Dahlia. And Marquesian chocolate ain't sweet; it's spicy. Fuckin' rare too, so I'm always on the lookout for it."

"Great. Someone found a way to make chocolate worse-"

Zoe elbowed Jonathan hard enough to knock the air out of him and almost set him into a coughing fit, but he recovered quickly. Just as he gave his sister an apologetic wince, the door almost slammed open as the newly groomed Al stepped into the room. His face now looked much thinner, and it was obvious his elven heritage was the stronger of his two parents. However, he also sported several small knicks and cuts where his blade had been vindictive of its misuse.

"Now that's a look," Zoe snickered. "Don't shave that often?"

"Very funny, Zoe," Al hissed as he forced himself into the space between Dahlia and the headboard. Dahlia twitched hard, but managed to keep any violent reactions to herself. He turned to the cringing cleric and seemed oblivious to her discomfort. "I don't suppose you've got an aftershave in your bag, do you?"

Dahlia's jaw clenched as her face worked through several replies as she dug through her bag. "I do have a mild astringent which should stop the bleeding. Was your blade too sharp or too dull?"

Al's eyebrow slid up in an incredulous look at the blind cleric. "Why does that matter?" he asked, and his confusion caused his comment to be drawn out in an almost sing-songy way.

Dahlia shrugged. "Just curious, that's all." She pulled out a glass jar filled with a transparent liquid, and had knotted twine wrapped around its thin neck. "It'll sting, but this will stop the bleeding.

Jonathan and Zoe watched in amusement as Al stretched to take the bottle from Dahlia, oblivious to the fact that she was leaning away from him and clearly uncomfortable with his proximity. Jayce, on the other hand, had tried to scooch himself into the footboard as far as possible to give her some space, and the three of them nearly looked like a line of partly tipped dominos.

Al hissed as he applied the sharp smelling liquid, and the awkward silence stretched until he recorked the bottle and handed it back to Dahlia. Once that was concluded, and the room slowly began smelling of pine needles, Jayce cleared his throat and began going over the plan again. For the next hour, they poured over a hand drawn map of Zoe's design, as they highlighted possible escape routes through the city, both for themselves and the possible assassins. Dahlia listened intently, and did her best to memorize the routes by descriptions alone. Should the worst happen, she would need to be prepared, more so than her companions. Her scars had taught her that.

xXxXx

Dahlia took a deep breath and listened to the room. The stone walls reflected the sounds of the gathering crowd beautifully, and she could even hear the light rustle of leaves as patrons brushed past the plants in corners. Considering the perceived wealth of the World Market, the plants were likely in large planters, and so she could probably catch the edge of them with her fingertips as she passed. Were they smooth? Sharp cornered? Depending on the size of the flora, the planters could be large enough to hide behind. That would be good information to have, if things went badly.

She slipped her hand out of Al's cloak and snapped her fingers. Without the glove, the sound was clearer, and she caught the echos cleanly as she listened. Even as she concentrated on the echos, she still had a moment of brief distraction as she wondered if she had confused Jayce again. She had to bite back a smile at the thought.

Dahlia fought back a wince as the room near her became that much more clear. She was seated on a padded bench, that much she could feel, and to her right was Jayce, in whatever guise he had manufactured for himself. To her left was one of those planters, and she noted it was close enough to touch. Just in front of her was a gaping void that swallowed the footsteps of every creature that crossed it. The reminder that it was there caused her heart to pound against her ribs, but she convinced herself it was fine. It was probably just a carpet. No one in their right mind would put a pit in the middle of a well-walked foyer, after all. That would just be bad business. Besides, she had walked across it earlier, and as hard as it was to follow Jayce's footsteps, Gauth's footfalls were heavier, and were far less easily missed, even on a carpet.

The first step of the plan had gone well. Jayce confirmed that Gauth, as a bodyguard, was exempt from needing a ticket for admission, and the two tickets covered her and Jayce without issue. Dahlia had to believe it was because of Jayce's compliment as to how well organized the event seemed to be to him, as she could clearly hear that the receptionist was quite flattered by the comment. Even though she tried to pass it off as a rather ramshackle attempt on her part, the receptionist was then further bestowed with honeyed words, and in the span of a moment, they had a description of the Margrave Zimmerset and his approximate arrival time.

Dahlia had to constantly remind herself that this was all in the name of saving a life. If that life was worthy, she could not say, but until she knew past all doubt of his guilt, even the Margrave deserved the protection she would afford the innocent.

Even so, she still worried that this counted as lying.

She reached out and brushed her fingertips across the edge of the planter while she waited, more as a distraction than anything else. The lip was smooth and rounded, circular, and cool, as she expected sculpted stone to be. She could just barely reach inside, and her fingers brushed the flaky dry dirt just beyond...

And she nearly folded in half from the effort to suppress a laugh.

She heard the bench squeak slightly as Jayce leaned toward her. "What's got you so giddy?" he teased, albeit quietly. She understood his hesitancy to speak at a normal volume with his typical voice while he was in disguise.

"The plot thickens," she giggled.

Jayce nearly sputtered through a laugh of his own. "Dammit, Dahlia! Don't make me laugh! This is serious!"

It was hard to believe he was upset when his smile was so obvious through his voice.

The bench squeaked again as he returned to sitting up straight and stiff, like a proper noble. "I almost can't believe yer still up on that. I'd say it's been a week, probably two by now, but then I remembered that mind of yours is a damn trap."

Dahlia pulled her hands back under her cloak, but continued to laugh quietly to herself. She could still hear that smile.

"I'm sorry," she giggled, while she tried very hard to return to a straight face. "I'll behave. It just...came to mind faster than I could suppress it, that's all."

"Still can't believe you like my jokes that much," Jayce mumbled with a chuckle of his own.

Gauth, on the other side of Jayce, cleared his throat and briefly startled them both. His voice was quiet and gruff, and still barely audible in the slowly gathering crowd. "Do you think that's him?"

There was a pause as Dahlia assumed Jayce looked over whatever target Gauth had indicated. Soon, Jayce let out a small grunt of affirmation as the bench squeaked, again, as he stood up.

"Let's go, Dahlia. Time to put on a show."

Dahlia swallowed her nervousness and made sure her hood was still up before she stood. As she expected, Jayce was ahead and slightly right, with his arm out for her to take. In the interest of keeping herself as far under the cloak as possible, she instead rested her palm on the back of his upper arm. She would have preferred his shoulder, but that would have stretched the cloak far enough that her armor would have been visible. She had no choice but to make do.

After a slight hesitation, Jayce began to lead her through the throngs of the crowd, directly over that damnedable void that felt, to her, like walking over an invisible bridge made of soft wool. Most people kept their distance, but occasionally, a being would brush too closely to fully avoid her. She kept catching a whiff of perfume as they passed. Someone was wearing a perfume of lily of the valley, another of apricot and lemon. Another still wore a more "masculine" scent of sandalwood, and another a hint of pine and boot polish.

Jayce came to a stop and bowed respectfully toward someone, and she fought to pay attention. Someone standing very near her smelled of floral perfume, but it carried a hint of something acrid that was heavily distracting.

"My humblest apologies for interrupting your evening, honorable Margrave," Jayce said smoothly, with a slight accent that added a soothing lilt to his voice, "but it is urgent I speak with you privately. I have information that you will find most interesting, and pertains to recent events."

The margrave huffed through his nose. "Is it no longer customary to introduce oneself before you speak? Your flowery words make me believe you have an ulterior motive, and I have no time for games and tomfoolery."

"Allow me to amend the slight," Jayce added quickly, but Dahlia could hear the panic beginning to enter his voice. "I am Lord Hamath Mesalt, of Emon. I have recently gained my title through acts of magical discovery, and this is Lady Arieris, my assistant. She has the gift of divination, and has foreseen tragedy in your future."

There was a pause in the conversation. She listened closely, and she could barely make out the scratch of leather gloves against stubble. The margrave was likely rubbing his chin in thought.

The margrave finally spoke. "Is this true?"

Dahlia's nose began to tingle from that acrid smell. Where had she smelled it before?

Jayce cleared his throat. "Apologies, my lord, but you will have to address her directly. She is blind and unable to tell who you are speaking to without verbal affirmation."

Margrave Zimmerset grunted in annoyance. "As you wish. Lady Arieris, is what your companion said true?"

Dahlia felt her heart leap into her throat. Technically, there were parts that weren't true...but most of what Jayce had said was actually true. She had no choice but to be somewhat literal, as being vague might be construed as a lie.

"Yes, sir," she said with a bow. "I am unable to tell who you are speaking to by tone of voice alone."

Margrave Zimmerset lightly sputtered in frustration as someone, over his shoulder, barely suppressed a chuckle in time. "I meant, have you indeed foreseen tragedy for me?"

"Do you wish to have this conversation in private?" Jayce cut in. "With so many about, I worry for roving ears."

The chuckler from over Margrave Zimmerset's shoulder spoke in a quiet whisper, but Dahlia's hearing was focused and sharp. She clearly heard the man speak.

"Have them leave their brute in the foyer, sir. Your men and I could easily take a mage and a blind woman in close quarters, should it come to betrayal."

The margrave must have nodded, because when he finally spoke, he parrotted that exact advice, without adding in the second comment. Jayce reluctantly agreed, and she heard Gauth sigh in disappointment as they passed and followed the margrave's men through a nearby hallway.

Still, that acrid smell followed her. Perhaps one of the margrave's men were wearing a rancid cologne, or carrying an affected blade-

Like a poisoned one!

"Ja-Just a moment, sirs!" Dahlia said quickly, and she intentionally stepped to the side to cut off the person with the strong smell. They paused in their step, but did not panic.

The group came to a halt in the hallway, and thankfully Margrave Zimmerset spoke first. "What is it, my lady?"

Now she knew where he was standing. She swallowed her nervousness and intentionally stepped forward, at just enough of an angle to cut off a direct route between the smell and the assumed target.

"To answer your previous question, your honor, I have, through the evidence provided to me by my skills and others, determined you are to be assassinated within the next hour, during the auction." She paused just long enough to let the words sit, and to sniff the air. The assumed culprit was still behind her. "It is my belief that you will be targeted with a close quarters weapon, one that will break the skin, to apply the mucus of a purple worm. It is known for causing agonizing pain, but a swift death."

She could hear the person behind her begin to panic.

The grave tone of her voice captivated the men in that hallway, to the point where the margrave gulped in fear, albeit quietly. She secretly believed Jayce was sneaking her a thumbs up, just to boost her own ego.

"And...you've seen all this?" the margrave asked.

Dahlia nodded. "My methods are my own, but I do believe-"

An arm wrapped around her body and another pressed a blade to her throat. Terrified, she immediately stopped all movement and speech as she went as stiff as a board.

"Lady Arieris! What's wrong?" Jayce called out. Now wasn't the time to mention his accent was slipping, but she still briefly worried about his cover.

"I-I can't-!"

A voice hissed into her ear. "Tell them you foresee his death on a different day, and I will let you go."

Why couldn't anyone see the one holding her back? Unless he was invisible…

If she could have slapped herself, she would have. Of course the assassin would be invisible.

"I can't...lie," she whimpered. That acrid smell was just under her nose. That smell of purple worm mucus. She remembered it so clearly now. She whispered a spell under her breath and felt the magic begin to pool in her palm.

Jayce watched in horror as a thin line of red opened across her neck, and she began to scream. He immediately fired a blast of oily flame over her shoulder, but it was the wrong one, and it struck the wall behind her.

Dahlia dropped to the ground, a light flashing from inside the cloak. Jayce leapt over her to slam into whatever target had once been there, but it was long gone and he instead slammed his shoulder into the wall. The margrave's men immediately surrounded Margrave Zimmerset, but made no other move against the invisible attacker.

Jayce dropped to the ground and rolled Dahlia to her back, and the cloak fell away from her face. Her eyes were wide, the pupils fully dilated, and her skin was starting to turn black just around the cut. Her body began to convulse in his arms, and for the briefest of moments he was unable to think of what to do. That was when he remembered the health potion in his bag.

Having completely forgotten he was in disguise, he almost threw the bag off his back and frantically dug around for the small vial. After the passing of precious seconds, he found the potion, uncorked it, and practically force fed it to Dahlia.

Her body spasmed violently, and nearly broke out of his grip, but he held on with a stubbornness that served him well in his life.

"Don't just stand there; get a healer!" Jayce roared at the men, but they pointedly ignored him in favor of the margrave. Gauth, barrelling down the hallway with incredible power and speed, further discouraged the men from helping, as they instead turned their attention to removing the margrave from the auction house with all speed.

"What happened?!" Gauth yelled as he practically skidded to a stop on the plush carpet of the hallway. He was completely unaware that the culprit, still fully invisible to the naked eye, had passed him on his way through.

"Poison!" Jayce cried. "That bastard got her instead of the margrave!"

Gauth nearly jerked into action when they both heard a whisper cross their ears. Dahlia was straining hard to force words past her lips. Jayce bent down to listen, and then practically ripped into her bag to search for some requested treatment.

He produced a small, square-edged and dark glass bottle with a quilting pattern of twine across it. Without hesitation, Jayce popped the cork and almost dumped a fine green powder across her wound.

She responded by screeching in pain.

Gauth recoiled from Dahlia, whose involuntary spasms looked like those of the possessed. "What did you do?!"

"What she asked me to!" Jayce yelled back. "We need to get her help! Can you carry her-"

Gauth had already scooped Dahlia's form into his arms, although he did take a second to wrap her more solidly in the cloak so she wouldn't accidentally punch him in the face. "Done. Lead me to a healer."

Jayce nodded and sprang to his feet, grabbing both his bag and Dahlia's and throwing them over his shoulders. He almost threw himself at the gathering crowd at the end of the hall, and when he roared for them to move, they did.

As he followed, Gauth wondered if it was because of the intent in his voice, or the blue flame that wreathed his person. Either way, the crowd parted, and they passed without issue.

xXxXx

The back room was in muted chaos as rumors started to fly. Al kept his head down and continued to move boxes wherever the foreman pointed, as he had successfully passed himself off as one of the temporary workers for the day. A stolen carpenter's hat and Dahlia's coat made that easy enough.

As he stacked another crate of artwork, he paused to listen to a few of the workers on the other side of the stockpile. He could barely make it out, but he did hear a few comments about a woman being attacked, and possibly killed. He wondered who that was.

What he did know was that, just the day before, a rather hot-ticket item had been added to the docket; a piece of magical jewelry said to extend one's life almost indefinitely. He was honestly shocked that the auction house curator didn't attempt to keep the item for himself, or that the seller wanted to part with it.

Then again, the love of money…

A man and a woman, both human, passed, and he kept his head down and ducked back around the boxes. The man had a clipboard and the woman had a set of keys on a rather large keyring.

"-it's true? Someone died?" the man asked.

"No, but I heard she was carried out screaming. Something about a demon in blue flame leading the way," the woman replied.

Al's heart slammed against his ribs. That sounded like Jayce's magic. If that was the case, then the woman carried out would have been Dahlia.

"Never a dull day…" the man sighed. "So, they're still moving ahead with the auction?"

"After the number of bribes the curator took for seats today, we'd better," the woman growled. "I can't believe that man is still in charge. And of course I get to deal with the disgruntled customers who don't have seats anymore."

"It's just because you're so charming," the man teased.

"Don't you start. So, what's first?"

Al nearly turned to investigate the trouble his friends had gotten into when the man's reply caught his ear.

"The...ring of regeneration. The one they added yesterday."

That would grab a good gippy. It would definitely fit in his pocket.

It might even help his friends.

He kept himself tucked into the crates and watched as the woman selected a specific key, whispered a command, and then stuck it into the lock. The metal face of the iron lock lit up with magical runes, which then repeated across the surface of the iron bars of the caged-off area for high ticket items. In seconds, the runes faded, and the door swung open on its own.

Al took a quick second to check the area for a quick escape, or a place to hide, in case the grab didn't go well. Unfortunately, nothing immediately stood out, and the woman was already removing a small jewelry box from the caged portion of the back room.

It was now or never.

Although it took more effort than Al would ever admit to needing for a distraction, Al shoved a box on top of the stack next to him to knock into a box on the opposite side, causing it to fall and crash open next to the rather loud chatterboxes from before. They, predictably, cried out in alarm and surprise, and the man with the clipboard raced off to investigate.

Al, like a shadow, slipped through the passageways between the crates and nearly imperceptibly brushed past the woman. In her surprise, she had pulled the box to her side, and Al was easily able to pop it open just enough to hook the ring inside on his finger before he fully passed her.

He kept his head down and kept walking, and gave that hat just a little tug to keep it down over his eyes. Through the back staging hall, then a back door, just past that would be the storage cages, and finally the warehouse doors for deliveries. Once he was outside, he could find Jonathan and check in, and possibly share the news.

"What the- That's my hat!"

Al swore under his breath.

Al ripped off the hat and spun it like a frisbee at whoever just yelled before launching himself at the back door. It was partly open, but it would have been enough for him to slip outside, if another shophand hadn't leapt at him in an attempt to tackle him to the floor.

Fortunately, Al was rather practiced at escaping clumsy attempts of capture, and even though he was off foot, he barely managed to twist himself out of the charging man's grip. Unfortunately, he tripped off his back heel, bounced off the door frame, stumbled out the warehouse personnel door, and fell right off the three foot drop that was designed to make unloading a cart into the warehouse easier.

He did manage to land on his shoulder and roll, but his head was still struck on the stone street, and his head started to ring anew from his previous encounter with Earl Riddle. Now entirely unable to hear his pursuers, he bolted toward the alleyways, desperately hoping he could find a place to hide and recover.

The ringing reached a fever pitch as he turned a corner, and he began to stumble as he ran. Even though he knew it was a useless gesture, he covered his ears in a vain attempt to staunch the pounding ache, and his eyes were, again, losing focus as he pitched forward into a wall.

A hand grabbed the oversized coat, startling him, but his distraction made it nearly impossible to fight back as he was thrown into the side of a nearby barrel. Before he could respond, a burlap tarp was thrown over him, and he instantly knew to stay stock still.

The seconds that passed felt far too long as he fought to regain his hearing. His head was pounding with pain, and his shoulder and back were as bruised as his pride. He desperately hoped whoever pulled back the tarp would be Jonathan, or even Zoe, if he had made enough distance.

Fate had other plans. The face that appeared was none other than that of the unnervingly gleeful Gauward Challe.

"Well, look at you!" Gauward beamed. His voice seemed muffled and distant, and Al had to concentrate hard just to understand what was being said. "You made it out of the World Market, pretty much untouched, and no one seems to know it was you. Impressive."

"I...just got out," Al panted, as the run had really pushed his limits for a prolonged sprint. "How do you know that much?"

"Because I was also in the World Market," Gauward smirked. He took the tarp and threw it around his own shoulders before he sat in front of Al. "I was there to pick up the plum in case the blade missed its mark, but you beat me to it. The ring, if you please."

Al paused as the implications slowly came together in his mind. "So...the Clasp...set this up. You set up the assassination for the margrave."

Gauward smiled in the way a parent would when a child finally determined something painfully obvious. "Of course. We aren't the assassins, of course. It's against the Code. But the margrave has unforgivably wounded Westruun, and we were happy to help."

Al dropped his head into his hands and fought a bout of crazed laughter from overtaking him. "If...you wanted the margrave to die...why did you warn me about it?"

That creepy smile crawled over Gauward's features. "Because, assassination is only one way to remove a leader, and now that the assassin has failed, through no fault of the Clasp, we can move forward."

Al looked at Gauward in shock. "You…!"

"Oh yes," the halfling nodded. "We have plans for you, Alqinor. You, and that merry little band of adventurers you stick with. Who knows? It may even be soon. Until then, hand over the ring, rest up, and check on your friends. From the sound of things, their side didn't go half as well as yours."

Numb from the revelation, Al wordlessly handed over the ring, and slumped back against the barrel. With a gleeful hop to his step, Gauward took his leave, donning the burlap tarp like a cloak against the chilly pre-evening air...and just half a block away, a blue-eyed cat ran off into the shadows to return to her master, unnoticed by the two of them.

xXxXx

It was eerily quiet.

Part of that was due to the location. The Church of the Dawnfather, deep in the Temple Ward, was practically empty as the services held there favored the early morning. Few devotees of any faith wandered the streets as the shadows lengthened across the cobblestones, save for the practitioners of the less accepted divine, such as those known collectively as the Betrayer Gods. Theoretically, all faith was welcome in the Temple Ward, and it was a safe place for anyone to worship, but as was the case with such grand and all inclusive schemes, some temples were treated more favorably than others.

Jayce paced at the front of the sanctuary, in front of the raised dais that held the altar, as Gauth leaned against a wall off to the side of the pews. They didn't know when Zoe would be back; just after leading them to the church, she raced off to find Al and Jonathan, and hopefully would return with the two of them in tow.

The stained glass window of Pelor's Dawn, the symbol of the Dawnfather, was dark and bleak, save for the glittering reflections of the torchlights on the walls. It seemed grim and lifeless, and it was doing wonders for dampening the mood.

Jayce's mind was swimming in worry. They hadn't heard anything from the priest in ages, and Dahlia had been in such poor shape when they arrived. Was she okay? Was she in pain? Was she coherent? Or sleeping?

Was she dead?

His mind flashed back to the first night he met her, and what he heard through the wall. Her guarded comments, defining such things as the norm and not the exception. Her darkness, her demon, that haunted her.

Yet, through it all, she treated everyone around her with kindness, far more than many of them deserved.

The rage boiled through him. Lacking a target, he whirled toward the stained glass window and screamed, "Why do you do this to her?!"

A voice to his right squeaked in alarm.

Jayce snapped his head toward the source, and saw the evening caretaker, an older man wearing the priestly cloak of the Dawnfather, staring at him in terror. The man's eyes seemed particularly fixated on Jayce's fist, which was currently wreathed with a flickering, oily blue flame.

Embarrassed, Jayce snapped out his fist to put out the fire and then turned away from the priest, his arms crossed and his face in one palm. Of course the priest would show up at that moment.

"How is our friend?" Gauth asked gently as he stepped up to Jayce. Even though he spoke to the older man, he still placed a hand on Jayce's shoulder for comfort.

"Sh-she's-" The man gulped and steadied himself before he continued. "She's resting. The spell purged the poison from her body, but I can't say I believe her account. Was it really purple worm poison?"

Gauth shook his head. "I don't know. I arrived after she was hurt."

"It was," Jayce said curtly. "She identified it herself, right before that bastard damn near slit her throat with it."

The man shook his head in awe. "I'm no expert on poisons, especially the rare ones, but I have heard that purple worm poison was impossible to survive. It is truly an act of divine will that she's alive right now."

"I fuckin' doubt that-" Jayce hissed.

"Please, sir, do not swear in Pelor's house," the priest said. "I understand you're upset, but please treat this place with respect."

Jayce grunted, but he bit his tongue.

The priest cleared his throat. "Now, which one of you is Jason?"

"It's Jayce," Jayce growled.

"...Jayce then. Which one of you is Jayce?" The priest did his best to continue acting professionally. After all, these people had gone through something rather terrifying; this was not the first, and likely not the last, person he would pull back from Death's door.

Jayce raised his hand, mostly because he was concerned he'd continue cursing if he opened his mouth more than necessary. The priest openly wilted at Jayce's intense and angry glare.

"She, uh, asked to see you," the priest squeaked, but before he could adjust his collar, Jayce had already bolted past and through the open door behind him. The priest did manage to turn and yell, "Third door on the left!" before Jayce completely disappeared from view.

Gauth sighed. Al wouldn't be happy to hear about this.

Jayce, in his hurry, nearly overshot the door before coming to a halt. He gave himself a spare second to calm his breath and to fix his hair, and then he cursed himself out for something Dahlia literally could not care about. And why was he fussing over his looks anyway? Dahlia couldn't see him, sure, but she was also rather lax with her own appearance. If she could see him, why would she make a remark about it? Why did it even matter? It's not like he had to impress her.

Having sufficiently berated himself for something he hoped was trivial, he gently opened the door and peeked inside. The room was quite small, with a bed across the back wall only a single stride away, and the only other pieces of furniture were a tallow lantern hung on a hook by the door, a washing basin, and a chair. Next to the chair was Dahlia's boots and bag, and on the seat was a small, neatly folded pile of her clothes.

Jayce's eyes turned back to Dahlia, and he could feel the blush bloom across his cheeks as he realized how little she was likely wearing under the blanket. He quickly chastised himself for thinking like a prudish teen when he saw how flushed and sweaty she was, as she obviously fought to breathe evenly. Now was not the time to be thinking of such things.

"He...hello?" she wheezed. "Who's...there?"

Despite looking as if she was suffering from heatstroke, Dahlia seemed resolute on keeping as much of herself underneath the blanket as possible. Jayce stepped inside and closed the door.

"It's me, Dahlia. The priest said you called for me," Jayce said softly. Should he approach? Why did she call for him anyway?

Her eyes welled up with tears, and he could see her body go tense even though she could barely move. "I-I'm so so-sorry-!"

"No!" Jayce said gently, and he crossed the distance to kneel by the bed. "No no no. Don't you go there. You ain't got a thing to be sorry about. A man survived today because of you."

"B-but I was such an idiot…" she sobbed softly, and she pulled the blanket over her head. "I should've…! I should've…!"

Jayce hesitated the barest of seconds before he pulled the blanket back from her face. Without thinking, he began to stroke her soft, black hair. "Dahlia, don't listen to that demon in there. If anything, I should've been better about planning it all. Hell, I'm pretty sure you thought we were all idiots for not noticin' that invisible man behind you. You probably knew he was there, plain as day, the whole fuckin' time."

"I...I kinda did…" she hiccuped. "But I-I didn't even think...he was invisible until...no one reacted when he grabbed me…"

"See?" Jayce said through a tired smile. She looked so hurt and broken. "We're the idiots this time around. You were fuckin' brilliant. How'd you even know what the poison was?"

"...I smelled it before…" she whispered. Her eyes began to flutter closed. She was so tired. "My brother...taught me how to...collect it off a purple worm corpse...when I was younger…"

Jayce looked at her in shock. Just where had she traveled in her life? And this was the first time he could recall her mentioning any family. He wondered why she never brought it up before.

Jayce cleared his throat and continued. "Priest says yer lucky to be alive. He said no one survives purple worm poison."

"It wasn't a full dose," she mumbled. "He only scratched me with it...probably wanted to keep enough on the blade...to kill the margrave…"

"Fuck…" Jayce blew out a puff of air in shock. "That was just a scratch?!"

"Mhm…" she hummed affirmatively.

With nothing else to look at, Jayce watched the flame on the tallow lamp for a moment before he continued. "And what was that green stuff ya asked me to pour on the wound?"

"Powdered...rust beast chitin…" Dahlia fought to suppress a yawn, but ultimately failed. "Lots of copper...in it. They're...immune, or something...to purple worm toxin...because they follow them...to eat the metals...they...leave…"

As she had trailed off her conversation, Jayce glanced down at Dahlia, who seemed to have fallen asleep. Her breathing was even, her eyes were closed, and her shoulders were finally relaxed. He was honestly shocked she never brought up the fact that he was petting her hair the whole time. He lifted his hand, and was about to stand up from the floor when he barely heard her whisper.

"Please don't...stop…"

He settled back on the floor and resumed stroking her hair, to which she breathed the softest "Thank you" he had ever heard. He would have to check in with the rest of the team eventually, but for now, he could spare a few minutes. At least until she fell asleep.

xXxXx

He didn't know how much time had passed. His eyes had closed for a moment, but somehow, she had moved to sit on the floor beside him without him noticing. He was shocked. She had been so quiet. He should have felt her move out from under his hand, and yet there she was, wearing nothing but a thin blouse and her small clothes.

Her hand reached out, gently brushing the side of his face. He leaned into her touch, and he could feel his skin grow warm under her palm. Her eyes were dark and soft, and he was captivated by them. He wanted more. Before he could ask, she pulled him closer, her lips brushing against his own. There was no hesitation. He greedily deepened the kiss, threading his fingers through her hair. As he pulled her close, she did the same, until they were forced to close the distance between them. She shifted, her hips pressed against his, and she pulled him back, until he collapsed on top of her.

But they kept falling. The air around them became thick and heavy, almost as if forcing them together, but he didn't care. His desire for her was all consuming, and he was powerless to resist.

She pulled away, just enough to see his face. Her hair drifted in the darkness as if weightless, but there was no reason to panic. He could still breathe. He still held her in his arms, their bodies entwined in this strange place. His mind was numb to his surroundings as he drank his fill of her gentle beauty.

"Is this what you want?" she breathed. The voice filled him in tantalizing ways. He could feel his skin shiver in anticipation. He told her he wanted nothing else. Gods above and below, he only wanted-

"Then take my heart," she sighed, her back arching toward him as her head fell back. He leaned forward to comply, to kiss her, to touch her-

-to tear at her skin with his teeth, to crack her ribs with his jaws, to consume her heart with ravenous desire. He was horrified with himself, but he could not stop. The taste of iron and salt filled his mouth, and a feral side of him flared through his body. He tore at her like a half-starved beast.

Her blood clouded the water around him, but even in the dark and crimson fog, he could see the eyes. Those glowing eyes. A voice, dark and cold, that scratched at his bones with icy claws, laughed with pride and, terrifyingly, patience.

"Obedience begets reward."

xXxXx

Jayce startled awake, sprawled across the floor of the cloistered cell. He slammed his hand in his mouth and bit, hard, on the pad of his thumb before he could scream. He could instantly tell he was in a cold sweat, and he was panting from the fear. His heart felt like it could shatter his chest if it pounded any harder.

His mind raced through his usual checklist. Did he remember falling asleep? No, but nightmares could do that. Did he remember where he fell asleep? He glanced around. It was the same room where Dahlia was resting, so yes to that one. Was he safe? He patted himself down and checked the door. Both were unphased. Just a dream then.

Just to be sure, he boosted himself up to his knees and checked on Dahlia, who was still asleep on the bed. She was still on her side, curled up as small as she could, wrapped in the blanket the priest had provided. Her color was returning to normal, and she seemed to be resting peacefully.

Fractured visions from his dream flashed across his mind, and he turned away from Dahlia's sleeping form, half afraid he would leap to the same actions of his nightmare. He was horrified and disgusted with himself. Desiring her was one thing, but cannibalism? Was that really how he felt? Was that part of the curse of his blood, or was it him?

He looked at his hand, knowing full well the shade of skin under his glove. His heart was still pounding. Whatever he was feeling, he needed to fully understand what it was before he acted on it.

He couldn't risk her safety just for a selfish desire of his own.

As quietly as he could, Jayce stepped out of the room and gently closed the door behind him. He couldn't believe he had fallen asleep, and he had no idea how much time had passed. He hoped it wasn't too long.

He rubbed some life back into his face and headed down the way he originally came. It was a short walk, and the sanctuary was still lit by torchlight, so it couldn't have been more than an hour. He hoped anyway. Unless the torches had been replaced already, in which case he had no idea how long he had been gone.

Gauth, seated on the step up to the altar, spotted him first. "You've returned!" he beamed, catching everyone else's attention. Al was stretched across a front pew, and was tended to by the priest, while Jonathan and Zoe sat across the aisle, sharing Puffpaw as they spoke quietly.

Jonathan immediately jumped to his feet. "How is she?"

"Fu-"

The priest, no longer intimidated by Jayce, shot him a rather intense look of warning, and Jayce immediately bit back his original comment.

"Really, really tired," Jayce said awkwardly. "She passed out mid sentence, talkin' to me."

"How long did she talk?" Al said, although with a grunt as he struggled to sit up. The priest sighed, but let him anyway. "We've been sitting here for almost twenty minutes."

Jayce glanced at Gauth, and wondered how long the goliath had been waiting. From the look he received, Gauth really didn't seem to mind. He was relieved; for someone who turned into a literal beast of rage on the battlefield, Gauth was a surprisingly kind soul.

Jayce wandered over to Al's pew and sat next to him. "Truth of it is, I passed out a bit too. Been a f-...ugh. Very long day."

Zoe started to giggle. "Wow. You actually made it through two sentences without swearing. I'm impressed!"

"Shut yer-!" Jayce tensed and clenched his fists, but continued. "-mouth, Zoe. Priest did us a favor, ain't right to make him mad."

"And I thank you for that," the priest added. He nodded to Jayce in gratitude, and turned to Al. "I believe that will be all for the ringing in your ears, sir, and any other ailment you may have."

Al beamed. "Perfect. Jayce, pay the man."

"Wait, what?" Jayce asked, genuinely confused.

"Pay. The. Man," Al enunciated while looking directly at Jayce. "He may be a priest, but you can't expect him to help us for free. I know you've got coin."

Jayce slapped a hand to his face. "Right. Fair's fair. How much I owe ya, sir?"

The priest shook his hands, obviously flustered. "Oh it's no trouble. I'm simply doing the work of Pelor, that's all. I-"

"He'll take a donation, though!" Zoe cut in with her usual smirk.

"...Yes. I will take a donation. Whatever you deem appropriate," the priest sighed.

Jayce thought back to the harrowed rush over, and to other comments Dahlia had made in the past. He ducked his hand into the Pouch of Infinite Coin and called forth ten platinum, which he then placed directly in the priest's hand before folding the priest's fingers over the amount.

"Take this as our thanks, but it comes with a condition," Jayce said, matching the priest's eyes in what he hoped was a soft gaze. "Our friend in the room, she's a follower of Pelor, but she's had no luck being ordained as a cleric. I can't tell ya why, but I can say it ain't fair in the slightest. I ain't seen a more devout believer in all my travels, across the Lucidian Ocean and the Ozmit Sea. When she wakes up, will ya do the honors?"

At first, the priest simply looked baffled, but then his eyes fell across the coin in his palm. He visibly paled and adopted a nervous smile as he bowed deeply to Jayce.

"As you wish, sir. You have more honor than I expected."

With that, the priest ran off, both to check on Dahlia and to handle his own affairs. Jonathan watched the man go, and when Puffpaw ran into the hallway, he instead sat next to his sister.

"Hang on a second," Zoe said with a shocked giggle in her voice. "Did you just bribe a priest of Pelor?"

Jayce rolled his eyes. "I compensated the man for his services. In advance."

"Day-um. Bribing a holy man in a church. You've got balls," Zoe snickered.

Jayce stretched and leaned back on the pew, with his arms draped over the back. "I ain't above givin' fair due is all," he said with a wink toward the siblings. "Besides, pretty sure he'll be pretty damn nice to us, now that he knows who we are."

"Yep! The Guides of Karma!" Zoe beamed.

Al grunted in annoyance and dropped his head in his hands. "You know, the more I hear that name, the less I like it. It sounds wishy-washy."

"Oh come on. I like it. Kinda mysterious," Zoe huffed.

"Why not Fatekin?" Gauth asked. "Dahlia explained 'karma' to me. I think Fatekin is the same."

"I can't say I'm familiar…" Jonathan trailed off, with a distant look of deep thought on his face. "Fate-kin… I mean, from the words alone, I can see the resemblance, but-"

"Okay, fine, we'll talk about this later, when everyone's here," Zoe interrupted, more to avoid losing the team name than to be fair to Dahlia. "Speaking of, what happened to her? Gauth tried to fill us in, but it was a bit lacking."

Gauth shrugged. "I told you all I know."

Zoe nodded. "Yeah, and it wasn't enough. So, again, Jayce, what happened?"

Jayce's eyes dropped to the floor and he leaned on his knees. "We just convinced Margrave Zimmerset to listen to us, and while we were walkin' to his private box or, somewhere, Dahlia asked everyone t' stop. Gauth had to hang back in the front hall, so I was already on edge, but gods damn it all to fucking hell I didn't even figure the damn assassin would be invisible!"

Everyone was quiet as Jayce took a moment to calm his breath, with his head buried in his hands. He finally picked up his head and turned to the group.

"She could smell the poison on him. She got between that asshole and the margrave, then called 'im out without flat out pointing out who it was, and next thing we all know, she's stiff as a board and talkin' to some voice over her shoulder. She looked fuckin' terrified, and then...that slice of red on her throat…"

"No!" Zoe gasped, horrified. "She-She's alive, right? You said she was okay?"

"Thank the Divines, she lives," Jayce sighed. He fought back a surge of emotion just from the memory. The rush of fear from that moment darkly haunted him. "She's okay now. The bastard had somethin' called purple worm mucus on the blade, a poison Dahlia said was designed to kill quickly, but not painlessly. Priest said he ain't heard of any survivors from the stuff before."

Zoe visibly paled, and Jonathan turned to her during her uncharacteristic silence. "Zoe?"

"John, that stuff is expensive as shit," she wheezed. "Like, two thousand gold a dose expensive. I pawed through a book on poisons back at the Soul and I remember that one because the beast it comes from is this massive tube of teeth and death and even when the fucking thing is dead, it can kill you because of that mucus stuff! It's so potent, a single dose can almost instantly kill a horse, nevermind a humanoid!"

"Trust me, saw that first hand…" Jayce grumbled.

"Then how'd she survive?" Al asked. He was genuinely curious, but also highly concerned they'd run into that poison again, and he'd like to be prepared.

"First off, the asshole only scratched her. She said it wasn't a full dose," Jayce explained. "Second, she was coherent enough to ask me to dump some green powder on it, uh...powdered rust beast chitin, I think. That's what she said, anyway. Somethin' about how they're immune to the mucus? Yeah, that was when she passed out. Ain't sure on the rest."

Zoe rubbed her chin in thought, and Jonathan sighed and rolled his eyes. "You've got a comment, don't you?"

Zoe backhanded her brother's arm enough to cause him to twitch, but his smirk was instantly killed by her uncharacteristically serious look.

"Okay...what'd I do?" he asked weakly.

"It's not you," Zoe said curtly. "Just...that isn't common knowledge. I mean, what she asked you to do, Jayce, obviously worked, because she's alive, but that book I was talking about...there was no known cure or relief written down, and it was supposedly written by an authority on the subject. Purple worm poison just killed you, no exceptions. On top of that, even though you can run into a purple worm in the wild, I happen to know rust beasts only come from one place."

There was a slight pause, but before Zoe felt there was enough dramatic tension to continue, Al cut in. "Well, don't leave us hanging! Where do they come from?"

She tried to salvage it by speaking in a dark and grave voice. "The Underdark."

Despite Al's ill-timed interruption, the sanctuary went eerily quiet as the gravity of the statement washed over them. Even though they came from different walks of life, they all had a story about the Underdark. Thousands of legends crossed all of Exandria about the dark races, the murderous beasts, the foul creatures that should never reach the light of day. The brain consuming illithid, the slave trading and vicious duergar, the thousands of twisted, deadly creatures that call the dark underside of the world their home...but despite being the stuff of nightmares, they mostly kept to weren't the worst things that crawled in the dark.

The creatures that called that fame were the drow.

Originally elves, they were cursed by the Divines for their involvement in the uprising by the Betrayer Gods, to the point that they were forced underground and forever marked with black-blue skin and reddened eyes. They found relief in Torog, the Crawling King, the fallen god who carved the immense tunnels beneath the world as their matron, Lloth, the goddess of secrecy and betrayal, had been killed by Kord, the god of storms and thunder, before the war had truly begun. Abandoned twice, once Torog was also defeated and thrown behind the gates of the nine hells, the drow retreated ever deeper into the bowels of the world.

Even so, in their new realm, the drow discovered the madness of isolation, the allure of demonic power, and most horrifyingly, the blood of their fallen goddess, flowing like rivers of molten rock through the deepest reaches of the earth. It was a well told tale of the dark and twisted things that resulted from consuming that blood, and rumors abounded of less cohesive demonic experiments that occasionally escaped to the surface, or were released intentionally simply for the sake of chaos and destruction.

"Okay, so I can tell from your face you're jumping to conclusions," Al said nervously. "The cure, and whoever told Dahlia about it, likely came from the Underdark, sure, but that's literally all we know. Besides, have you seen her? She's pale and dark haired, and that's practically the opposite of the drow. On top of that, she's got green eyes, not red."

"She's also obsessed with keeping herself covered," Zoe stated with a serious glare. "How do we know what the rest of her looks like? She could be painting her face or something-"

"Greasepaint!"

Everyone turned to Jonathan, who had been surprisingly quiet during the conversation, in surprise. "Sorry, what?" Zoe asked.

Jonathan turned to his sister. "That stuff on Puffpaw's face the other night. It was greasepaint! Remember, Dahlia had been holding her?"

"There," Zoe huffed. "She's hiding something. Why else would someone-"

"Just stop!"

Jayce, barely able to contain himself, had jumped up from his seat to stand at the center of the group. "She's hiding something?! Damn right she's hiding something! You weren't there when I met her; I literally overheard those filth-covered rotten nut-hooks plan to fucking break her so she wouldn't 'disobey' them again! Gods-damn you better believe she'd be damn terrified of showin' her face!"

As worked up as he was, Jayce's words still struck a chord, and the sanctuary was quiet, save for the flickering of the torches.

"I...had no idea," Zoe mumbled. She hugged herself and felt a wave of shame crash over her. She felt terrible for immediately assuming the worst.

Jonathan patted her arm. He didn't want to admit it, but he had thought the same.

"Even if...it were true," Jayce growled, his fists tight at his sides, "why'd it matter? She's helped every fuckin' one of us in our time of need. John, she gave you the canteen off her own damn belt when you were practically starvin'; Zoe, she stitched you up and damn well saved your life when more of you was outside than inside; Al, your brain was leakin' out yer ears, and she didn't even hesitate to patch you up; and Gauth, I fuckin' told her to leave you be, but she knew from the second she met ya that you'd be a kindred spirit. It weren't my idea to teach you t' read; that was all her."

Gauth stood up and shifted to stand next to Jayce, with his arms crossed. "I stand with Jayce. Dahlia is my friend and my teacher, and I won't betray her based on a past she does not own."

Al nodded and stood up as well. "She's been nothing but kind to us; besides, I'm not one to go looking for drama. If she's got a past she wants hidden, I trust her to have good reasons. Even if I'm really curious as to why she was wearing greasepaint."

"If she was wearing greasepaint. We ain't yet proved that's where it came from," Jayce added. "So, you two, what say you?"

"Well, strictly speaking, all we know is someone taught her a closely guarded secret of the Underdark," Jonathan said softly, as if unsure with himself. "And you're right; she has been nothing but kind. I'm sorry we assumed the worst."

"Yeah, me too," Zoe mumbled. Then she chuckled. "Hell, the only reason we approached you guys was because of her. So, either she's the world's best actor, or she's just that kind of sweetheart."

"I vote the latter," Al smiled. "That said, it's pretty clear she got the raw end of the deal here-"

Gauth looked so confused Al had to stop, just to slake his own curiosity. "Okay, what now, Gauth?"

Gauth struggled to choose the right words. He was convinced he was going to be an idiot again, but he just had to know. "You can...cook a deal?"

Although it was unintentional, the burst of levity at the absurdity of the comment was exactly what the group needed, and they nearly collapsed into giggles. Gauth, more nervous than amused, chuckled along, and tried to avoid making eye contact with any of them.

"No, Gauth," Al snickered as he rubbed his face. "It's an expression."

"Oh!" Gauth said sagely. "And idiot-em."

"Idiom…" Al wheezed as he hid his face in his hands. "An idiom…!"

"Back to the topic at hand," Jonathan said with a small laugh, "that actually gives me an idea. We know she likes jokes, so, Jayce, when she gets up, I challenge you to a pun duel."

Al immediately lost his levity. "By the gods, absolutely not! Anything but that!"

Jayce's face was twisted into a mischievous sneer. "Hope you plan on losin', John."

Jonathan had an equally competitive grin. "We'll see. Now, if you don't mind," Jonathan yawned while he stretched, "I'd like to rest up for this verbal battle of wits in the morning."

Zoe gave her brother a disbelieving look. "What, you're just going to pass out right here?"

"Yep. Now get your own pew."

To emphasize his point, Jonathan stretched over the seating of the wooden pew, to the point of pressing his heel into his sister's hip. In response, she smacked at his shin, but did get up from the seat. "You can't just pass out here! What if the priest comes back?"

Jonathan made a bit of a show of making himself comfortable, and pulled his hood over his head. "They don't lock the sanctuaries at night, Zoe. I'd usually only come to the Temple Ward on rainy days, but with you all here, I doubt anyone else will be wondering in and rifling pockets tonight. Pick a pew, get comfortable, and enjoy a free night's rest."

With that, Jonathan rolled over so he faced the back of the pew, which gave him a semi-private space to indulge in a smug grin. He wondered how shocked his parents would be if they could see him now.

It also gave him the privacy to commune with Puffpaw.

The voices of his companions drifted away from his ears as they chose their own spots to sleep, and Jonathan was briefly disappointed he wouldn't hear the end of Jayce's explanation for why he hadn't retrieved Al's cloak from Dahlia's room. As he became blind and deaf to his own surroundings, he stretched his soul along the tether that kept Puffpaw in the mortal realm, and soon their consciousnesses were one.

Puffpaw, aware of her master's mind melding with her own, filled him with the devotion expected of a familiar. He responded in kind, and she was grateful. He gently asked her where she was hiding, and she responded that she was below the elf they had come to know as Dahlia.

Her eyes moved of their own accord as Jonathan saw through her, and he realized Puffpaw had been hiding under Dahlia's simple bed in the borrowed room. Satisfied they weren't seen, Jonathan asked her to jump up to Dahlia's side, as he needed to know if she was okay.

Puffpaw, as a fae creature bound to her master's soul, was all too willing, and easily bounded up to land softly by Dahlia's sleeping form. This humanoid had a rare beauty that, while not perfect, was soft and comforting. She could see why her master was fond of this one.

Then Jonathan asked her to poke her cheek with a paw.

Puffpaw's head reared back from the notion. Poke this sleeping being with a paw? Was he insane? It was nowhere near feeding time (not that Puffpaw had to eat, anyway) and the being clearly needed the sleep. She did not want to be thrown into a wall and banished to the fae realm as a formless spirit again.

There she is, Jonathan's voice whispered through her mind. You had been so submissive I thought I grabbed someone else by mistake.

How could there be anyone else for her master? Whatever form she took, she would always be his. That was how the contract worked. She couldn't believe he didn't know that.

It's not so much I didn't know, just that my faith had faltered. I'm sorry. However, I still need you to poke her.

Puffpaw's ears flattened in annoyance as a throaty growl escaped her, accentuated by the spasmodic twitching of her tail. She was not pleased...but if her master wished it, she had no choice.

With her head low and her eyes wide, she settled on her back paws, claws out, to anchor her body for a quick and calculated escape. Puffpaw leaned heavily on her front paw, while the other was in the air, ready for a quick bap and-!

Gently, Puffpaw. Place your paw on her face, and pull it back. You don't need to strike her.

Puffpaw grumbled again, but did as her master commanded. Gently, quietly, slowly, Puffpaw reached out with her chocolate-colored paw and pressed it into Dahlia's cheek. She could feel her master's mirth at the smooshed cheek look, but amazingly, the woman did not wake.

Puffpaw snapped her paw back with great speed, and was relieved that was all done. Now, just to-

Look at your paw.

Puffpaw paused again, and grumbled deep in her chest. Looking at the pads on her paw wasn't exactly the easiest thing to do, as a quadruped, but she complied. It involved some creative twisting of her neck, but she could see the pads were clean. She somewhat sarcastically wondered if her master was satisfied.

She could feel her master's confusion, and as her soul reached to his for answers, she saw flashes of the confrontation about Dahlia's past. Jonathan did not resist; he knew he couldn't keep secrets from his familiar.

Puffpaw chastised her master for being so judgemental of a scared woman, and then mentally winced when she realized she was being out of line for a typical familiar. Jonathan didn't seemed to mind, and in fact thought she was justified, and so Puffpaw's sense of dread quickly faded.

The only thing left was to choose where to sleep. Would she return to her master's side, or stay to watch over their weakened friend?

Puffpaw glanced over Dahlia's face, and immediately decided a little healing purr was needed. Jonathan told her there was no such thing, but Puffpaw disagreed; as a cat, she obviously knew better, and Jonathan was simply ignorant to her more specialized feline ways. She pointedly ignored him when his retort included how he chose her shape, and instead she turned her attention to finding the perfect spot to nestle into Dahlia's form and warmth.

As her master's consciousness slipped away from her own, Puffpaw settled into the back of Dahlia's neck, specifically because it allowed her to take up most of the pillow. She curled up into a ball, covered her nose with her tail to keep it warm, and purred the night away.