The cesspit of a city had changed, but for the worse. Seeing the rise of the Sovereigns, the worsening corruption of the Church, and the state the commoners were in… I was forced to adjust my plans.

  “This is to be a precise operation over the course of twelve hours. Normally we’d have more time, but Lightward Cassian can be rather impatient," the Matron said with an exasperated sigh, long silver braid and matching silver dress shimmering in the lantern light overhead. “If it is any consolation, at least this base isn’t somewhere underground. For the most part.”

  “So do you have a location?” Ryn asked, leaning against the table casually. His handsome face held the usual overly smug grin.

  “We’ve narrowed it down to a three block radius just outside the Ash Lanes of the Warrens. Veldar will take charge—Seluna, Ryn and Veera, you follow his lead. You should have adequate time to pin down their base and take note of any significant guard presence.”

  “Fine by me. And after those twelve hours?” Sel asked, hoping against all odds that this wouldn’t be another mission where they’d have to take on dozens of enemies alone.

  “Then you four will assist the Lightward and his Defenders in storming the Darkin base.” The Matron’s almost alien gaze was icy and dark—she wasn’t exactly pleased about such close work with the Church.

  “Great, we can have a bunch of overladen zealots get us killed instead of Veera doing that…” Sel muttered, drawing an annoyed look from Veera, to her delight.

  Wouldn’t you say it’s counterproductive to immediately antagonize one of our team members? Kadran intoned. What a silly thing for her Starborn to say.

  Not when it’ll make the mission less boring. Lighten up Kaddy,—

  Shut up.

  —shouldn’t you be excited? It’s been over ten months since the Church came to the guild with that first Darkin contract. Where’s the sense of wonder and curiosity? Isn’t it oh so curious that we haven’t seen more of them since?

  She tuned back into the conversation as the Matron said, “—and Sel, it goes without saying that you can’t use your powers in the presence of Lightward Cassian. He’d kill you right there.” The Matron handed a few papers to Veldar and continued, “Use your enhanced arm as you please, Veera. They’re well aware it’s related to my own Bonded powers. Meet Veldar at the gates by tonight’s eighth bell.”

  The High Matron turned back to some ledgers and missives on the table, dismissing the four of them with a wave of her hand. Sel shared a look with Ryn as they turned to leave. She was annoyed about not being able to use her powers, and pausing her Ashen Hand work—but Sel assumed the soldiers of the Church would do the heavy lifting anyway, when the time came.

  Kadran had been humming in low, aggravating tones while the Matron spoke, but he finally stopped and said, I’m less curious and more concerned, I think. The Darkin are so careful, so mysterious—something tells me they wanted to be found now.

  Well, they might get less mysterious tonight. You can contemplate their mysteries—while I head to the Starry Flask. This made her Starborn produce a mind numbing groan, which she ignored.

  As they left the War Room behind Veldar and Veera, Sel turned to Ryn and said, “Come get a drink with me, lightweight.”

  He scrunched up his brow and thought for a moment before shrugging. “Sure, I could go for some wine before finding something to kill the time until tonight. And I’m not a lightweight, you just drink too much.”

  She grinned up at him and led the way. It wasn’t often that he joined her at taverns, and she could use the company in case Meryn and her crew weren’t around.

  About an hour later, the pair strode up the slightly rundown looking wooden tavern, but they stopped and hurried out of the way of the open door when a gruff voice yelled, “Watch out!”

  A moment later the burly tavern owner, Bronn, appeared in the doorway with a squirming thug held in one hand. Sel raised her eyebrows as the retired soldier flexed bulging muscles hidden beneath a scratchy looking gray tunic. With little visible effort, Bronn flung the man out of the building, sending him sailing a good eight feet before he crashed down on the street.

  “Next time, don’t threaten my customers lad!” He said, folding his thick arms. The old man turned to them and grinned. “Bit early, but come on in Sel. I’ll get your usual ready—just try not to pass out on a table again.”

  The jab didn’t bother her much as she and Ryn followed him inside. The jovial man was probably a bit tired from hauling her to an empty room to sleep it off—which was about the only thing she felt bad about. The tavern was packed, even at this early hour. Alcoholics and hungry patrons alike sprawled around small tables in the hazy room, where the scents of spiced stews, pipe smoke, stale ale and sharp liquors barely masked the smell of acrid industry that seeped into the buildings in this part of the Warrens, just outside of the Bellows.

  She led Ryn over to Meryn, who waved at her from a secluded corner of the room. The tall slab of obsidian of a man, Coris, and the diminutive, always grinning Sereth sat to either side of the ex-merc, each enjoying a steaming bowl of stew. Meryn herself nursed a tankard of the tavern’s signature dark, bitter ale.

  As Sel and Ryn pulled chairs over and seated themselves, she grinned at the trio and said, “Fancy seeing you lot here.”

  Kadran quietly hummed in her mind, already tired from the upcoming day of Sel either being drunk, or passed out. She wondered for the hundredth time if Starborn could get drunk. Then she wondered how hard it’d be to get Kadran to materialize and partake someday. Kadran, picking up on her amused thoughts, only huffed.

  Meryn laughed deeply, her deep brown eyes creasing in amusement. “Girl, you know damned well that this is practically the only tavern I frequent these days. Shame that my other favorites in the Shadowed Court came under new management.”

  Sel nodded, giving an exaggerated sad and sympathetic look, which only made the woman laugh more. Many districts and ‘establishments’ in that part of the Warrens were now under the thumbs of some of the Alchemical Sovereigns now. Ryn fidgeted with his leather vest, looking uncomfortable.

  “This is Ryn, a good friend of mine—if you don’t remember,” she said, feeling awkward.

  Meryn folded muscled arms, her rich almond skin almost bronze in the warm lantern light of the tavern as she said, “I remember. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”

  Ryn relaxed a fraction, grinning at the old merc. “It’s an honor, really. You’re really quite a legend in your own right—the Imperial Explorer! The mercenary captain who’s been around the world, and the first Imperial citizen to manage to step foot on Kelvor and live to tell the tale!”

  Sel winced internally, then drove her bony elbow into Ryn’s side. That was exactly what not to ever bring up to Meryn. It was a little known fact that most of her band didn’t come back from that Empire ordered mission—she stopped exploring and mercenary work shortly after.

  Meryn’s hard face darkened dangerously, but only for a moment. She sighed, closing her eyes, suddenly looking immensely weary. In that moment she was ancient and tired—her face lined with years of hardships, her tightly coiled black hair taking on shades of gray, and her eyes full of regret. Then it was gone, replaced by her usual smile, though it was forced.

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  “Oh, I’m just a simple soul now. Some light thievery here, a little independent work there. Those days of adventure and glory are behind me,” Meryn said with a shake of her head.

  Sereth changed the subject and said, “Forget about all that, you light-blinded gits—we should talk about the crap going on.”

  Sel rolled her eyes as she said, “Oh? Like the Ashen Hand, who’ve been discussed to death, or the millionth conspiracy or secret serial killer you seem to know about? Or maybe another one of your flings?”

  “Maybe—but it isn’t like most of what I talk about is untrue. I’ve heard a few more things about the Ashen Hand which I’m sure you’ll want to know, hunting then and all. Plus there’s definitely a serial killer having a ball in the Warrens. And now that you mentioned flings…” Sereth rambled, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

  Bronn—thank the stars—interrupted her as he walked up, bearing a tray of tankards, small wooden cups, and several bottles. For the first time Sel noticed he wasn’t walking with his cane, or his usual limp. Though his leg was hidden by dark trousers, it looked less twisted than it had been from what she could tell. His other ancient wounds and scars remained as she remembered, like the crooked nose that’d never healed right, or the map of scars decorating his rough face.

  “What will it be Sel, wine or whiskey?” Bronn asked, setting down a tankard of ale for Meryn, and the empty cups for Ryn and Sel.

  “Just leave both bottles—Ryn here prefers wine,” Sel said, counting out fifteen silver aurons to give the man. She hesitated, then asked, “So…your leg’s doing better now?”

  Bronn took the coins and set down the bottles, grinning broadly. He leaned closer to Sel and said, “Saw some sort of miracle worker in the Warrens. Didn’t help some of my other aching scars, but they fixed my leg! Stars, I feel years younger because of it.”

  Sel raised her eyebrows and looked after him as he departed through the crowded room.

  You’re thinking what I’m thinking, aren’t you? Kadran hummed.

  Yeah. Whoever he saw wasn’t a miracle worker. Just someone Bonded to a Fleshweaver, she thought.

  We should ask him to tell us more, sometime—

  Should we? Seems like whatever price they ask isn’t too high, plus they’re actively helping people, unlike the Matron. Sel sent him a dismissive pulse through their connection.

  “Tell me about whatever rumors you’ve heard…and not about your third beefsteak of a Kretorian sailor of the month,” Sel said, fighting the urge to laugh at the woman’s almost disappointed expression.

  Sereth shared a look and a quick series of hand signs with Coris. She grew visibly excited, her thin face lighting up, her frizzy auburn hair bobbing as she nodded and said, “Nothing that major for the Ashen Hand. Another few murders with their marks at the scene, notably at House Valorinth, Saryth and Ashryn. They broke open some food stores around the city and had some street gangs hand it out. What I think you’ll find really interesting—they vandalized the newest church in the Warrens, off of Steral Avenue. Even left some cryptic threats for the deacon of the place.”

  “Let me guess—no witnesses for for any of those?” Sel asked, pouring some mildly sweet crimson wine for Ryn before pouring whiskey in her own cup.

  “Nope. Well actually, Deek mentioned something about the vandalizing. Maybe he saw it or knows more, but I don’t know what his usual haunts are these days.” Sereth shrugged and shoved a spoonful of stew into her mouth.

  Meryn grunted and said, “Kid apparently runs a little group of his own near Rat’s Haven now. Wouldn’t tell me where to find him—he’s been growing up way too fast in the last year. Little man has secrets and responsibilities now, I guess.” She drained her tankard, set it down, and started on the next one. “I’m real curious about why you’re so set on hunting them, Sel. As far as I’m concerned, they’re saints.”

  Sel sipped her whiskey, savoring the burn of the sharp, amber liquid. She’d have to remember to track Deek down sometime. After a second sip she said, “Eh, you know how guild business is. I can’t really say I disagree with you. Haven’t heard about them killing an innocent yet—they’ve just been screwing with nobles, the Alchemical Sovereigns, the Church and some of the more wicked gangs.”

  “Glad you share my opinion on them—though I’m still pretty upset that they pulled off a heist on one of my recent targets. We showed up to a trail of bodies, their mark burned into one wall, and almost nothing to steal.” Meryn shook her head.

  Ryn cleared his throat, sipped his wine and said, “I wouldn’t mind helping you tomorrow Sel. Maybe we could question some house servants or something before finding Deek.”

  She nodded to him gratefully. A fresh set of eyes and ears could be just what she needed for this ridiculous business. Kadran had mostly pulled away from her mind, distancing himself from the crowded room of chattering humans, though she occasionally picked up on his sour mood.

  “Now let’s talk serial killers—this one’s real, I promise. And no, don’t ask me why they fascinate me, they just do. In the last few months there have been over a hundred murders of commoners that haven’t been attributed to any gangs or organizations. Innocents, mostly,” Sereth said, a gleam in her eye.

  “Oh…damn, that’s a bit high,” Sel admitted, lowering the cup that’d been about to meet her thin lips.

  “Yup. Those are just the ones I’m sure of.”

  “Obsessing over murders and killers is a hobby of yours, huh?” Ryn asked with a smile.

  “Damn right. It’s interesting seeing how life and city conditions turn normal men into death obsessed monsters. But anyway, almost all of the murders I mentioned had the same calling card on the body, and there’s more…” Sereth said, trailing off with a smug look.

  “Okay, you’ve piqued my interest you frizzy little freak, what else?” Sel asked with a laugh.

  “Each corpse had a twelve pointed star cut into their chest and forehead, with perfect, clean lines. Usually the bodies are strung up, or posed into some odd scenes—but lately the displays have been getting more creative. The Church has been getting interested recently. Not because of their concern for the safety of commoners, of course, but because some priests and even a deacon disappeared a few days ago.”

  “Spooky shit,” Sel said. She wasn’t some vigilante with a big heart, but maybe she’d talk with Kadran about bringing up this killer to the Matron—or, failing that, just hunting him down. Innocent commoners shouldn’t have to live with deranged fools around every corner. (She says, as a member of the deranged fools club.)

  “Makes me glad I don’t live in the Warrens. Anyway, they’re calling the serial killer ‘The Harbinger’, probably because of the religious symbol they leave. But if you ever go and look into them—” Sereth paused to give Sel a sharp look, furrowing her brow, “—you’d better take me with you.”

  Sel smiled and held up her hands before she said, “I admit I might look into it. I wouldn’t mind your help if I do.”

  After that, Meryn started talking about a few upcoming jobs she had lined up. Sereth interrupted often, translating quips and jokes for Coris. Sel briefly tried getting Kadran to talk to her about the Ashen Hand, the Darkin and this serial killer—but he only hummed distantly.

  She turned to talking with Ryn about recent contracts and city events, and before she knew it, she was embraced by the pleasant, numb warmth that came from drinking half a bottle of whiskey. Ryn excused himself after an hour or so—he wobbled dangerously as he got up, his pale face flushed and his neatly combed light brown hair slightly disheveled.

  Meryn groused about Ryn bringing up bad memories, but understood he probably didn’t know about what truly happened. Somehow another hour passed, and she appeared to have finished her whiskey—now she drank from the half full wine bottle still on the table. Coris and Sereth left, preparing for some job, then Meryn did as well after one last tankard of ale.

  And so, Sel was finally alone at an empty table. Alone besides the humming and words from Kadran, which her muddled mind couldn’t make sense of. She was so far gone, and when she awoke later, she wouldn’t remember passing out after incoherent rambling to Kadran and sobbing, or vomiting on the floor and Bronn.

  “Damn the stars, girl…” Bronn muttered, striding up to the slumped over Sel. His stormy gray eyes dissuaded anyone from bothering him for another round or more food as he reached her.

  He shook her gently, then a bit harder. She only mumbled something about curses and scaled bastards. Bronn sighed, but knew he couldn’t leave her like this.

  He could start cutting her off when she came here. But he wouldn’t. There were few ways to fix her issues—his talks hadn’t worked, and cutting her off would see her wandering to rougher establishments. He pulled on his graying brown beard for a moment, contemplating the pool of vomit on the floor next to Sel.

  He waved to one of his servers to fetch a mop, then hefted Sel up off her chair, throwing her over one shoulder. He made his way to the back halls leading to the rooms he rented out, found an empty one, and went inside.

  Sel wriggled against his grip suddenly, then convulsed, vomiting again. He didn’t even bother looking as it splash on the floor and seeped into the back of his tunic. Instead, he sighed deeply, shaking his head.

  He laid her on the bed, positioning her so she wouldn’t choke to death if she threw up again, and placed a metal pail near her.

  Bronn studied her for a moment. Eyes ringed by dark bags. Cool olive skin disrupted by paler scars and a nasty purple tinged burn on her right cheek, leading down her neck and beyond. Black hair dull and unkempt, the sides of her head no longer shaved for whatever reason. Her face appeared sharper than ever, with high cheekbones, a narrow jaw and pointy chin that could all cut. Her cheeks were gaunt, and her already small and wiry frame was smaller, weaker than almost a year ago.

  He knew what she was going through. He knew what she was doing to herself—countless nights spent at the bottom of a bottle, the days no better. Throwing herself into danger without thought. Barely able to stomach just enough food to function.

  Bronn knew, because he’d been her, once upon a time. His husband…

  He turned and stomped from the room, closing the door behind him. He’d wake her in seven or eight hours, and he was prepared to give her yet another talk, even if it would go unheeded.