Forty-eight hours earlier…
Syllee hovered in front of me, her red hair—the same shade as mine—spread out in the air like suspended flame. She wrinkled her nose, studying herself, not bothering to hide the discomfort.
"Why did you agree to hunt a chupacabra?" she demanded. "Now we both smell like wet goat."
I let a half-smile slip and turned back to the tavern window. Outside, the crowd had claimed every inch of space, dancing behind the bards who played brass instruments and sang about the goddess Aurora—how she faced the Primordial Brothers seven thousand years ago.
"Because you ordered an absurd amount of food," I said, reaching for my mead, "and the client promised to cover expenses if we took the job."
"Your fault, then," Syllee grumbled, drifting toward the window and pressing her nose against her arm. "You're the one who lets me order whatever I want."
Translucent as vapor when she felt like it, solid enough to take up space when she needed to, Syllee leaned against the glass. Her green eyes, identical to mine, were fixed on the street outside, probably considering whether to leave the smell on this side of the window.
Before I drank, I added, "At least you built up a decent mana reserve."
I studied her more carefully. She was bigger than she'd been a few days ago—her hands and face sharper now, better defined, though her edges still dissolved into mist. Syllee wore the same simple black dress she always wore, a youthful cut that fell to her shins.
I couldn't remember seeing her in anything else in centuries. Somehow I doubted she remembered either. One moment she was across the room; the next she was right beside me again—quick and inconvenient as an intrusive thought.
"Why do you still drink that?" Syllee grimaced at the tankard. "Now I've got that bitter taste in my mouth because of this garbage."
I tilted my head without hurrying, letting the silence settle just long enough to irritate her.
I glanced down at my cropped turtleneck—wrinkled after a full night out on the streets. Not that I had much room to talk, wearing the same style of clothes for nearly a hundred years.
"Then enjoy the taste in silence," I said, trying to smooth out the fabric.
Syllee clicked her tongue. Strands of hair rippled around her angular, dark-complexioned face before dissolving, her color shifting between brown and turquoise blue as the irritation climbed.
"How much is a decent bath around here?" she muttered, crossing her arms. "Doesn't matter—just go get cleaned up so I can feel clean too."
I ran a hand through my red curls, already out of place and tangled the way they always got after a night hunting monsters, then looked down at my green skirt pinned under belts loaded with vials. The torn black stockings and dried mud caked on my boot soles confirmed she had a point—not that I was going to admit it.
"One small coin."
"One small silver coin?" Syllee spun in front of me, going nearly red. "That's fifteen loaves of bread. Highway robbery!"
I looked away from the window and held her gaze, unhurried. Whenever someone stared at me like that, up close, it was almost always my green eyes they noticed first.
I'd heard more than once that they were the only part of me that didn't seem to put people on edge. Everything else about me was exactly what it looked like: an elf.
"Then you'll smell like wet goat for another night," I said, laughing. "And since when do you care so much about bathing?"
"This is your fault—you made me like this, Zara!"
The mist that formed her adjusted to the outline of her body, the metallic blue of her mana pulsing harder every second.
"I know, I know," I said. "That's why you're beautiful but have a bottomless well of impatience."
Syllee clicked her tongue, spun twice in the air, and settled on the back of the chair across from me with her legs crossed, like she was about to preside over a tribunal.
I twisted a strand of hair around my finger while my gaze drifted across the tavern, then pushed another curl back behind my pointed ear.
The mana crystal lamps scattered blue light across the tables, making the sweat on the customers' skin glimmer as they laughed loudly, shouted, and clapped along to the bards outside.
A few drunks went down and stayed on the floor until their friends decided to drag them back out into the street.
"Why are you wasting time watching this festival?" Syllee asked. "Isn't it the same everywhere?"
Because it reminds me of him.
I left that thought where it was. Instead of answering, I watched the giant puppets drifting above the crowd—their misshapen bodies and enormous heads swaying as the people below carried them through the street.
"Ah, so today's the day?" Syllee lifted her chin, looking at me over her shoulder. "How long has it been?"
I tried to do the math in my head, bringing the mead slowly to my lips and letting the bitterness spread.
"Twenty years…" I made a face. "Maybe forty."
Syllee let out a short, impatient breath.
"It was either twenty or forty, Zara—that's not a small difference to mix up. Haven't you figured out that forty years is an entire lifetime for a human?"
I shrugged and took another sip.
"I've never been good at keeping track of time. Just like you're a disaster at managing our money."
Syllee drew a sharp breath, looking appropriately offended.
"A disaster?" She narrowed her eyes. "You just don't want to admit that your jobs barely cover our basic expenses."
I lifted my face from the tankard and held back the sharper reply, because giving her what she wanted wasn't going to improve my mood.
"Basic expenses mean a decent night at an inn, a clean bed, three meals, and a snack if we're lucky," I said, setting the tankard down. "It doesn't include inhaling three pounds of goat meat on the same day we hunted a chupacabra."
Syllee shrugged.
"I like to keep well fed. Unlike you, who lives on stubbornness and that horrible drink."
I tilted my head and looked over that too-weightless body for all its insolence.
"Syl, you're fifteen centimeters tall and weigh less than half a pound. Where does all that food even go?"
Syllee shrugged again, and we sat in silence for a few minutes.
"Do you still feel guilty about what happened in the north?" she asked.
"You already know the answer. Why do you still ask?"
Syllee crossed her arms, hovering a few inches above the chair back.
"Because you've got your mental block up," she said with a sigh. "And because sometimes it's better to let it out instead of leaving it to rot inside that immortal head of yours."
I let out a short laugh through my nose.
"Since when do you sound like Hakan?"
"Only when I notice you're chewing on the past," Syllee huffed. "Besides, I picked up a thing or two from him on our last journey north… Alaric used to love Hakan's lectures."
I brought the cup to my lips but didn't drink. I just needed something to do with my hands.
"Where do you think Alaric is? Valorae?"
"I don't know if he made it to that so-called 'rest' for souls…" Syllee said, lowering her head slightly. "But wherever he is, it's better than here. At least he probably doesn't smell like wet goat."
This time the laugh slipped out before I could stop it, and Syllee smiled back, satisfied.
"Syllee—do you think anyone remembers what actually happened?"
Syllee tilted her head, thoughtful.
"Hard to say… Human memory is short. They probably remember that you lost the battle, but they've likely forgotten that it was because of you that the continent won the war," she said, drawing her brows together before lifting her head again. "Either way, this festival only exists because of you. And in the end, that's probably all they remember."
I ran my finger along the rim of the tankard. The tavern was filling up as the night pushed on, and every few minutes more people streamed in from the festival, trailing the smell of tobacco, sweat, and euphoria.
"These festivals didn't exist before," I said, turning from the door to look at her. "They probably don't even know why they celebrate at this time of year."
Syllee let out something close to a laugh.
"Think they'd be offended if they found out it all started as Alaric trying to propose to you?"
I laughed and nodded. She blinked twice, drew a slow breath, and lifted her chin—her eyes catching on something behind me.
"There's an idiot heading this way," she sang out.
I turned just enough to look over my shoulder and recognized the man. Older now, but the same brawling drunk.
He cut through the tables with that same crooked confidence he'd always carried. His leather jerkin was stained with old grease, and the way he moved told the story of a long history of poorly landed falls.
His eyes were coming in a straight line, locked on me. His mouth opened, closed, and the moment he tried to step around a badly placed chair, he lost his footing, stumbled, and his body lurched forward.
His hand caught my tankard and sent the mead across the table. He ended up on the floor.
I watched the liquid spread before dropping my gaze to the drink-bloated, irritated face below me. Brown hair hung heavy over his forehead, a thick beard hiding half his face. Aside from the size and the excess stubble, he was the same kid from years ago.
He tried to get up, made it halfway, and gave up. His eyes climbed until they found mine and stopped.
"Why are you back in my city, you yellow-bellied witch!" the drunk snarled from the floor.
The blood rose fast to my face. I breathed in slowly, holding the sharper response where it belonged, because giving him what he wanted meant spending the night in a cell. I looked for Syllee, but she was already floating above me.
"Is this the same one from back then?" I asked. "When was that, exactly?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Syllee said, crossing her legs in the air as though perched on an invisible chair. "About twenty years ago? Or was it forty?"
I rolled my eyes the moment I realized she'd thrown my own answer back at me, then turned to face the man again. He made a sound caught somewhere between a sob and a belch and tried to pull himself up with whatever dignity he had left.
"You old hag!" he shouted, staggering. "What ghost are you talking to?"
I smiled sideways and let the air out through my nose, slow.
"A child like you should've learned by now that drinking is for adults," I said, staying seated. "Or did the lesson never manage to get through that thick skull of yours?"
He jabbed a grimy finger in my direction, his arm swaying.
"Every time you come here, you bring bad luck, you witch!" he slurred. "Get out of here, or I'll drag you to the mayor and demand a trial by combat."
I tilted my head and gave that threat all the attention it deserved.
"You think you can beat me?"
He laughed, but the sound died in his throat.
"How could I lose to a mage who ran away from the far north with her tail between her legs?" The finger swayed again.
That explained more than he intended, probably. Maybe he'd lost someone in the north, or maybe he still had family paying for decisions I'd made decades ago—back around the same time they started calling me the witch who got the Celestial Hero killed.
I stood without rushing, giving him time to step back if he had any sense left. Once on my feet, I lifted my chin and held his gaze until he had no choice but to hold mine.
"So you want to challenge me to combat to judge what I did in the north?" I asked. "Is there something personal behind this, or are you just an idiot? Because if it's personal, I might actually consider accepting."
He opened his mouth, but something in my face made him hesitate. Alcohol gives people courage—I know that—but there's a clear difference between tavern bravado and a real death, and I can always tell when someone figures that out. Even so, he held his ground.
"There's no place here for your kind!" he snarled again. "Not in Abateueba. This is a decent town."
I didn't bother answering. I simply picked up the tankard—there was still something left in it—and stepped back. Out of the corner of my eye, I checked the barkeep. He knew my reputation well enough not to overcharge me, but not well enough to step in when some fool decided to start barking. When our eyes met, the color drained from his face and he suddenly found something fascinating to look at behind the counter.
From the edge of my vision, I saw the drunk's hand rise toward me. I caught his fingers before they landed, locked the joint at the right angle, and applied pressure. The big body buckled, his knees gave, and his chin came down hard against the tabletop.
The tavern shifted in an instant. Chairs scraped, someone shouted something that got swallowed by the noise, and one patron bolted for the door. The barkeep was staring at me now—fear and relief on his face in equal measure. An honest combination, I'll give him that.
I kept the drunk's finger pinned and twisted his arm just enough to force him upright. When he managed to stand, I let go. He pulled back, pressing his hand against his chest.
"When the drunk wears off, light a candle for the goddess Aurora and thank her I was in a good mood," I said, pulling out the chair and sitting back down facing the window.
The drunk kept backing away without looking where he was going, tripped over his own foot, but caught himself this time. Nobody tried to stop him. They just opened up a path and let him go.
The silence that settled was thick, but not unpleasant. I straightened the table, and in that space Syllee appeared in front of my face, hovering.
"You should've turned him into a pig—would've been much more fun…" she said, frowning. "Besides, your magic is collecting dust."
"It's not collecting dust," I said quickly, not looking at her. "And I don't need to turn drunks into pigs just to entertain you."
Syllee drifted to my side with her hands on her hips, letting out a sigh.
"When was the last time you used magic? And that annoying mental block you throw up every time you don't want to talk to me doesn't count."
I brought the tankard to my lips and finished what was left of the mead before answering:
"I wasn't going to transform him just because he ran his mouth."
Syllee studied my face like she was looking for cracks, then shrugged.
"And why not?" she murmured. "The other pigs would complain about the competition?"
I was already opening my mouth to fire something back when a chill crawled up the back of my neck. I didn't need an explanation. I turned just enough to confirm what my body had already figured out.
The red cloak caught my eye first, then the military cut of blond hair. I was on my feet before I'd fully taken in the rest, but one look was enough—the face was handsome, if you go for a conventional kind of handsome.
Strong jaw, blond stubble worn short enough to read as deliberate. Blue eyes that contrasted with my green ones, and the way he was watching me made it clear he already knew who I was.
"If you're here to arrest me, it wasn't my fault," I said, holding his gaze. "The man came at me unprovoked."
Syllee whistled beside me—not subtle about it—and started circling him in the air with more interest than I liked.
"He's good-looking," she murmured, drifting slowly around him. "Maybe getting arrested isn't such a bad deal…"
I rolled my eyes before turning back to the man in the red cloak. The leather armor covered his torso and shoulders—flexible enough not to restrict movement. I made a mental note of that. This man preferred mobility over heavy protection, which takes confidence, especially for someone who carries authority on the street.
"Are you Lady Zara?" the stranger asked.
Deep voice. Certain of its own weight. I crossed my arms and looked him over from head to toe the same way he was doing to me—watching his posture, the rhythm of his breathing, his hands. One of them rested on the pommel of his sword.
"Depends," I said with a crooked smile. "If you're another head of the guard working for some desperate noble whose daughter went missing and needs my help, then no. Tonight I'm just a cleaning lady."
He let out a short laugh and adjusted his shoulders.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Zara," the stranger said, dipping his head. "My name is Elend."
He held my gaze without flinching, his expression steady—no sideways glances, no sizing me up from the edges. Few men hold still when they realize they're being evaluated back. I tilted my head just enough to let him know I'd noticed.
"Well then, Mr. Elend…" I set the tankard on the table. "Are you going to keep looking me over like merchandise, or are you going to say what you came to say? Are you here to hire me, or do you need a potion to soften the heart of an ungrateful lover?"
Elend laughed again.
"I'm still deciding whether to hire you or arrest you. Though I might also consider inviting you to… an encounter in some dark and dangerous castle," he replied.
The corner of my mouth almost gave way, but I caught the surprise before it showed. Humor helps—it doesn't impress me, but it helps. He moved up a few notches on my mental list either way.
In the air, Syllee spun as if the space were a stage and shot me a mischievous smile.
"The tension between you two is… something," she said, fanning herself. "Maybe you should give him a chance and hear what he has to say."
I tracked her movement with my eyes and raised an eyebrow. Syllee rarely got this curious about strangers. If she was intrigued, there was something here I hadn't noticed yet. I turned back to Elend with a few fewer walls up.
"Is that Lady Syllee?" Elend asked, his eyes moving through the air in a clear attempt to follow her path.
"You can see her?"
"Not completely." He fixed his eyes back on me. "But I can hear her."
"Syl, don't be rude," I said. "Show yourself to Mr. Elend."
She appeared in a swirl right in front of his face and executed a bow calculated precisely to provoke. Elend took a step back. That genuine reaction pleased me more than any performance of composure would have.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Elend," Syllee announced with elaborate sweetness. "I promise I'm the levelheaded one in this pair."
"That explains a great deal," Elend replied, returning the bow.
I crossed my arms and gestured to the chair across from me with a tilt of my chin.
"If you can perceive her, you have an affinity for mana," I said. "Sit down, Mr. Elend."
"Thank you, Milady." He pulled out the chair. "And yes—I can channel mana to reinforce my body."
I pressed two fingers to the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes for a moment. Few people still had that in this age, beyond mages.
"If you don't mind—where did you learn that?"
"From old Alaric," Elend said.
I opened my mouth and closed it again. The surprise slipped out before I could reel it back in.
"You… were his student? You look far too young to have trained under him. Are you half-elven?"
He nodded. I straightened in my seat and looked at him again, this time with different eyes.
"Then tell me—how can I help the disciple of my old friend?" I asked. "I doubt you came all this way just to confirm how I helped the Celestial Hero escape from the Lord of Shadows' castle."
Elend didn't smile this time. In fact, he drew his brows together.
"Actually, I came to ask whether you're available."
I crossed my legs slowly, holding his gaze, and let the silence stretch a beat too long.
"Depends," I said with a sideways smile. "Right now there's nobody warming my bed and I'm between jobs, so… maybe I am available."
The silence that followed was brief, but it said everything. I watched the near-invisible adjustment cross Elend's face—that fraction of a second where he'd understood something different from what I'd meant and had to recalculate.
"That's a tempting offer," he said, the corner of his mouth giving him away. "I could take it so many ways, and I'd gladly take the better ones—but the best things deserve proper attention, and you deserve more than my divided focus. For now, I mean work."
I tilted my head, as though genuinely lamenting the confusion, and held my advantage one more beat.
"What a shame," I sighed, making a small pout. "I was already thinking it over. It's been a while since my bed had any company. If I recall correctly… the last time was when your master passed through it."
Syllee burst out laughing beside me, and Elend cleared his throat before allowing a controlled smile.
I rested my elbow on the table and let my chin settle into my hand. There was control in every one of his gestures—a deliberate effort to hold a neutral expression—but the tension showed in the details, mostly in his eyes shifting back and forth between me and Syllee.
"All right, Mr. Elend," I said. "What kind of mission brings an imperial guard all the way to this end of the world?"
Elend furrowed his brow.
"Is it true you can kill a werewolf?"
I raised my tankard and signaled for another before answering. For a moment, I thought of Alaric. A hundred and twenty-five years had passed since our first mission together—and he'd called on me then for a werewolf hunt, too.
"Are we talking about a young one?" I asked, setting the tankard down.
"I can't say for certain," Elend said. "I'm not even sure it's a werewolf, but a request came in to the adventurers' guild. A group was sent out, and we haven't heard back."
I nodded, connecting the pieces.
"So the guild called in the imperial guard?"
"Not right away," he said. "First they summoned one of the witchers, and only after that did the request come up to the guard."
I leaned in slightly and kept my eyes on him.
"And the witcher?"
"No one saw him arrive. No one saw him leave."
I dragged my finger around the rim of the tankard and arranged the pieces in my mind. None of this surprised me. Beside me, Syllee hovered in silence—which, from her, was already answer enough.
"How many adventurers?"
"Five or six."
I exhaled through my nose.
"And a missing witcher…" I said. "It's definitely an adult werewolf. Most likely female. Probably close to giving birth."
"What makes you say that?" Elend asked, frowning.
"Female werewolves only dig into a territory and hunt at that pace when they're pregnant. They need to feed what's coming. If she stayed, she has a reason to fight. A young female would've just run and found less contested ground. She's likely there with an alpha."
Elend blinked several times before nodding.
"So it's not just a stray magical beast that wandered into a remote area?"
I shook my head.
"No… she's probably been there for months. She only moved to a more sheltered position when the birth started getting close."
Syllee's slight weight settled on my shoulder. She propped her chin on her own hand and looked over at Elend.
"Can I ask something?" she said.
"Of course, Lady Syllee."
She tilted her head.
"Did your master tell you how he met us? I mean—what was happening in that city when he hired us?"
Elend took a moment, as though sorting through a memory, then nodded.
"He said it was during a hunt. A city overrun by werewolves—the whole town under their control."
Syllee confirmed it with a slow nod and shot me a sideways glance. The memory came without an invitation. I gave my head a small shake, pushed it aside, and turned back to Elend.
"How many people live in the area?" I asked.
"Maybe a thousand, maybe two. The last census was done years ago."
Syllee let out a quiet breath beside me.
"Zara, we have to take it."
"I know."
"Then why are you still hesitating?" she murmured. "You know what happens when a werewolf's instincts get tangled up with desperation."
Elend shifted in his chair, like he'd missed a key part of the conversation, and looked at me.
"What is Lady Syllee talking about?"
I turned back to him.
"When a female werewolf gives birth, the lycanthropy can become transmissible. Blood, saliva, even a scratch is enough. The curse spreads like a plague."
Elend's expression darkened.
"So we could be looking at an epidemic?"
"We could," I said. "In a few weeks the entire region could be overrun. Ordinary people turned into beasts that can't hold back their own instincts."
"Given all that—can you help us?" Elend asked.
I let the air out and felt the familiar weight come back with it. A red cloak in this part of the empire didn't add up. Jobs like this usually went to the gold cloaks—which told me there was more here than a distress call. Something about him didn't fit together right.
Either Elend had been sent for a specific reason, or he was conveniently leaving out parts of the story.
"I'm not a hero anymore, Mr. Elend, and the last emperor I helped has been dead for decades," I said, nodding toward the empty leather pouch on the table. "But… how much are we talking?"
"Twenty gold coins and three barrels of wine," Elend replied. "The region is known for some of the best on the continent."
I looked up with more interest than I'd meant to show.
"So it's in Oakhaven?"
Elend nodded.
"We'll take it!" Syllee said before I could open my mouth.
I exhaled and let the thoughts pile up. Wine. Oakhaven. Alaric. All things I'd have preferred to keep buried in that soil.
"Are you sure?" I asked Syllee. "Don't come crying to me later about the smell of wet goat."
"With twenty gold coins, I'll bathe every day for years and still have enough left over to buy you perfume," Syllee said, laughing. "Besides, you were going to say yes the moment you heard the name of the city."
I narrowed my eyes at her, then turned back to Elend.
"Fair enough," I said. "Just don't go back on the payment, Mr. Elend."
"The Crown will honor your fee, Milady. But… may I ask something?"
I gave him a short nod.
"Why did the name of the city change your mind?"
I crossed my arms and let the silence stretch while I carefully measured what I could let out and what had to stay in.
"There are two things worth anything in that region," I said.
Syllee raised her hand like she was asking permission, glancing sideways at me.
"The first is the most obvious," she said, rising and gliding in a slow circle around Elend. "The wine Zara is obsessed with. But the second thing is that it's close to our real reason for coming to the northeast of the empire."
Elend laughed quietly and gave a brief nod of acknowledgment.
"Can I ask what that objective is?"
I held his gaze without rushing.
"For now, we focus on the mission," I said. "The rest is private business, Mr. Elend—and it'll stay that way until you give me a reason to trust you. Just because you were the Celestial Hero's student—and my closest friend's—doesn't mean I'm putting my life in the hands of a red cloak."
