A pair of armored guards stormed in after the first, each carrying heavy bone truncheons, their eyes sweeping the tavern. One didn’t make it two steps before thick arms snatched him from behind, dragging him back through the shattered doorway. His strangled cry cut off in the growing cacophony outside as his partner spun on his heel, darting after him into whatever melee was going on.

  “Withering flames of mawchewed carrion,” the stocky woman snarled. “Dalton!” she barked, dashing across the room toward the first man who’d been hurled through the door. She hauled him upright with very little effort. “What in the fade-blasted depths is going on?”

  Dalton groaned, head lolling until his eyes finally focused. Vera thought she caught him muttering something about the guards across the room, but his words were too muffled to make out clearly.

  The woman scowled, looking toward the door. The other Hollowstone Table members—those not slumped drunk at their seats—gathered around her, wary gazes moving between the guard lying prone on the floor and the fight spilling in from outside.

  Soon, though, the ruckus ebbed, and then more guards poured in through the open door, filing one after the other until over a dozen bone-helmed figures crowded the entrance. Vera was surprised to detect at least three or four Kindled among them.

  “Mommy…” Serel’s small voice came next to her. “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know,” Vera murmured, tugging her hood lower as she shifted to sit more squarely between Serel and the building standoff.

  “Crawford,” the stocky woman spat, gaze narrowing at one of the guards. Even with his head mostly enclosed in a bone-plate helm, his hulking frame made him stand out. “You wretch. What are you doing?”

  “We’re taking you into custody, Caja.”

  “For what?”

  “For defiance of the Concord’s edict,” he said firmly. “Though the list of your transgressions is so long it’s a miracle it’s taken this long. Don’t be as foolish as your companions outside. Striking city guards will only worsen your fate.”

  His gaze slid down to the unconscious guard at their feet, and his mouth tightened behind the helm.

  The woman—Caja, Vera supposed—let out something between a laugh and a growl. “We ain’t broken any damned edict, you jackass. And you think we’ll let this pass?”

  “I don’t think anything. Either you submit willingly… or we take you by force.”

  The Hollowstone Table people bristled almost as one, shoulders squaring. That said, the guards outnumbered them nearly two to one and hadn’t been drinking all morning long.

  “You’re not doing anything by force in my house!” A bellow shook the room as the tavern’s matron burst from the kitchen, meat cleaver flashing in her fist, her single eye snapping straight to Crawford. “What’s got you blusterin’ in here, bustin’ down my door, athend menacin’ my guests?”

  Crawford turned to her. “…It’s unfortunate, but your ‘guests’ have defied the Concord’s law. Their resistance caused the damage. If anything, you should be directing your anger at them. I might question why you let your establishment become a den for such people in the first place, but that’s not the issue right now.”

  “Unfortunate, my arse.” The matron’s glare sharpened. “You could’ve had your quarrel out with ‘em at the Table, but no—you had to drag it here, at mine. Ain’t none in these parts who don’t know Blazegrip and his folk keep their cups full under my roof, so don’t go pretendin’ this is some accident. You knew damn well what you were doin’ when you kicked in my door.”

  The man was silent for a beat, then turned back to Caja and the others. “I take it you’ll resist?”

  “’Course we will, jackass,” Caja snarled.

  “Then this is on you.”

  The guards spread wide, encircling the Table members. The few unaffiliated patrons quickly slipped from their tables to press against the walls, leaving the center open. The matron stood rooted with her cleaver, glaring daggers, but staying where she was. From the kitchen doorway, Vera spotted Gloria peeking outside beside a stout man, both faces tight with concern.

  Vera watched the lines square off. She still didn’t know what was going on. It sounded to her like some sort of politicking might be involved, though Crawford and the Hollowstone folk clearly had some old grudges too. Given the Table’s rough reputation, that wasn’t too surprising.

  But the timing was suspicious, wasn’t it? The day the Table’s leader returned from an expedition, the guards went after his people? Right after Vera had warned the Chapter’s Vice-Master about some sort of large ritual at work in the city, one its orchestrators surely would have realized was exposed after she slaughtered those creatures under the Marrowvault?

  She studied Caja and her people.

  If this had come down to raw strength, the Chapter would probably have won. But unarmored and half-drunk against guards in full plate, the odds didn’t look in their favor. Right now, Vera would be surprised if they weren’t beaten bloody, dragged into cells, and gods knew what after.

  None of it was really her problem, though. She was technically a Chapter member, but the guards didn’t know that, and she had no ties to this expedition. The smartest thing she could do was stay out of it, keep Serel safe, and later pry answers from Gard.

  So why was she rising from her seat?

  The first guard swung his truncheon down at one of the Hollowstone Table men—the tall one with scars across his nose. The man caught the blow on his forearms with a sharp crack, grunted, then drove his shoulder into the guard’s chest and sent him crashing backward, splintering a chair to pieces. Two more guards rushed in from behind to club him down, but none of his companions could help as every one of them was suddenly tied up by the rest of the guards.

  Chaos swallowed the room. The matron hovered at the edge of it, fist clenching around the cleaver until her knuckles went white, her eye darting over the fighting as if she wanted to intervene, but hesitated.

  “Mommy…” Serel whispered.

  Vera glanced back, then placed a steadying hand on the girl’s head. “Stay here and be careful, okay? Don’t get involved.”

  No one in their right mind would drag a fight into a child’s lap. Hopefully. If they did, Vera would make them regret it. Worst-case scenario, Howl was waiting in Serel’s shadow.

  She tugged her hood even lower, adjusted the false spectacles tight against her nose, and started crossing the room. The matron spotted her, moving to block her.

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  “Lady, you shouldn’t—”

  Vera lifted a hand. “Don’t. I’ll be fine.”

  She passed the woman without slowing, eyes locking on Crawford, who was trading blows with Caja along with another guard. The woman held her ground, arms up to block, teeth bared as she deflected their heavy strikes.

  Vera noticed that none of the Table folk seemed to draw on any greater Forms or Marks, which was curious. Whether it was out of restraint in the cramped space, or simply a lack of weapons or being drunk, she couldn’t tell. In contrast, though, at least two of the guards had already flared First Seal Forms, small traces of Resonance humming through their truncheons hard enough to gouge the floor and draw some blood.

  The lanky middle-aged man who had approached Vera earlier kicked out at two advancing guards not far from her, forcing them back a step. But he didn’t see the one circling in from behind, weapon raised to smash down on his skull.

  Vera tracked the movement for a moment, then sighed. Her hand shot out, grabbing the lanky man’s collar and yanking him aside just as the weapon slammed down. The man almost yelped, and the guard was thrown off balance by the force of his own swing as it missed. Four pairs of eyes turned toward her at once, as if only registering she was in the middle of things. For a heartbeat, no one seemed to know what to do with her sudden presence.

  Then one of the guards stepped forward and attacked.

  Mark of Ashen Slip.

  Cinders burned in her veins. She leaned lightly to the side, shifted forward, and in the blink of an eye she was standing behind him, back turned. The man froze, realizing he’d swung at empty air. Two of his fellows exchanged a glance, then abandoned their previous target to come at her together.

  Two strikes slashed in from opposite sides—but to Vera, they might as well have been crawling. She slipped between them, brushing under one’s guard and letting him trip over his own overcorrection. He crashed into his partner, both of them staggering in a tangle of limbs without her ever lifting a hand.

  She didn’t bother to finish them.

  Vera walked on, weaving through the melee as if it parted for her. Another guard lunged, with a chair raised high. She shuffled, letting his strike falter as she stepped neatly into his space, forcing him to recoil. She caught the falling chair by one leg as it slipped from his hands, spun it with a flick, and slammed the frame down across another guard’s arms that reached for her. His head snapped into the backrest with a crack.

  She grimaced, muttering an inward apology to the matron, then ducked under a wild swing aimed at her skull. She slipped past, momentum carrying her toward the heart of the fight, where Crawford and Caja were.

  Caja drove her fist into the midsection of another guard. The blow rang off bone-plate with a dull thud, but the man staggered all the same. Blood dripped from Caja’s nose, and two more of her companions were already sprawled unconscious on the floor.

  Crawford’s gaze snapped to Vera as she approached, his strike pausing mid-motion. “Who are you—?”

  Her hand rose, catching the shaft of a truncheon that had been moving for her. She guided it past with a twist of her wrist, stepping around another guard without her breaking stride. Her eyes fixed on Crawford.

  “I don’t suppose I can ask you to stop this? I’ve got a little girl watching, and I’d rather she not grow up thinking tavern brawls are normal. I’m a poor enough influence as it is.”

  Crawford’s eyes narrowed in the slit of his helm. “You’re with them, then.”

  “That’s debatable.” Vera flicked a glance at Caja, who had also frozen to stare at her, then returned her focus to him. “Look, I’ve been careful not to hurt your people too much. And I happen to know some of the Hollowstone leadership. If you really had cause to take them in, you’d get more out of speaking to the Chapter directly than trying to batter them drunk in a tavern. They’re not about to war with the whole city guard. So why not call this off and pick it up properly later?”

  A hush rolled across the room. The scuffle ebbed as guards and Hollowstone alike slowed, glancing toward her. Crawford stood rigid, watching her closely, as if trying to pierce the shadow of her hood. “…Who are you?”

  “A concerned citizen. The matron here’s been decent enough, and I’d rather not see her place torn apart because of your little brawl.” Vera looked at Caja again. “That goes for you, too. If you wanted to get beaten senseless, you could’ve had the decency to do it outside.”

  The woman’s mouth twisted into a glower, but she said nothing.

  Crawford was still for a beat, then leveled his truncheon at her. “If you insist on interfering, we’ll be taking you in as well.”

  Vera raised an eyebrow. “I doubt you can. That’s why I’m offering you the chance to walk away.”

  “If you didn’t want trouble, you shouldn’t have involved yourself.”

  “Well,” Vera sighed again, “somehow I think I would’ve regretted it if I didn’t.”

  She really hoped her instincts were right—otherwise she’d just stirred up an even bigger mess for nothing.

  The guards moved.

  Four of them—Crawford among them—closed on her at once. Even without Mark of Ashen Slip, Vera doubted they’d have landed a single blow. But with it, she flowed under and around them almost lazily, slipping through the gaps of their reach, brushing close enough that their own allies blocked each other’s swings before darting out again.

  The remaining Chapter members freed up by the pressure hesitated, watching her with uncertainty. For a moment Vera thought they might rush to her aid, but in the end, they seemed to decide she didn’t need it. Instead, they moved to pull their fallen companions out of the way.

  Vera supposed that was smart enough. She didn’t blame them.

  Blows rained from every side, but to her they were clumsy, predictable. She bent and turned, always a breath beyond their strikes, watching frustration simmer in the guards’ eyes beneath their helms. More broke off to join, until nearly ten circled her, some starting to snarl curses. Crawford in particular barked expletives—loud enough that Vera winced inwardly, hoping Serel hadn’t caught them—as he tried to bring his larger frame and his Resonance down on her. First and Second Seal Forms cracked through his truncheon, but still, he couldn’t catch her.

  She kept weighing her options, considering the cleanest way to handle this. That is, right until Crawford’s Resonance surged sharply, and she realized he was using a Third Seal Form. That was almost guaranteed to leave a significant chunk of their surroundings in splinters.

  Instantly, Vera slipped forward before he could finish. His eyes widened at the sudden closeness. As he tried to react, her hand snapped out and caught his wrist.

  Hollow Veins.

  The Fourth Seal Form flared first. A gray shimmer rippled through her gloves as Crawford’s body locked up. Resonance flowed into her in a sharp pull, and his skin drained of color. His knees buckled. Then he toppled, collapsing face-first onto the tavern floor.

  The other guards stiffened.

  Vera looked down at him, focusing her senses until she picked out the steady thrum of his pulse. Good. He wasn’t dead, at least.

  She had held back as much as she could, though it still felt somewhat excessive. Hollow Veins was meant to sap a little Resonance mid-battle, working as a sustain tool in Ashen Legacy. She didn’t have any actual non-lethal options in her kit, but she’d suspected this Form could serve as one if she drained enough of an opponent’s energy to knock them out.

  That much seemed accurate.

  Her gaze swept to the other guards, and they flinched under it.

  No point dragging it out at this point. She stepped into the nearest guard’s space. He tried to retreat, but her hand was already at the back of his neck. He hit the floor an instant later, skin pale as chalk.

  The rest followed quickly. Vera was far too fast, moving through them one after another. Even when the last four realized the hopelessness and started pleading for mercy, she didn’t stop, tagging each with Hollow Veins until they all crumpled. In less than half a minute, she stood surrounded by motionless guards, an eerie quiet pressing down over the area.

  Rolling her head and cracking her neck, Vera turned to Caja, who was staring rather rudely. “You’ve certainly caused a mess. Any idea what you’re going to do about this?”

  The woman didn’t respond. Neither did the other Hollowstone members, all of them staring in the same way.

  Vera’s eyes drifted over them, then across the rest of the room, and she realized every single person was looking at her in some variation of the same way—wide-eyed, some with fear etched into their faces.

  She frowned, then glanced down at the guards. Their skin appeared almost lifeless.

  “Oh.” She glanced back up. “I realize how this looks, but they’re not dead. Just knocked out. They’ll be up and about in…” She tilted her head, scratching her cheek. “…maybe a day? Or two. A week at most.”

  It depended on how quickly their Resonance regenerated. For her, it would’ve been about a day.

  She turned to the matron. “Sorry, by the way. For causing an actual scene this time.”

  The woman just looked, cleaver still in hand. Then she gave a short chuckle, shaking her head. “I thought I recognized you, lady. Been a while since you last came through. But a mess like this? No doubt about who you are.”

  Vera’s hand dropped to her side. “Ah.”

  She might actually have been recognized this time.