The messenger from the Wasps didn't appear neither the next day, nor the day after. Reed waited, but his patience was a taut string. Just one touch, and it would snap, leaving no telling what might follow. The problem wasn't just the shrinking deadline of his contract, but the dawning realization that someone might suspect his involvement in the brothel attack hadn't unfolded quite as he’d claimed. In that case, his life would depend entirely on how fast his legs were. If the truth came to light, not only the Wasps but the Argain guards would begin their hunt. Perhaps even Ermod would place a bounty on his head.

  Through those long days, Reed wandered Argain, accomplishing nothing useful. Inaction bred a restless anxiety, making him feel as though he were treading water rather than advancing. He needed rest, but Reed didn't know how to rest. Most of the city's establishments remained closed to his kind, not for a lack of gold, but simply because he was an elf.

  One evening, he returned to the Three Swords. It stank, but it offered a roof, and luxury was a question he no longer had the right to ask. More importantly, it was a place where he could at least maintain the illusion of being occupied. Despite having nowhere to sleep, Reed had invested in new attire. It had cost him a full gold piece, but he couldn't complain about the result.

  He was now armored in light plates with burgundy insets, fastened over his shirt with a complex web of straps that made his body appear almost constricted by them. He still refused gloves, believing they dulled the "feeling" of a weapon. Light metal plates and knee guards protected his legs, held firm by leather lacings. Over it all, he wore a dark burgundy hooded cloak, useful for concealing both his elven ears and the heavy steel at his belt.

  The bar held only a handful of souls, mostly grimy workers and peasants seeking to drown away the day's labor. Eliza was hovering near the counter, but when she noticed him, her face beamed like a newly minted coin. She waited until Reed took a seat, then approached him.

  "I was certain you had lied to me," she said, her smile widening.

  Reed found himself momentarily surprised by her teeth; they were all there, and remarkably white. It was an astonishing sight for the inhabitants of these slums, but Eliza clearly had little desire to conform to the local standards of decay. She denied the typical tavern fashion of Argain—dresses designed to let the breasts nearly spill from the corset—which even the poorest girls favored. Instead, she wore something more modest, though it couldn't quite contain her spirit. Fluffy red hair escaped her bun in every direction, strands clinging to a freckled face damp with thin layer of sweat. She didn't bother to brush them away, and Reed found the sight almost endearing in a detached way.

  "I thought I had, too," Reed replied.

  Eliza let out a bright laugh. Reed offered a thin smile in return, though he hadn't been joking.

  Up close, Eliza was scrawny, her dress hanging loosely on a frame that seemed to lack enough meat to fill it. Dark shadows pooled under her eyes, and even in the flickering yellow candlelight, she looked deathly pale. Her lips were so pale they nearly vanished into her face, and she licked them constantly, as if trying to coax some color back into them.

  "So, did you come back for me?" she asked once her laughter subsided.

  "Yes," Reed lied.

  If he had told the truth, she would have been offended. Not that Reed truly cared for her feelings, but Eliza was one of the few who showed him no contempt, even if she felt it. So he was willing to play this game, even while knowing that kreyghars were ultimately the same everywhere.

  "I was sure you wouldn't," she admitted.

  "Why?"

  "You don't look like a man who keeps his promises," she said with a knowing smirk. Reed couldn't argue with that; it was a fair assessment of his character.

  "Perhaps," Reed murmured, "I just like the taste of failed expectations."

  "So you..." Eliza fell silent, as if changing her mind at the last second. She waved a hand, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Will you have anything? There aren't many people tonight, but we have the good stuff."

  "For example?"

  "There's ale, tsipur, rum..."

  "Tsipur?" Reed's eyes widened.

  "Yes, but I wouldn't recommend it. Bells will be ringing in your head by morning."

  "Then no, Mother save me," Reed murmured.

  "There is wine."

  "Is that all?" Reed asked, his tone sharpening into a mock.

  "Well, excuse me, your lordship. You haven't exactly walked into the capital."

  "Have I not?"

  "Anything that isn't the Eastern City isn't the capital, it’s just called that," she muttered, a flash of cynicism in her voice.

  "Would you look at that," Reed replied, not without a touch of genuine enjoyment.

  "So, are you going to have something or not?" Eliza was becoming noticeably irritated, and Reed couldn't help but lean into the feeling.

  "Give me the wine."

  "Is that all?"

  "Why? Is there something else?"

  "I... what else did you want?" she asked, her face clouding with a mixture of misunderstanding and confusion. It seemed as though, in all her time behind the counter, no one had ever pushed her this way.

  "It all depends on what you have," Reed said, doing it purely out of spite now. He knew he was being difficult, but he couldn't stop himself.

  "Well, I can find out..."

  "Go then. Find out what isn't here."

  "Everything except what is here!" Eliza finally snapped, her anger flaring.

  "Then I want something from what isn't here." Reed leaned his elbows on the table, examining her face as it flushed with rage. Beneath the anger, however, the blush looked sickly. It was an unhealthy hue that required no healer to recognize as a sign of something deeper and darker.

  "Are you mocking me?"

  "Yes. Sorry," Reed said, the cruelty leaving him as quickly as it had arrived. "Just the wine. I won't have anything else."

  Eliza didn't answer. She walked away in a cold silence, returning a couple of minutes later to slam the mug onto the table before leaving without another word. Reed watched her go, realizing he had likely offended her. He knew how to be an asshole; sometimes it simply slipped out, a jagged edge of his personality that he couldn't always blunt, even when he didn't intend to be outright rude.

  He sat alone, sipping the sour wine and brooding. His thoughts scattered like spiders across the floor, and he couldn't gather them into a heap. He tried to understand why the Wasps were dragging their feet for so long, and whether the silence was a sign that a hit had already been put out on him. Be that as it may, Reed waited, but he couldn't shake the weight of his gloomy assumptions.

  Eliza, meanwhile, moved among the patrons, serving beer and ale. Reed’s thoughts suddenly veered in a different direction. Why was she here? Why labor in this stinking tavern, and how had she found no better life for herself? Reed was wrenched from his reflections on the futility of Eliza’s existence by the woman herself. Not directly, of course.

  A group of peasants sat in the far corner, and she had been serving them ale all evening. As soon as she set down a mug, one of them lunged, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward him. The group erupted into disgusting laughter. Reed watched with a cold interest, though his palm already rested on the hilt of his dagger. It wasn't that he particularly cared about Eliza’s honor, but he believed that inaction was a form of complicity, and Reed couldn't afford to participate in such filth.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  Eliza, however, managed without him. She shoved the drunken body away and delivered a ringing slap. The gesture couldn't go unanswered, and Reed knew he could no longer remain a spectator. One of the men snatched her by the hair, but he didn't have time to do anything else. Reed approached from behind and pressed the tip of his dagger against the man’s belly.

  "Let go," Reed said quietly, "or I’ll get you rid of your liver. How will you drink then?"

  The kreyghar sitting nearby tried to pull Reed off his companion, but he never made it. Reed had always considered hitting drunks akin to hitting children, but he couldn't restrain himself. He snatched a clay mug from the neighboring table and smashed it directly into the drunkard's teeth. The mug cracked, but the teeth didn’t, though it was enough to send him reeling back into his seat.

  "Sit for a while," Reed commanded.

  The tension in the room began to simmer toward a boiling point, but the tavern owner cut through it.

  "You pay separate for the girl!" he bellowed. "Now scatter, or I'll throw you out. And you—" he poked a finger at Reed— "you owe me for the mug!"

  "Choke on it," Reed grumbled, grabbing Eliza by the hand.

  The kreyghar who had been holding her released her hair but glared at Reed with pure malice. "You'll answer for this, long-eared bastard!" he growled, falling back into his chair. "I'll find you."

  "As soon as you sober up," Reed countered.

  As soon as they stepped back a couple of paces, Eliza broke free from Reed’s grip and ran away. He remained standing alone in the middle of the room, momentarily confused. Every eye was on him, but the silence was absolute. He was just about to sit back down when Eliza returned. She ripped off her apron, threw it at the bar owner’s face, and hissed:

  "Wear it yourself until morning!"

  "Hey! Who's going to work?!" the owner shouted after her. "I'll fire you! Go herd cows!"

  "When you find someone willing to work in your shithole, then you can fire me!" Eliza screamed, flying out of the tavern as if she had been burned.

  "What a bitch..." the owner muttered, shaking his head as he stooped to retrieve the discarded apron.

  Reed didn't waste another moment. He tossed the coins onto the scarred counter with a sharp, metallic ring. "This covers everything: the wine and the mug. Though the wine, of course, was swill."

  "Go on, get out. You’ll get what's coming to you soon enough, cursed scum," the man mumbled. He didn't dare raise his voice; he had seen enough to know Reed was a man of the blade, not a target to be trifled with.

  Reed measured the kreyghar with a look of pure disgust, adjusted his belt, and headed for the exit. As soon as the door swung shut, the tavern erupted into a low buzz as the patrons dissected the scene. He was certain they were trading insults about the arrogance of "long-eared filth," but he didn't care.

  Eliza hadn't made it far. Reed caught up with her quickly, reaching for her arm, but he immediately regretted the contact as he barely dodged a frantic slap. When she realized who was touching her, her bravado shattered instantly. Her lower lip trembled, and tears welled in her eyes.

  "Why are you coming after me?" she asked, her voice cracking.

  "Why shouldn't I?"

  "They kicked you out, didn't they?"

  Reed simply nodded, releasing her hand. "You alright?"

  She shook her head. "It’s not the first time. I should be used to it by now, but I can't."

  Reed sighed, the weight of the city pressing on him. He hesitated for a long, awkward moment before asking, "Walk you home?"

  "Why?"

  "Well... you never know what scum is prowling around these streets." He almost added 'like me', but bit his tongue just in time.

  "What's it to you?"

  Reed was momentarily taken aback; he didn't truly know why he cared. Instead of searching for an answer he didn't have, he simply shrugged.

  "Let’s go, then."

  She turned sharply and set a brisk pace, but her energy flagged almost immediately. A wheezing whistle began to rattle in her chest, and several times she nearly broke into a fit of coughing. She pressed one hand to her stomach and the other over her mouth, slowing her stride. Reed watched her from the corner of his eye, pretending not to notice her struggle. In the harsh reality of Argain, if it were truly important, she would have said something.

  "Why do you work there if it’s so bad?" he asked, keeping pace with her through the dim streets.

  Eliza looked at him as if horns had suddenly sprouted from his skull. "Because not everyone is lucky, and not everyone is like you."

  "What do I have to do with it?"

  "Because when we first met, you looked like a roadside vagrant. Now? If the sun were out, the glint from your polished armor would draw the crows from miles away. And those weapons... they say you aren’t planning on tilling any soil."

  "Everyone has their use," Reed replied coldly. "Everyone does what they can."

  "And what is it you can do?"

  "I'm a mercenary."

  "A killer?"

  "Yes."

  "And what? You never thought of living differently?"

  "Did you?" Reed countered. "Do you truly think you have a grand choice in the matter?"

  "You think you know so much?"

  "You said it yourself, not everyone is lucky. If there was a choice, you wouldn't be this angry, and you wouldn't be turning my own questions against me. I can see the truth of it. Your family has no coin, and you take whatever scraps the world drops. At your age, it's either rotting in a field, hovering around the wealthy fat pricks in a brothel, or serving ale in a hole like the Three Swords. The fields are a burden your body can't bear, and the brothels... I suppose they offend your honor, though I’m surprised you have any left…"

  Reed didn't finish. Eliza stopped dead in her tracks and delivered a stinging slap across his face.

  "Just because I'm poorer than you, it doesn't give you the right to decide how much honor I have," she spat, her voice trembling with a raw, jagged fury. "How much honor is in you, mercenary? What is your honor worth when you’ve already put a price on a life?"

  Instead of striking back, Reed simply smiled, looking down at her. He had truly offended her. He believed that kreyghars were far too arrogant and that he was justified in dragging them down from the heavens to the earth. But he hadn't just "taken her down a notch"; he had trampled her into the mud when she was already on her knees.

  "Did I insult you?" she continued, her voice rising. "Did I call you a slave from Belden who was merely lucky enough to escape his chains? Did I say that even if you wrap yourself in expensive steel and climb into higher circles, your fate is still written on your face for everyone to see? Did I say that to you?"

  As she spoke, Reed’s expression darkened instantly. The smile vanished. He was no longer amused.

  "Did I say that to you?" Eliza repeated, refusing to back down.

  Reed simply shook his head, the coldness returning to his eyes.

  "That's the point," she whispered, the fire in her eyes turning into a hard, accusatory light. "The whole point is that I have enough honor to treat you as an equal, not as a pig to be bought and sold. So... what do you have to say to that?"

  Reed said nothing. In a single, predatory stride, he closed the distance between them, his hand finding the nape of her neck as he pulled her into a kiss. Her lips were hot, feverishly so, much hotter than his own. And Reed knew exactly why. At first, Eliza fought him, her teeth sharp against his mouth, but then her resistance shattered. She surrendered, burying one hand in his hair and wrapping the other around his shoulder, pulling him closer.

  When Reed finally broke away, Eliza whispered, "I'll take that as an apology."

  He didn't answer. He had no words for this, and certainly no concept of the love people spoke of in songs. To Reed, connections were commodities, usually limited to a handful of coins and a single night. What he felt for Eliza wasn't love; it was a sympathy, a debt of gratitude for the respect she had shown him when no one else would. He was not a man built for affection, and he knew better than to seek it. Not just because of his elven blood, but because of what he had become. He crushed every flicker of feeling within himself, and though he sometimes suffered for that, with Eliza, there was no need to struggle. There was simply nothing to suppress.

  They walked on in a heavy silence. When they reached the outskirts of the Western City, where the stone houses gave way to the cramped hovels of the poor, Eliza stopped.

  "Will it please you to know that you were right?" she asked.

  "About what?"

  "About me."

  "No," Reed said, looking at the shack behind her. "I take no joy in another's poverty."

  Eliza was silent for a long moment, searching his eyes. Reed felt a sudden, sharp discomfort under her gaze and wanted to turn away.

  "How long have you been free?" she asked softly.

  "I am not free."

  Eliza raised an eyebrow in surprise. Reed hesitated, the weight of his history pressing against his tongue. "One does not become a slave; one is born a slave. Like me. Even without the chains, I am not free".

  "And that doesn't weigh on you?"

  "No." Reed shook his head, his eyes tracking the jagged outlines of the houses in the dark. "If you cannot change a thing, there is no sense in suffering for it. Life provides enough misery on its own; there's no need to make its job easier."

  "Job?"

  "Life’s job is to break everyone. I see no reason to help it along."

  "Ugh, if I’d known you were this grumpy..." She trailed off, turning her face away.

  "Then you wouldn't have wasted your time?" Reed offered a dry, cynical grin.

  "Who knows?" Eliza laughed then, a loud, almost childish sound that echoed off the cold stone walls of the deserted street. "Actually, I can't afford to waste time. There’s always too little of it."

  "Especially for you," Reed murmured.

  She stiffened, her eyes widening in alarm. "Are you... after me? Is there a hit?"

  Reed snorted, a rare flash of genuine amusement breaking through his mask.

  "You think that's funny?" she snapped.

  "Very. No one put a hit on you, Eliza. But I am no fool, and the Mother blessed me with eyes. I know how to use them."

  "And how long have you known?" she asked, her voice small.

  "Since the moment I saw you up close."

  "Will you leave, then?"

  "You want me to?"

  Instead of answering, Eliza shook her head and offered a weak, trembling smile. She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him again. At first, Reed was frozen in confusion, then he responded, his stronger frame pressing her thin, fragile body against his armor.

  "I have no time," Eliza exhaled against his lips, her words broken by desperate kisses. "But there are things I don't know yet."

  "What things?" he whispered.

  She didn't answer. She simply pulled him toward the small, dark house. Reed didn't remember how they crossed the threshold. It felt like a fever dream: her hot hands and thin, bony shoulders were a delirium he expected to wake from at any moment. But Eliza was real. Especially when she clung to him and begged him not to leave.