"Valas, I've got some news," Theiden said, leaning in over the baker's counter and giving a surreptitious look over his shoulder for any eavesdroppers. As it was late morning and in-between mealtimes, the bakery was empty aside from the two of them, but Theiden felt it a necessary gesture nonetheless.

"What is it?" Valas wiped his hands on his apron and brushed a stray bit of flour off the countertop before giving Theiden his full attention.

"I think I have a lead on the murder of the guards at the north river gate," Theiden said. "I think I know what the witch that killed them is up to."

Valas's eyes widened, the gleam of eagerness in their depths like a glowing ember about to catch fire.

"Well, do tell!" the baker exclaimed.

"That man, Mr. Eltwen, who you referred the witch hunters to--"

"The bookkeeper, yes," Valas recalled, nodding. "What about him?"

Theiden slapped his palms on the countertop. "They're related, Valas! Can you believe it? That man is the father of a witch!"

Valas's mouth dropped open, wide enough to shove a whole slice of cake into. "What? How did you find this out?"

Now confident he had the baker's full attention, Theiden turned to lean an elbow on the counter and withdrew an object from his coat pocket with his other hand, setting it down on the countertop with a delicate clink.

Valas started in silence for a few moments at the glossy red and gold vessel in front of him. "It's a teacup."

Theiden shook his head. "Not just any teacup. It's the witch's teacup. I saw her use it during the time I was her prisoner. She uses it for scrying.  Here--put some water in and I'll show you how it works."

Valas took a step back, hands raised. "I don't want to mess with any witchcraft," he said. "I believe you. But how did you find this?"

Theiden pocketed the teacup. "I went back to search around the river gate and found it beneath a tree just beyond the city wall above the riverbank," he explained. "She must have dropped it in her escape." It had taken a long time to convince Kivirra to hand Gil over, but he wasn't about to admit that truth anytime soon.

"So the old man is the witch's father?" Valas mused. "Well, I suppose that does make sense as to why he would be so willing to help her infiltrate the city." He looked hopefully at Theiden. "Would you mind if I was the one who brought this news to the witch hunters?"

"Of course," Theiden said. "But don't tell them about this teacup yet, would you?" He patted his pocket. "It's shown me there's about to be a big event in the central plaza tonight. The image was a bit cloudy, but I think the witch is going to be there, to enact her revenge on the city. And I'd like to have a head start on catching her. I'm sure you understand."

"Well, after what she's put you through, of course it's understandable," Valas said, but his smile was stretched too wide.

Theiden returned the expression with a nod of thanks and turned to leave, letting the door shut none-too-gently behind him on his way out.

He pretended not to notice the brown hooded figure in the shadows of the next building over as he passed. And when the baker's shop door clicked opened and closed again, this time accompanied by the grinding of a key in a lock, Theiden did not turn to watch as the hooded figure detached itself from its hiding place and followed after the baker as he hurried to inform the witch hunters of his latest acquired knowledge.

The house was silent when Theiden returned.

For a brief minute, Theiden allowed himself to remember how the house had once been: filled with laughter as a younger Em ran around the sitting room during a winter holiday gathering, chased by her uncle, while Malisse shook her head at her brother's antics and stole a bite of crumb tart from Theiden's idle hand. The house would be filled with delicious smells as his mother prepared the large noonday meal.

The images faded away to the threadbare rugs and sparse furniture that remained, and Theiden's sad smile slipped away. That was all in the past now. Not only were Malisse and her brother dead, but his daughter had lost her carefree smile, and his mother had suffered countless hardships to support what remained of their struggling family.

He would make amends, soon.

A note in the kitchen informed him of his mother's absence, departed on a trip across town to barter with a newly arrived merchant ship from Miche-en-Mir. Em had been dropped at school earlier that morning.

Theiden checked upstairs first, opening his door just wide enough for a view of the empty bed. Not a trace of the witch could be seen.

He closed the door and headed back downstairs. A leg of the rickety kitchen table needed repairs, so he started on that task first. After the table was the rust on the sink pump, and then the stains on the faded three-person sofa in the sitting room. All of the fancier cushions and the large armchair had been sold in his absence in exchange for food, so there was not much else for him to do there. Again, Theiden felt a wash of shame at the state his mother and daughter had been reduced to in his absence. He vowed to never make such an impulsive decision again.

The knock on the front door came just an hour after noon, as Theiden was inspecting the notching on his arrows and sharpening his hunting knives.

It was Decliteur, flanked by Callan and Tareth.

"Theiden," Decliteur growled. "The  baker informs us you're hiding a useful witching tool. Wanted to get a leg up on the rest of us and claim the glory for yourself, did you?"

"Wh--I..." Theiden held up his hands and the witch hunters forced their way inside. "I'm not trying to--Tareth, tell him, you know I would never..."

"You said you'd join with me to fight the witch," Tareth said solemnly, brows furrowing together. "Why would you hide something like this from me--from us? You knew how much it meant to me to kill this--"

"That creature destroyed my family!" Theiden interrupted, clenching his jaw tightly enough to feel the muscles twitch. "She cursed my daughter, stole me away to let my family suffer in poverty, and most likely even killed my wife. And you ask me to stand aside and let others take the lead in destroying the creature? How can I face my daughter and explain that I barely did anything to avenge the wrongs done to us? Yes, you lost a cousin, Tareth. I'm sure everyone in this city has been affected by the creatures in one way or another. But in THIS case, no one has more of a right than I do to decide what happens."

Decliteur was silent for a moment. "Tareth, Callan, search upstairs," he said, voice calm despite Theiden's outburst, still confident of his power and control over the situation. "I'd like to have a word with Theiden alone."

Caught up in a rush of adrenaline and trepidation, Theiden barely noticed the other two men push past him for the stairs. All else faded away, until it was just Decliteur standing before him.

"I understand your anger," the head witch hunter began. "But it does not excuse your behavior. You broke the rules. Went against the order of the witch hunters. There will be consequences for this."

"But--"

A triumphant shout sounded from upstairs, and Callan appeared at the bannister.

"Found it!" He cried, holding the red teacup aloft. "Right at the nightstand by 'is bed."

Theiden sucked in a frustrated breath. "At least let me go to the midsummer festival tonight," he said. "It showed me she would be there--"

"I will give you one last chance to prove your worth," Decliteur said, holding out a hand as Tareth and Callan descended the stairs and the latter placed the teacup in Decliteur's palm. The head witch hunter's thick fingers curled possessively around it, and Decliteur turned it around in his hands for inspection. "How does it work?"

"It's simple," Theiden said in a rush, eager to get back on the witch hunter's good side. "Just pour water in and ask it to show you what you wish."

Decliteur smiled down at the teacup and slipped it into his pocket. "I'll test it out soon," he said. "But tonight, we'll attend the second night of the midsummer festival and wait for the witch's arrival in the central plaza. You, meanwhile, will stay at headquarters."

"No! Why can't I go with you?" Theiden protested.

"I did say there would be consequences," Decliteur warned, the shadows beneath his eyes seemingly darkening in intensity. "This will be your last chance. Go against these orders, and it's over for you."

Theiden swallowed hard. He had to get this right.

"Tareth will escort you back," Decliteur continued. "You'll stay with Colverne in the central building. "

"I'll write a letter so my family knows where I am this evening," Theiden replied slowly. "Then I'll follow."

The note ended up shorter than he would have liked, hastily scrawled out under the watchful eyes of the witch hunters and left on the kitchen counter. Then they left the house, and Callan and Decliteur headed in the direction of the river gate while Tareth and Theiden headed up to the central witch hunters' building.

Colverne already knew, of course. As the leader of the information network, Theiden figured the man had probably even heard directly from Valas about the bookkeeper's relationship with Lenesa and the scrying abilities of the red teacup. Theiden forced his eyes down as they passed the man's desk at the entrance of the building, trying his best not to glare, but he was stopped short.

"A bold move, what you just tried to do," Colverne said, setting down his pen and fixing his one good eye on Theiden. "Or rather, foolish. There aren't many who would try going against Decliteur, let alone all of the witch hunters. Either you had great aspirations, or you have no idea the kind of trouble you've just gotten yourself in."

"A bit of both, I would think," Tareth muttered.

"He's right," Theiden admitted. "I was angry and impulsive, and I wasn't thinking straight."

"Well, you'll have plenty of time for thinking straight this evening when everyone else is out hunting that witch," Colverne replied calmly. "You and I will stay here and patrol the building for the night with a few other recruits."

"See you tomorrow, Theiden," Tareth said, heading back out the door. "I'll let you know how it goes tonight at the festival."

"'Night," Theiden mumbled.

The door closed, and Theiden again found himself in silence, though unlike earlier that day, there were no fond memories associated with this one.

Colverne gestured to a hard wooden chair across the room next to the tapestry of Ayries Arcstrong attacking the Fae.

"Have a seat, Theiden," he said. "We have some things to discuss."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I'm back! Thank you all for your patience with my slow updates. It's been an enormous challenge for me to write lately, and I recently had the good fortune of a 13 hour, internet distraction-less flight from Australia. So I'm extremely jetlagged and typed this all from my phone, but I now have another chapter! The next one is also a fourth of the way written and so should also be coming soon, and I have a few aesthetic collages I've been fiddling with for a while that I might post as a bonus. Other than that, updates are still going to be sporadic.

Thank you for reading!