I finish wiping down our scuffed oak table. Many years and many dinners have covered this table and the wood glows warmly in the candle light. I have many fond memories of Mother rolling dough or kneading bread on its surface. My jaw tightens, wishing she was here and I didn't have to face tonight alone. Dinner was hours ago and that little bit of stew feels long gone. My hand holding the damp rag is shaking. If I have to wait any longer for my brother to fall asleep, I will lose my nerve. I toss the rag in the bowl of wash water. It's almost time to leave. Father left to hunt down cheap ale shortly after a mid-day meal with us. He won't be home for a long while, if at all. I toss the now dirty water outside and onto my nearest flower bed, before returning to our kitchen. Moss is preparing for bed. A tiny but sharp poke hits inside my chest; guilt most likely. He is only eleven but he is strong and brave. He will be safe while I'm gone.

As soon as I hear Moss' soft snoring from his room at the back of our small cottage, I creep into my own room. My slender bed takes up most of the space. I squeeze between my cupboard and the foot of the bed. On my knees I pry up a loose board revealing a hidden space. There is wrapping I will use to compress my ample breasts. I dress in loose brown pants and cream shirt. Removing my dark brown cloak from the hidey-hole, I will myself to be strong and to be brave tonight. I smile as my fingers caress my favorite non-book treasure, a beautiful, detailed wolf carved from hardwood. My childhood friend Pol had given it to me. We had exchanged Winter Solstice gifts of wood that year. We were thirteen and that was the last holiday he had with his parents. The wolf is strung on a leather thong with an old corroded key. The iron key is a mysterious artifact we had found years before that. I slip them over my head and tuck them behind my tunic, still smiling. So many hours were spent running wild in the woods and exploring. I miss who I used to be. Those were happier years. Before Pol's parents died; then two years later most of my family died.

Shaking my head to dislodge my morose thoughts, I reach for my boots. My usual sensible boots hide a small dagger each. A larger dagger goes at my waist and a nondescript bag drapes across my shoulder and body. My too clean brown hair, I twist up tight on my neck. I'm going to have to mix up more senna and henna paste soon. My hood will hide my long hair easily and the dark would help me blend. Especially where I am headed. I slip out the door and walk quietly past my large garden. Luckily, Petunia, our old milk cow, and the goats, Mill and Barley, are on the other side asleep. Sometimes they carry on.

I stride up the short path between our two old oaks. It leads me onto the hard dirt road into the east gate of Coleus. Coleus is a large trading city and even houses a Fae ambassador and our own lord, Earl Rubus Cloudberry. There's only three other small cottages with a bit of land between our home and the city's outer wall. Two on our north side of the road and one south of the road. Ahead torches burn on either side of the open gate. The gate is barely big enough for a large farm cart. A guard half sleeps on a bench at the right of the opening. As I near, I recognize Lars Berry is the guard. He is a decent fellow just a few years older than me and married to a distant cousin of my father. Clove I think. I pull down my hood so my face is clearly visible as I near. At first I think he will sleep through my passing but he lifts his head and his eyes are bright in the torchlight. Unfortunately.

"Ho, is that lil' Jaxsi!" he calls out, a wide grin full of bright teeth on his face. The torchlight makes his beard seem more red than dark brown, clearly showing his large, rosy cheeks and nose.

I smile, I can't help it. Lars has a jolly voice and face. I ignore the "lil" part even though he is only five years older than me. Of course he is huge, so maybe he means my five-foot-nothing height. "Indeed. Good eve, Lars."

His grin dims a bit. "Awful late for a stroll." He lowers his voice, trying to sound firm.

"True." Time to lie through my teeth. "Petunia seems a bit ill this evening. I was just going to see if father could tell me how to make his tonic. It helped her last time but the bottle is empty."

Dark fluffy eyebrows lower over his eyes. Hesitantly he says, "Sorrel might not be able to remember a recipe right now."

Of course, because Father will be drunk by now. I shrug and start to walk through the gate. "Possibly not but..."

Lars stands. He fills much of the opening like a giant protective bear. His green tunic, leather and chainmail armor reminds me of his fealty to the Earl and the City Marshal. "Do you need an escort?"

Shit. I smile at him while moving towards him, edging around his bulk. He is forced to sidestep a bit to keep his eyes on me. "No thank you," I reply. "He said he would be at the Dancing Rabbit." I use the name of the closest tavern to this gate, praying he will not insist on following me.

"If you're sure..."

I nod and hurry away. As soon as I am sure he can no longer see me I duck behind one of the narrow houses and I head towards the Old Wall. It is a huge stone and moss wall holding the oldest parts of the city of Coleus. There are four gates that lead through the ancient original wall. A wall built when the Shroud didn't exist yet and the Fae attacked the city regularly. Built for a war almost too old to remember. Some parts are cracked and a few large stones have fallen over the years, but it remains astonishingly intact. The outer wall Lars guards is much newer and larger, protecting the larger, more sprawled out, modern city. Even so, the outer wall is 125 years old.

No guards man the gates of the old wall. Except near the castle of course. I hurry towards the southeast gate. The wooden doors of the gate have long rotted away here and no one has bothered to replace them. One sad torch burns near the opening. I slip through as far from the light as I can, my hood back up and concealing my face. Pausing just to the right of the gate opening, I lay a shaking hand on the cold stone of the wall to calm myself. My other hand rests on my dagger. This is where I really have to step carefully and keep my wits about me. Old South is a treacherous and disreputable part of the city. Particularly at night.

The last time I visited Pol, he was living in a rundown lean-to near the animal pens against the defunct Old Market. According to Katniss, the biggest gossip at the Grand Market, he had moved to the narrow stone homes near the Dark Row. I've never been in the Dark Row, though Pol and I had snuck close as children. Only during the day though. Just to see. The Dark Row is where the shadiest dealings in Coleus occur. Creepy, shadowy taverns, tiny, questionable shops only open at night, illicit resellers, and the obligatory brothels all reside there. Gods know what else. The houses Katniss mentioned should be on my side before the actual lane of Dark Row. I hope.

Boots scuff and soft voices near. I move further into the wall's shadow. Two cloaked figures sweep by, speaking in a language I don't know. Fleurian maybe. They don't notice me and I skulk from the darkest shadows. Pushing my back upright, my head up enough to seem observant, and shoulders just slightly curved. Trying to tell the world, "Don't look at me too close. I am no one but I am not afraid." I'm no one important. I am no one. Over and over, I tell myself. My feet take me deeper into unsavory streets. I pass several other groups of people. Mostly men going about their evening business. A few already intoxicated I notice with disgust. They barely glance at me and gratefully, I avoid the occasional torches lighting the lanes.

I pause next to Thyme's Scriptorium. This is the furthest shop I have ever entered in Old South town. Fascinating old and sometimes crumbling books, bleached pages of paper, ready for repurposing, and a variety of inks are much of his business. Although he carries rare and pricey books and exotic inks as well. Elder Thyme is one of the few people I can afford to buy paper and ink from. When I can afford them. The thought makes me grumpy. He sells a few odds and ends but I haven't had time to explore in several years. I refocus on my mission. The lights of the shop are out and I am sure Elder Thyme is asleep in his rooms at the back. Hesitating here allows me to stoke my courage. I have been a bit further into Old South but only in bright daylight, and with Pol at my side.

I creep along the side of the shop to a narrow lane that should take me to the houses I seek. This lane is empty of traffic but I can hear the activity of the Dark Row far ahead of me. Music of several warring sorts, yelling, and laughter carry to me. No torches are lit here. I listen very carefully and move as softly as I can. This is not the place to get caught alone either. The scent of roasted meat and pies reach me and my stomach growls. Loudly. Fuck! I freeze.

A light colored cat peers at me from a roof corner ahead. Eyes glowing in the faint moonlight. They don't seem disturbed and I can't hear anyone near. Around that corner of the building where the cat lounges, should be the haphazard skinny stone buildings that house people not afraid of this part of town. I imagine not many families are left living here. Most poor families inside the inner city live closer to the Old Market. Within screaming distance of the Guard barracks. Here, in the darkness, live hard folk who work nearby or have hobbies that lend them to being here, so close to Dark Row.

I steel myself and walk past the cat and around the corner. The cat's building seems to be a closed shop; another darkened shop across from it. There, ahead, the shadowy stone buildings huddle, lit by one torch each. The light illuminates each door and its stoop only. There are six thin buildings on each side with a lane wide enough for a cart between their facades. Just past the homes, a narrow alley crosses the lane. Beyond the alley the environs of the Dark Row start. Noise and light spill out of a tavern just beyond the alleyway. I can barely see shadowy figures entering or moving about in front of it. I'm almost there.

A hand wraps around my waist as another covers my mouth before I can even think to scream. I am yanked back towards the building. Under the roof edge and deep in shadows. My body crashes into something hard but warm. A body, a muscular body. The hand at my waist now pins my arms so I can't reach my dagger. I struggle against the hold. My captor moves just enough to avoid my kicking legs. I scream against the hand clamped on my face. Breath touches my ear. Hot, even breath. My struggles weren't causing them any discomfort. Oh, shit. I kick out harder. Goddess! Let Moss survive, keep the garden going!

A rough, low-pitched voice whispers in my ear, "Well, this is a lovely surprise." The body behind me is wider and taller than me but nowhere near as big and bulky as Lars. Still plenty large enough to hurt me. I try to get enough purchase on his hand to grab skin and bite. He continues, "You're far from the woods, Sweetbriar."

Wait. The voice sounds... faintly familiar. The way he said my surname links back to a host of memories. A subtle, faded scent fills my nose. Almost like spikenard oil. Also like the bee balm and clove from my garden. I know that scent! I used to make a custom soap with these scents. The body against mine is stronger and tougher than I remember. The difference of a few years. Of course last time I saw him we didn't touch like this either. My body stills. Almost immediately, the hand drops from my mouth.

"Pol?" I whisper.

He laughs and I feel it against my back. It feels... Odd. "Hello, Jaxsi." I can feel his voice with my body too. The hand at my waist loosens and I spin around.

It's hard to see in the shadows. He shifts us away from the building a few steps and I can see his face in the moonlight. His once deeply tan skin looks much paler but the smile on his lips is achingly familiar. A smile that reminds me of endless days in the woods and meadows. Of sneaking about the old wall, and climbing trees. My best friend. His rich dark curls are pulled back but several brown chunks are loose. Wish my hair was as pretty. The loose curls conceal his eyes, leaving me wishing I could see them better. He has the warmest brown I've even seen.

I know I'm smiling big. I have missed my friend. Even though... Quickly, I speak again, "I was looking for you."

His lips twitch and his dark eyebrows rise up a bit. "Looking for me?" The tone of his voice seems cool, but I remember when his voice was always full of emotions. Ringing highs when he was happy, lilting and slow when he was curious, and heartbreakingly low and soft when his parents died. His voice now is deeper, adult, but also just different.

"Yes. I need your help." I can feel that my smile has straightened out a little. This is important.

"Oh?" he says. His new tone is utterly alien to my ears. I think icicles could hang on his lips. Warning people. I don't like it at all.

I pause and pull further back. I still have to look up a bit, but not as sharply. I only come up to his chin, and he is not standing up tall. He must be eating well. He lets his arms fall to his sides. I notice a scar almost hidden by his loose hair. It cuts through his dark brow, missing his eye but resuming on his cheek. When did that happen? A short beard and mustache blend with rough stubble to make him look...older. Rougher? I know he has gotten tougher every time I have seen him, in body and behavior. I'm sure he's a full member of the rogues' guild now. Not an easy path. He can be cruel but this feels... indifferent.

"'Oh?'" I mimic. "What's that supposed to mean?"

His smile creeps back, but feebly. His tone is still icy. "I thought maybe you just missed my prestigious company."

I glower at him. My hands fist at my side. For a split second I think of the dagger at my waist. I can't help it. Bastard! Through my teeth I bark, "You told me to go away and not come back! You yelled it in my face."

He meets my stare for a long silent moment. No emotions cross his face that I can see. Like staring at a block of rock, a Pol shaped rock. "And yet, here you are."

I almost huff and stomp a foot, but I stop in time. I'm not a child anymore. To prove it I grind out as deeply as I can, "Pol Tarquin Sumak you are a fucking ass!" My arms cross without asking permission. Dammit. I don't want to look silly uncrossing them immediately.

He laughs again. His white teeth flash in the weak moonlight. This laugh is warmer, more familiar. My palm still itches to slap him. In a less arctic tone he says, "That is certainly true."

He reaches for my neck. My cloak is twisted over my shoulder, and my necklace must have come free during his grab or my brief struggle. "You still have this." He holds the carved wolf between his fingers. Looking at the pendant, then back at my face.

"Of course." I almost reach for it but stop. "It's very beautiful and I love it." Did he think I would throw it away when it felt like he threw me away?

"Hmm." He drops it back against my skin and takes a step back and leans against the wall, crossing his own arms. I try to read his face but now it is covered in darkness again. "So, not just lost. And not here to savor the delights of the Dark Row then?"

I snort, but manage to not roll my eyes or glare. "Father is the only one who savors vice."

"That's too bad."

Does he mean my father's drinking is too bad? Or does he think I'm less interesting? I know my lack of vice and missteps make me boring to all the gossips. My father keeps them busy, I would rather keep us fed. Me and Moss anyhow. I would do almost anything to keep my brother safe.

"I do need help, Pol." His name comes out soft but I don't want to beg.

He reaches one of his hands and grabs mine. Warm and large; rough from some type of work I better not think too hard on. His thumb draws circles on the back of my hand. It's distracting. "I'll do what I can. How can I help you, Jaxsi?"

I suck in a breath and wipe my free hand down the side of my pants. "I need to sell something. Well, some things. And maybe more later." His eyes stay on my face, waiting. His thumb continues its circles. Gooseflesh spreads on my arms. "Things... I can't sell at the Grand Market or even to anyone in the Old Market."

The thumb stops. His jaw twitches. If I wasn't staring, I wouldn't have seen it. "What 'things,' Jaxsi?"

I shiver. The soft volume of his voice doesn't feel soft. I've never heard his voice like this. It scares me. I force myself to continue, "Rare things. Like Sainted Toadstool. And...Fae things." I whisper the last part even though we are alone in the dark.

His hand covering mine stills. He pulls himself away from the wall again and leans into me. "Those are very dangerous things, my Sweetbriar." His eyes are uncomfortably intense and too close. I try to lean back, just a bit. His right hand grabs my chin and stops me. "Things that can get a person arrested, even executed."

I swallow but keep looking into his eyes. I nod. Neither of us do anything other than breathe for several moments. I blink, trying to read his eyes through a few curls and the darkness. Slowly, he tilts his head forward and leans his forehead on mine. Just as we used to! To give each other strength or comfort. When the world seemed too much, we had our friendship. That and my mother's care, before the fever. This is my Pol. I close my eyes for a second and enjoy it. A bit of human touch I haven't had since he told me to stay away.

"I will take them for you," he says evenly, breaking the silence.

I almost pull away. Instead I shake my head but keep contact with his forehead. "No. I need to learn. To know who to approach." My mouth feels dry. "Just in case."

"Of course," he sighs. His forehead leaves mine and my skin feels too cool. He makes a strange sound. Part sigh and part growl, but so very quiet. "Just in case." His hands leave me. I miss it immediately. He continues, "Meet me at the old gate you came in. Just after nightfall, night after tomorrow night. I will take you to the Shadow Market."

I smile. It feels weak. This is what I need, and Pol will help me. It's a huge risk, but Moss is worth it. I'm worth it. We will starve this year if I don't find a way to earn more. "Deal." My hand shoots out to grip his, to seal the bargain.

A new grin appears. His new grin is large and full of teeth. "I've got a better idea for sealing our deal." Before I could even lower my hand he grabs my face and lowers his mouth to mine. My empty hands grasp my cloak, unsure. I close my eyes. I'm not sure if it's out of surprise or another emotion.

At first, it's just a soft brush of his lips on mine. A curly lock of his hair brushes the side of my face. I shiver at the touch. Both of his thumbs brush across my cheeks. His lips press firmer. A jolt goes through me when his tongue gently runs across my lower lip. My mouth opens. Why? My lips are pressing his lips back and colors splash behind my eyelids. It's strange at first when his tongue slides into my mouth, exploring. Then it's not.

I sigh into his mouth. This is... something. Wha...why? Then his tongue retreats and I feel his mouth stretch in a grin again. He pulls away just far enough to not touch my lips. I try to focus on his face again.

"Deal," he whispers. The word brushes my sensitive lips. I lick them uncomfortably. A deep sound crawls up his throat and out of his mouth. He softly pushes me, standing me up, from where I had leaned into him. When did I lean into him? I blink a few times and try to refocus. Night. Pol. Deal. We'd made a deal. The deal I needed.

I straighten and remember I am dangerously close to the Dark Row. My neck feels prickly, then my back. Someone's eyes are on me. I grip my dagger and turn. At first i see nothing but shadows and dark building shapes, lights from the row, then more dark. There. There at the far corner of the building is a darker patch of shadows. A person shaped patch.

Pol hasn't flinched or moved. No weapons appear in his hands. Over my head he acknowledges the shadow. "Fen."

The shadow moves closer and I can tell it is a man nearly as tall as Pol. His voice is painful. As if he has to talk around gravel or hot coals. "It's time."

Fighting not to react to the tortured voice, I look back at Pol to see him nod to this Fen person. This time I hear Fen move. Moving away. Brown eyes glance back at me. Pol's soft voice is just for me. "I'm impressed you heard him. You might just survive a longer night trip down here."

"I didn't hear you in time," I grumble. His hands grabbing me had terrified me more than anything else in my life. I'm lucky it was him. I fight off more shivers.

A cocky grin cracks his face. I notice his scar again. What had happened to him? His voice is even more like my old Pol at his most arrogant, as he says, "I'm way better."

I roll my eyes, and hope to all the gods he can see it. His grin disappears and he puts a hand on my shoulder. Firmly, he turns me back the way I came and away from where Fen vanished. He walks quickly past me, then pulling me behind him. Before my mind catches up we are beside the scriptorium. He ducks down and looks me in the eyes, his face serious. "Go straight to the gate and go home. I would walk you home but I am already extremely late for a meeting."

"A meeting?" I whisper in what I hope is a dubious tone. He laughs softly and backs into the shadows. By the time I blink twice, I cannot see him anymore. He is good. My whole body is gooseflesh. He fits here, in the dark. Whereas my whole livelihood depends on sunlight.

I suck in a ragged breath. I've done it. Found Pol and secured his help. I pat the bag at my hip. The toadstool is preserved and should last until my return visit. I also have a purple salamander tail I dried. Someone had set one loose but it hadn't survived our cool spring. I will gather some Goddess Stars as well before then. Plans rolling through my head, I walk towards the gate. I can see it ahead. I don't see anyone else but I still pull my cloak tighter and hurry.