Once the twins were gone, Ashne took a deep breath. She would have to send word to the magistrate, of course. Let him deal with the dead bandit. It was his job, after all. Perhaps he would know, or suspect where their hideout was. Thieves in the streets of Tham were his responsibility, not hers.

The princess was her responsibility. Not bandits, not some foolish, meddling, infuriating apothecary.

But then she remembered again that the magistrate had not mentioned bandit problems. Perhaps he had thought such issues too minor, too pedestrian to bring up to someone sent from the capital to investigate rumors of a sorcerer. He had been much the same, a year ago. Too proud or too obstinate to give her and Zsaran the information they had needed.

If they had, perhaps everything would have turned out differently.

But no, she would not blame him for her own failures. They too had been proud, in their own way. Indeed, pride alone had carried them forward on their quest, until the mercenary of Pra charmed himself into their confidences and they accepted his aid.

She was making her way back to the stalls where she had gathered her information earlier when she stumbled into a passing man. She looked up to apologize, but already he was cursing, moving away.

Only then did she notice the crowd that had gathered in the street.

She slipped to the edges, straining for a better view, to no avail. At last, she turned to a nearby child.

“What’s going on?”

“Soldiers!” exclaimed the little girl, who wrinkled her face at Ashne before immediately running off, sucking on her dirty thumb.

“The greedy dogs,” muttered another bystander. “If it weren’t for the good Magistrate...”

“Nonsense! Like as not it’s that shitfaced worm himself who’s been relaying all those strange orders these past few months!”

“Those orders are from the barbarian king himself, they say!”

“The magistrate’s never answered to lord or king, barbarian or no! What makes you think he’ll start now?”

“Hadn’t you heard? Magistrate Tham has fallen on hard times,” confided one elderly matron upon seeing Ashne’s growing confusion. “Gambled away all his assets, he did!”

“That’s right,” declared the man next to her. “They say he’s even begun dipping into the city treasuries!”

“Making deals with Krengsra in order to secure his place!”

“Bullshit. Just who do you think has been protecting us from those wolves of Awat these past two years, you ungrateful dogs?”

“Better Sra than Wat!”

“Exactly!” cried another woman. “Those soldiers know no bounds! They’ve no sense of righteousness! They do as they please, take as they please —”

Where did this fury come from? This rumbling discontent?

Ashne did not understand it. Could not understand it. It had not existed, when she last walked these streets. Or perhaps she had merely been unaware.

She took a step backwards. The crowd jostled against her in response, shifted, closed in again behind her.

“Seizing innocent citizens from the streets or out of their own homes on the slightest suspicion! Confining all travelers from the Court without warning, while letting those wild men run loose! Why, just this morning I saw a poor old man getting dragged to the magistrate’s place —”

“Are you blind? That were no old man they took this morn. Some mad fool from the mountains.”

“Aye, and not from these parts, it seemed, for he was shouting all sorts of nonsense.”

It could only be the apothecary.

“And it weren’t soldiers that took him! Have you ever seen soldiers dressed like that?”

“Pah! No such thing as a southerner with proper dress!”

“Have you ever even stepped foot out of your own house, you doddering old fool?”

“Clear the path!” shouted the rough voice of a soldier over the others. “Out of the way!”

The crowd parted, suddenly silent again. A group of roughly ten soldiers shoved past, faces grim.

They were indeed men of the south, garbed in dark embroidered tunics, lightly armored if at all. Few were untattooed. All were armed with spears and halberds, save for the leader, who bore an axe.

From out of nowhere, a stone flew past and struck the lead soldier’s head.

All ten men halted.

“Who dares defy the king’s men?”

Someone shouted from the back of the opposite crowd, “King’s men? Sorcerer’s dogs!”

The soldier directly behind the leader growled. “Sorcerer? We are no sorcerer’s underlings!”

“Lies! You’ve been protecting him! Keeping him hidden from our magistrate!”

“The sorcerer is a foreigner! Not one of ours!”

“Barbarians!” spat one old man in the front rows. Ashne realized with a start that she recognized him — one of the starstone players she had questioned earlier. “Why don’t you dogs run back to the wilds from which you came!”

Another wave of anger surged through the crowd, loud and raucous. The heat made Ashne dizzy, filled her ears with noise.

Someone stepped out then, movements stiff and slow, deliberate, seemingly unaffected by the press of surrounding bodies. Ashne strained again to see as the person stopped right in the middle of the streets, right in the soldiers’ paths.

A girl. The girl Ashne had seen sucking on her thumb just moments before. Standing small and fragile at the center of the storm.

A collective gasp arose.

Why was the child still here? Why had she come back? And that blank gaze, that unnatural posture...

The flash of metal. Ashne stiffened in recognition, though the crowd continued to holler and mutter around her, some in Krengsran, some in Court tongue, and even a few in the tongue of Turtles. A cacophony of voices.

The soldiers saw what Ashne had as well.

In the girl’s hands was a dagger.

The leader of the soldiers raised his axe. “Brat! What are you —”

The girl’s grasp was awkward but steady. Her face was as still as a mask.

A woman screamed. The clamor built, as others began to notice what was going on.

Before anyone could react, the little girl plunged the dagger straight into her own heart.

The crowd roared. A young woman broke out from its ranks, fell upon the girl’s body, weeping and wailing.

“Sorcerer’s dogs!”

“Lower than worms!”

Blood. So much blood. Ashne could smell it, almost taste it lingering on her tongue...

Bile rose in the back of her throat.

She could not stay. Already she had lingered longer than she should have. Soon there would be no escape from this mob.

She pushed past the bystanders at the edge of the crowd. They pushed back, pressing closer toward the center. For a moment she thought she was too late. That she would not be able to break free from the crowd.

Then she stumbled, gasping, into open space.

Ran, not daring to look back. Focused on her own thoughts rather than dwell on the terrible sight she had just witnessed.

The bandits had taken the apothecary to the magistrate’s.

It would be easier to abandon him. Easier to avoid becoming entangled in the affairs of the city. Best to take advantage of the chaos and flee.

What did she think she was going to do after she had saved him anyway? He had implicated her in his affairs surely not because he believed she would rush at once to his aid; she held no such obligation. More likely he had done it simply to frustrate his captors.

And yet the magistrate’s evident collaboration with such ruffians was a troubling sign. Though it was not her place to interfere with issues of governance unless her help were requested... if there were the slightest possibility that the princess were involved in this mess, whether as hostage or for some other purpose, then it was her duty to act. And were the magistrate innocent and the princess uninvolved after all, so too was it his duty to keep the peace, and her duty to inform him of what had just transpired.

Duty prevailed.

* * *

The magistrate’s residence was a mid-sized complex in the southwestern quarter of the city, far from the marketplace where trouble was gathering now like flies to rotten fruit. She strolled past, still feeling tense and uncertain. To distract herself, she counted the number of guards at the entrance and noted that it seemed unusually noisy beyond the gates despite the relative tranquility of the streets.

The guards, she soon noticed, spoke among themselves in the Khonua dialect. And they were disorganized, not at all like the usual well-trained men of high-ranking households.

Curious, indeed, not least because of the magistrate’s distaste for southerners.

It should have angered her, but she found herself oddly calm. There remained only the question of how she ought best proceed.

She was reluctant to spend any energy on scaling the wall; not when she was alone, and her injury still unstable, and she did not know how many the enemy numbered within. Perhaps she should not have been so hasty to send the twins away earlier, sent them straight into the midst of the chaos, perhaps, when she should have kept them with her, watching over them, making sure they did not go astray in their haste.

And yet this matter with the apothecary was none of their concern.

It should not have been hers, either.

Too late, now, to regret. Nor could she shake the feeling that the princess was involved after all, no matter the magistrate’s protests of ignorance. After all, how could she trust the word of a man with something to hide? His distaste for the new regime might very well have prodded him to action. The scabbard, the princess, this sorcerer: all signs that implied a bid for the throne. She supposed the crux of the issue lay in whether or not the magistrate’s distaste for Khosian’s rule outweighed his distaste for Khonua rule. Or if perhaps it were not the remnants of Khonua he was working with after all, but with some faction of Sra. He had spoken of ambition. But were his own personal ambitions so great?

There she went again, obsessing over matters that were irrelevant to her duty and role.

She was not calm, she realized then.

No. She was terrified.

Enemies within and without. Madness suffusing the air.

Terror was just as useless to her as anger now. She set aside her thoughts and circled around to find the servants’ side gate, ducking behind the ostentatious bronze statue of a bulky one-horned guardian beast when a group of five men passed, arguing loudly in their own tongue. Three were tattooed, the fourth unmarked. The last of them, she recognized suddenly as the quiet swordsman she had encountered in the forest.

Rahm.

“Do you think that madman really knows where it is?” said the untattooed man. “Maybe the scummy son of a bitch is lying about it, trying to put us off the trail so he can profit from it on his own!”

“Who knows? Chief knows what he’s doing. You trying to question his orders?”

“Of course not! It’s just, that apothecary is crazy. Gives me the creeps.”

The bandit called Rahm said nothing. In fact, he looked vaguely distracted, but his companions did not seem to notice.

“And what about Magister Tham?” another bandit was saying. “Can he be trusted?”

“Eh, the man’s all bluster, no bite.”

The untattooed man spat. “Northern dog.”

“Careful. Little shithead might explode from rage if he hears you.”

“Only if he finds someone to translate for him!”

The men burst out into raucous laughter, all but for Rahm, who suddenly stopped and glanced ahead.

“Oy, Rahm. What’s the matter?”

Before he could answer, they were interrupted by a sharp, feminine voice. “What are you idiots loitering around for?”

The chief’s sister.

The whole den of them must be here.

She recalled the fear her attacker’s eyes had held at the sight of the jade comb. The fear in his voice as he spoke of the woman he had seen. Had he meant his own chief’s sister? Though Ashne could imagine this woman riding or perhaps even driving a chariot, she did not seem like one who dressed in jade and silk, nor did she seem to inspire the kind of mindless fear that would have induced such a reaction. And the man had spoken as if referring to a stranger.

“Sorry, Lady Inhai. We heard there was some trouble brewing over at the marketplace.”

The kind of fear that could be induced only by a display such as that she had just witnessed.

“It’s been dealt with,” the bandit woman said. After a heavy pause, she added, “What are you doing with these fools anyway, Rahm? My brother’s been looking for you.”

“Chief’s back?” exclaimed the untattooed bandit.

The woman ignored him. “You know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Rahm shrugged and offered a brief apologetic smile, though to whom the apology was directed, Ashne could not be certain.

“And you lot go back to your stations!” As if on cue, a loud yelp sounded from within the walls, proceeded by a peal of howling laughter. The woman did not turn, but her eyes hardened. “Do you want the whole city to figure out we’re here?”

The bandits chorused their own mumbled apologies and began to shuffle back into the compound. The woman, Inhai, frowned and glanced over the surrounding area, gaze passing briefly over Ashne’s statue.

“Change in plans,” she said then, simply. Rahm apparently understood her meaning at once, for he shifted onto alert with a barely perceptible nod. And with that, the two left.

Ashne exhaled.

The other bandits had left the heavy gate slightly ajar and unguarded.

No matter how many awaited inside, she would have no better opportunity than this.

Still, she would have to be quick. Before trouble spilled out from the market streets and followed her here. For she had no doubt whatsoever that Inhai had been lying.

* * *

The interior of the magistrate’s residence seemed like another world entirely. It was built in the same manner as the palace complex at Ranglhia, buildings neatly sequestered in miniature courtyards, connected by narrow walkways, lit already with lanterns despite the last lingering rays of sun. But she soon saw the reason for the noise she had earlier noted. Tangle-haired men in embroidered tunics and various states of undress lounged about, looking very much out of place as they joked and cursed and passed around bowls of rice wine, far too distracted by their games of chance and accompanying clatter and shuffle of cowries to notice the quiet intruder among their midst. The utter lack of discipline troubled Ashne, who had witnessed her share of victory celebrations, but was far more used to the staid solemnity of most Court residences.

And these bandits had nothing to celebrate, surely.

Such fools. If they knew what was happening outside these walls, at this very moment...

She collected herself and strode on.

Beyond the lights and revelry, she glimpsed a storage building guarded by two yawning bandits. What she could see of the door seemed to have been barred off by a thick wooden beam.

She took a step forward.

Only to be startled by a clap on her shoulder.

She whirled around.

“Hey,” slurred the man who had stopped her. He grinned goofily, revealing a mouth of browning teeth. “What’re you doing here?”

“Messenger for the Lord Magistrate,” she said stiffly.

“Oh aye?” He stopped and frowned, as if sorting through her words. “Son of a bitch ain’t home yet. Taking care of business.” He giggled, then hiccupped. “Why doncha join us for a drink while ya wait?”

“I’m in a hurry.”

His voice rose in a whine as she tried to extract herself from his grip without attracting further notice. “Aw, come on now. Won’t be long.”

“Sorry,” she muttered, trying not to recoil too obviously from his breath. Others were beginning to look at them with puzzlement or vague curiosity. “Those fellows over there,” she said desperately instead, nodding in the direction of the storage building. “They look like they’re up for a round. Why don’t we go ask them instead?”

The man bobbed his head up and down, as eagerly as a pup that had yet to be blooded for the first time, and let her drag him through the clumps of men drinking or cheering or busy punching each other into blissful oblivion.

She managed at last to separate herself from him in the crowd and slipped away through to watch while the man approached his friends. The two guards put up a show of protest, but it was clear from the sudden light in their eyes that they had been waiting for this very chance. One of them grinned; the other slapped the drunkard’s back.

Before long, all three had wandered away to join the others.

Ashne crept forward. As she had suspected, there was a small hole on the door above the beam, indicating a simple bolt-and-peg mechanism as the sole lock. Useless against a prisoner.

She peered through the hole, but could not quite make out anything in the darkness. No matter. The beam was not particularly heavy; she removed it as quietly as she could, opened the door a crack, and entered.

Sure enough, the apothecary lay sprawled in the middle of the shed against bales of straw — practice archery targets, she realized, and folded away that information in the back of her mind, to be contemplated later.

At her approach, he raised himself up as best as he could (for his hands were bound behind his back) and grinned.

“You came,” he said cheerfully.

Anger flared within her.

“You!” She pointed her sword at his throat. “What were you thinking, dragging me into this mess of yours?”

“I did no such thing, Miss Ashne,” he said, pronouncing her name again in that peculiar, drawn-out way of his. Ah-see-neh.

“You told them I was working with you.”

“No, they merely assumed.” He looked so smug that Ashne removed the blade from his throat, fighting the urge to punch him, or worse. “I saw no need to correct their misunderstanding.”

A flicker of memory nagged at her. “Did Phas turn you in to them?”

“Master Phas? Why, I should not have let him if he had tried. As it is, I have not seen him since I left the two of you at the gate.”

He had to be lying through his teeth. But Phas and the bandits had been no friends. Unless that had been the act, and they were in truth working to the same ends?

Such mad thoughts would lead her nowhere.

“What is this scabbard they claim lies in your possession?” She refrained from asking what anyone under the heavens could possibly want with a scabbard with no blade.

He shrugged. “A little trinket I won in a bet. But I bartered it off many months ago.”

Hazsam’s scabbard, a trinket? Or had she been too quick to assume again?

“I don’t believe you.”

He threw up his hands, eyebrow cocked. “Search me, then, if you wish.”

The bandits most certainly had already done so. Still, she knelt and began rifling through his clothes, just as she had searched the dead bandit earlier, half-convinced they had missed something, anything, half-convinced he had banded up with them in order to trap her for whatever reason.

“Do take your time. I should like to enjoy this a little longer.”

Nothing. She shoved him away, and he landed back in the straw with an oomph. Something clinked to the ground, glittering in the shadows.

She looked at him; he shrugged again, watching her, lips twisted in a crooked smile. She ignored him and walked over to pick up the fallen item.

A blue glass pendant, shaped like a dragonfly’s eye.

One that she recognized.

It had been a gift. A tribute from a visiting dignitary of the western tribes to the royal family of Awat.

“I asked you before,” she said slowly, thinking of the jade comb at her waist. How carefully it had been planted at the site of the chariot wreck. How she had assumed, hoped beyond hope that it was a sign from the princess herself. Perhaps she had been wrong in that, but this time, there could be no mistake. “Now I ask you again. What do you know of the princess of Awat?”

Even as she spoke, her thoughts leaped back to the magistrate and her earlier suspicions. Was the man guilty after all, or just a pawn in this farce? And if guilty, what were his intentions?

No. She had no need to waste her time over such questions. There was only one explanation: the magistrate wished to dethrone King Khosian. And to do so he had taken the princess captive.

Perhaps by employing the services of the very man before her now.

“Where is she? What have you done with her?”

But before the apothecary could respond, shouts erupted in the courtyard beyond.

One of them, a familiar voice.

* * *

“Bandit scum!” snapped a slight, girlish voice in mildly accented Turtle.

Jenhra.

“Look what we have here, boys!” shouted one of the bandits Ashne had heard earlier in response. “Two lovely little does, come to pay us a visit.” Snickers and guffaws.

“What have you done with the princess?”

She had told them to go. The little imps — even as children they had never listened to her. Only to Zsaran, and occasionally, to Shranai. And now they would pay for their disobedience.

But it was her fault in part as well. Their skills had improved, or her own had deteriorated. Most likely both; it was the latter that was unforgivable.

“If you really must know,” the apothecary was saying, “I found it on the ground. Quite pretty, don’t you think? Still, I wonder if it will be enough to barter for a week’s food...”

“Is that what you did with this scabbard of yours?” she demanded. “Exchanged it for food?”

“Oh, no,” he replied. “For something much better.”

No time to argue further.

“Princess? Don’t know of any princesses. Why, if I did, I’d be —” More guffaws.

“Don’t lie to us, you swamp rats!”

“Swamp rats? Did the little one just call us swamp rats? I’ll have you know, we’re no common swamp rats. We’re Tuanwat’s Painted Men!”

“Tuanwat’s Peni—” Nalum’s voice this time, softer and confused, but no less indignant.

“What did you just say?!”

The apothecary tilted his head with a little smile. “I do wonder what that ruckus is all about.”

Ashne did not bother responding. Instead, she bent down and cut the ropes that bound him, rather more carelessly than she normally would. Years of practice prevailed, however, and the apothecary shrugged off his bonds without even the slightest scratch on his skin.

“My sworn sisters followed me here,” she said.

“Oh,” he replied as he stood and stretched. “Well, that wasn’t very smart of them, was it?”

“Getting caught a second time does not speak well for your own wits.”

“Ah, but you see, that was my intention from the start!”

She really did not have time to pay him any more heed than she already had.

Outside, the girls shouted back and forth with an evidently growing crowd of bandits. The effect was much like that of a flock of pheasants (drunken pheasants) cackling at a pair of angry geese, neither side entirely comprehending the other despite their shared tongue. Despite her growing headache, however, Ashne was somewhat relieved. She had been more worried than she liked to admit over the girls’ safety in this city they had never before stepped foot in. In this city where all sense and order had vanished.

Now, however, if the bandits truly thought the twins a threat, they would have wasted no time in dispatching them. On the contrary, the men were evidently bored (and drunk) and raring for entertainment in whatever form they could manage.

Other than the group she had encountered in the forest, they must have been holed up here for quite some time. They could not have managed to last so long without being sniffed out by the soldiers. Not unless they had help.

The magistrate had much to answer for. The bandits seemed truly ignorant of the princess’s kidnapping; he alone must be responsible for it.

But this apothecary must know something as well.

She tore the hat from her head and reached up to strap it onto his instead.

“Come with me,” she snapped then, and dragged him out the shed by his sleeve.

Outside, the girls stood perched atop the walls of the complex, dancing away from the occasional swipe from below. The bandits continued to hoot and cheer; even the half-naked ones who had been snoring in the dirt had been roused from their stupor and joined now in the others’ sport. They did not notice the new interlopers in their presence.

Nor did the girls, despite Ashne’s attempts at attracting their attention surreptitiously. They were too focused on the bandits, too confused and angry.

“Why, they’re twins,” said the apothecary loudly then. “What a delightfully rare omen!”

Which did attract their attention at last. As well as the bandits’.

“Sister!” cried Jenhra.

“Oh shit, they had company!”

“Come on, boys! Let’s take them!”

Ashne drew her sword as the crowd rushed at them. She was tempted to cut down the apothecary first, for all the trouble he had brought her.

But he would be more useful alive. As distraction or bait, if nothing else.

The first of the bandits reached her. She kicked out her feet, swiping several of them off balance and continuing the momentum into a precise slash at two others who had decided to attempt approaching from a different direction. The apothecary ducked an incoming blow, light on his feet despite his lack of weaponry... and indeed, apparent lack of any martial training at all. Fortunately, most of the first wave of attackers were still so drunk that he did not seem in any immediate danger.

Over by the walls, the twins leaped into the fray. Ashne wanted to shout at them, annoyed that they had not taken the opportunity to flee.

But of course they wouldn’t have. Not with their “sister” stuck right in the middle of this mess.

That it did not even occur to them that they had only managed to exacerbate the situation through their involvement showed both the sincerity of their feelings, but also their relative innocence.

Frustrated as she felt, Ashne could not blame them.

Instead, she continued to fend off incoming attackers, all the while maneuvering her way to the next courtyard, careful to make sure that she and the apothecary did not get surrounded. (She was glad that in this, at least, the man seemed content to follow her direction, rather than wandering straight into the bandits’ midst.)

They had just about reached the gate to the next courtyard when one of the bandits began shrieking. Ashne halted, automatically searching for the source of his panic.

There was a bandit perched atop one of the buildings.

“Oy, what’s going on up there, hey?”

“Hey, isn’t that —”

The man on the roof took a step forward. Then another, until he perched at the very edge of the eaves, expression stiff, unchanging. Like the girl from before...

Except not quite stiff.

For a moment Ashne thought there was a flap of loose skin on his face, a remnant of some previous illness or disease. But then she realized the flap was moving. Squirming.

Ants emptied from his eyes and nostrils, streaming through his beard and across what remained of his neck, running so quickly that it seemed the man’s limbs were animated by some wicked spell.

The bandits closest to him screamed and yelped, scrambling to get away. Beyond them, the twins stared, transfixed.

“Jen! Lum!” shouted Ashne. “Come on!”

The man’s morbid dance stretched for a few moments longer. Then his body tumbled to the ground, an unrecognizable swarming lump that soon disappeared altogether, leaving behind no trace but for a single dark smudge.

The twins gathered their wits and carved a path through the crowd, circling away from the fallen body and the entangled mass of frightened men before finally reaching Ashne’s side.

“Are you all right?” Ashne demanded.

Nalum nodded, glancing to the side, as if expecting another attack or some other creature from the shadows.

“Sister,” said Jenhra, eyes wide. “Your face... it’s glowing.”

Ashne reached up, brushing the tips of her finger against her cheek. She could feel nothing, sense nothing, but the tattoos on her arms, too, were once again awash in a strange light.

“Never mind that,” snapped Ashne, uncertain and suddenly afraid again. “We must escape first.”

“What about... that man?”

“What,” she began, then whipped around to see the apothecary wandering off in a different direction, now that their attackers had dispersed and were themselves fleeing.

“Apothecary! What are you doing now? We have to get out of here!”

“No, no,” he replied impatiently, without stopping. “They took my basket. And my staff. I want them back.”

He was already too far away for her to stop him.

“Stay close,” she said to the twins, and followed.

* * *

Her tattoos faded as they ran. The apothecary, to her surprise, seemed to know exactly where he was going after all, and did not even pause to adjust his bearings as he plunged past gate after gate.

He came at last to a stop before what Ashne guessed to be the central building, where the magistrate’s offices must be located. No guards stood at the entrance; they too had likely joined the earlier carousing. Or had they been deliberately dismissed? The drunkard had earlier claimed the magistrate was not home. But if the man were in fact conducting some sort of secret affair, perhaps his absence was only a pretense.

At least one person might know the truth. The apothecary. Who, after a brief look of consideration, shoved the doors open with a grunt and padded on inside.

Ashne weighed their options, then turned to the twins. “Wait here. If anyone comes, find me.”

A bad position to be in, holed up in this place, with enemies and who knew what else all around them. If they moved quickly enough, they could still escape. And if worst came to worst, perhaps a hostage could be procured...

A fool’s ineffectual stratagems. Were she in any other situation, she would not have even harbored such considerations.

But as she continued to dog the apothecary’s footsteps, she admitted to herself that she had no other choice. Had left herself with no other choice, in truth, ever since she’d chosen to fall for the man’s bait.

Still, if she had chosen to ignore the bandit’s attack altogether, what then? She would not have found the glass pendant. This undeniable proof of the princess’s involvement, evidence more solid than the chariot wreck they had encountered on their way here.

The apothecary passed down a spacious hall, emptied of all but two lines of twisting candle holders guiding the way. At the end of the hall he stopped and turned, signaling to her.

So he had noticed her following him after all.

She slowed her steps, quieted her movements. He had paused before the door to a small room at the end of the hall. She peered past him and saw instantly that the apothecary’s basket and staff had been shoved away into the corner, evidently untouched. But as the apothecary started forward, she held him back, hearing voices emerging from deeper in the room.

“What’s that rowdy bunch out there got themselves into now?”

Magistrate Tham, entering from the door on the opposite side of the room, poring over what seemed to be a missive in his hands.

“Eh, don’t mind them, Lord Magistrate. The boys don’t mean any harm.”

She recognized that voice. The bandit chief — his men had called him Tuanwat.

So both the chief and the magistrate had been here all along. Working together. From Inhai’s words earlier, Ashne had assumed they were holed away elsewhere. Somewhere safe. Somewhere far apart from both carousers and mobs.

She nudged the apothecary aside, trying to get a better view.

Not only the chief, but the swordsman Rahm as well stood silently at his side.

“More to the point, Lord Magistrate,” the chief was saying now, “is it true you’re planning to hand that scabbard over to Krengsra once we manage to squeeze it back out of that nutty little apothecary?”

“What does it matter to you?”

“Well, you see,” said the chief with a wide yawn, “I reckon the thing belongs rightfully to us. For safekeeping, you know? Seeing as how our king isn’t around to claim it personally. As loyal men of Khonua, don’t you think it’s our duty or whatever to, I dunno, claim it in his place? The will of the gods and all. Heh.”

The magistrate tossed the scroll in his hands to the ground with a slap. “You people really believe that blade and its scabbard were gifted to you by some — some creature?”

The chief snorted. “Is it so hard to believe? Don’t your people trust in the spirits of your ancestors to guide your way?”

“That is an entirely different matter,” replied the magistrate, face reddening above his beard.

The chief folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head back. “If ya say so.”

“Hmph.” The magistrate turned away and began to pace. “At any rate, the arrangements have already been made. If you had any protests, you should have voiced them earlier.”

“Izzat so?”

“Time is of the utmost importance. I know that Khosian intends to embark upon his negotiations with the northerners soon. If we do not act before then... No, I suppose it is of no concern to you. At any rate, your rewards shall be great if you accomplish the tasks I hired you for. But if you fail...” He trailed off with a hard, menacing hint to his voice.

But the chief was unaffected. “Sorry,” he said, rolling back his shoulders with a crack. “But I’m afraid the deal’s off.”

The magistrate froze. “What?”

“You can barely keep one small city under control. That doesn’t make me confident that you’ll uphold your promises to us. Nope, not at all confident. Eh, Rahm?”

Rahm nodded. He seemed to be barely paying attention to his chief’s exchange at all — was, instead, surreptitiously looking around the room while the magistrate remained distracted.

“But — the deal with Sra —”

“Maybe we don’t want to work for Krengsra. Has that ever occurred to you, hm?”

“You’re nothing but a bunch of common ruffians! What does it matter who you work for? Besides, Khosian is no king of yours! Even you must admit that, surely!”

Tuanwat shrugged. “Ruffians we may be, but that doesn’t mean we’ve lost all sense of pride. That dog Khosian might be willing to wag his tail at Krengsra, but we of Khonua will never kneel to those conniving backstabbers! Why, even the snooty ol’ northerners are more trustworthy than them!”

“What — you —”

“’Sides, we just got a much better deal elsewhere.” Tuanwat grinned. “This funny old lady, see. She offered us more than wealth and goods, but even rank to boot! Can you just imagine? General Tuanwat, at your service! Hahahaha!”

A woman. Could it be?

“Chief,” muttered Rahm then, looking straight in Ashne’s direction.

He must have noticed their presence. Ashne ducked further behind the door, hand resting on the hilt of her sword.

Then looked on in horror as the apothecary chose that very moment to reveal himself.

“Hello there, Magistrate. As sore of a loser as ever, I see.”

For a moment all three men seemed uncertain how to respond. Then the magistrate stepped forward.

“You!” The magistrate pointed a quivering finger at him. “If it hadn’t been for you!”

“It was you who had one drink too many that night,” replied the apothecary. “You have only yourself to blame for that.”

Tuanwat stared. Then burst into loud, rumbling laughter. “A man after my own heart! I see I was not mistaken about you after all!”

The magistrate spluttered. His hand shook. “You — You cheated!”

“One hardly needs to resort to such means when presented with an opponent of lesser intellect. Especially in a game so simple as Six Sticks.”

“Lost in a game of Six Sticks! Ahahahaha!”

“Chief,” said Rahm again, looking rather exasperated even as he struggled, unsuccessfully, to keep the corner of his mouth from quirking upwards.

“The scabbard was mine!” growled the magistrate. “I paid for it, you conniving thief!”

“And gambled it away,” replied the apothecary, who shuffled over to the corner and hoisted up his basket. The magistrate lunged at him, but Tuanwat stepped in his way, as if curious to see what the apothecary would do.

He lifted the basket’s lid.

“My,” said the apothecary with a cheerful grin. “Thank you for putting everything back in its proper place for me. How very considerate of you!”

Tuanwat doubled over again with laughter. Ashne, seeing her chance, shifted from the shadows and reached the magistrate in a handful of swift strides.

“What did you do with the princess?” she demanded, sword pointed at his neck.

Too late, Tuanwat straightened and Rahm drew his blade. Ashne pressed forward in response, without even a sideways glance.

The magistrate backed away, hands raised, beard trembling indignantly. “You again! So you are the one behind this all! I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“You were the one who sent those assassins!”

“What nonsense! I have never in my life —”

Tuanwat interrupted with a leer. “Oh? So you’re one of Khosian’s people! Is your precious princess missing, then? News indeed, news indeed!”

“Chief.” This time there was a renewed urgency in Rahm’s voice. Ashne looked up; he stared back at her and frowned.

Shouts echoed down the hallway.

“Sister!”

There was no time. There was never any time.

“Tell me!” she said. “You knew of the upcoming negotiations with the Dragons. Clearly you were against this development. What action did you take? What did you promise our enemies? What did you do with the princess?”

“What’s going on?” bellowed Tuanwat. “I thought I told those rotten drunkards to leave us be for the night!”

From him, “rotten drunkards” sounded almost like an endearment.

Meanwhile, the magistrate scowled. “I did nothing but conduct a few harmless negotiations of my own. Whatever you are trying to accuse me of now, I swear, I have nothing to do with it!”

Unbelievable. With her free hand, Ashne yanked the glass pendant out from the folds where she had hastily tucked it away. “What about this? Do you still deny your involvement?”

The magistrate’s eyes widened, almost comically.

Then he sneered. Slashed at her with the knife he had been reaching for while she was distracted. She jumped back, automatically guiding her own blade in a counterattack, only for the magistrate to parry her blow just in time.

From behind her, the room erupted into a cacophony of cries and clashing metal. The magistrate continued slashing at her hands, keeping her at bay, not without some skill despite the apparent disorder of his frenzied movements.

“Barbarians, all of you!” he hissed. “What use would I have for such a trinket? For your little pretender of a princess?”

She was still too close and her back was open. Ashne spun out of his reach, careful not to fall into the path of any of the other bandits. A few well-aimed thrusts proved sufficient to discourage any immediate focus on her. Meanwhile, the twins fended off a pair at the door; the apothecary stood near them, ducking and darting and humming some stupid tune again. Chief Tuanwat and Rahm were nowhere to be seen. They had taken advantage of the confusion to slip away through the other door instead of embroiling themselves further in this mess — on Rahm’s advice, no doubt. From what she had seen of the chief, she did not think he would have willingly run away from a fight.

But for that matter, why now? Why abandon his men, their comrades, here with their discarded employer, without even a word? Neither of them had seemed the type to do so.

The magistrate launched himself at her again, knife discarded, now wielding a sword from a fallen bandit.

“This so-called trinket was hers!” she cried. “I found it in your little weaponry shed!”

“Impossible!”

Then who? The apothecary claimed lack of knowledge. This fool of an official, likewise. So too had the princess’s disappearance been news to Tuanwat.

And yet clearly the princess had been here.

Someone was lying.

She ducked past the magistrate’s thrust and struck at the opening he had created, intending to disable him, disarm him, whatever she could manage in this small space, in the time remaining. But she miscalculated, or perhaps he did, and his body twisted right into the path of her blade.

Blood splattered her face. The magistrate sank to the ground, mouth still open in disbelief.

Not again. Again, when she had been so close. So —

The twins had been pushed back, despite their best efforts. More bandits were beginning to pour into the room. The apothecary ran past her, toward the other door.

“This way!” he cried.

Jenhra kicked the man she had been fighting into an oncoming bunch of others before turning to run. Nalum slashed and whirled around in a single smooth motion, then joined her. Ashne allowed them to pass her before taking up the rear.

But they had not made it far down the other hall before they came across another group of bandits charging towards them, weapons raised.

The apothecary stopped. Fumbled for his basket.

“Hold your breath!”

Ashne obeyed without thinking. And just in time, as he tossed a handful strange rose-colored powder into the crowd of bandits with a quick flick of his wrist. The candles beside them suddenly blazed purple and began to smoke. Instantly, the men closest to them doubled over, wheezing. One began to froth at the mouth. All then seemed to stiffen, limbs twisted in awkward positions, paralyzed, the effect rippling out towards the edge of the gathering in an eerie wave of movement.

He was a sorcerer after all. The rumored sorcerer? No, it couldn’t be. Why would he be wandering around searching for himself?

A sorcerer would have had no need of powder. He had claimed, after all, to be an apothecary. Knowledge of poisons was not outside of his domain, though it certainly was outside of hers. And true, she had heard of similar substances before, though never witnessed their use firsthand.

But why, then, had he not used this before? To escape on his own? Or to avoid capture altogether?

Unless, of course, he had meant it when he said he’d intended to be caught from the start. For whatever insane reason.

Who knew how a madman’s mind functioned! It was a waste of time to figure him out.

Meanwhile, the apothecary blithely shoved a path through the frozen bandits. Halfway through he paused and waved impatiently at them; after a brief exchange of glances, the twins followed him readily, hands clamped firmly over their mouths.

Ashne continued holding up the rear, watching for the effect of the powder to wear off, or for any of their pursuers to catch up. But it did not, and no one came, and she passed safely through the next room and out the main doors.

As she ran, she grew aware of stabbing pain in her side. Bit down on her tongue, as if the pain in the mouth could distract her from the greater pangs below.

No blood. No new wound. But the old one, determined to relive its moment of genesis time and time again.

If she stopped now, they would all be caught.

She could not panic. Not now. Already she thought she could hear shouts from behind them as well as beyond the walls.

They had to flee.

* * *

Even the streets outside had gone mad. What had happened while they were trapped within the magistrate’s residence? But perhaps there was no need to ask that question, and less need to answer it.

It was, after all, only what she had expected.

They fought and shoved their way through scattered crowds, making their way south to the entrance. The battle being waged, if indeed it could be called one, was no bloody affair, no cruel but thorough extermination after months of siege. But it was not bloodless, either. Bodies lay strewn across their path, broken and trampled, some still twitching, and on many streets the ground was wet and dark. Without the steady guidance of war drums or the tolling of alarm bells, the scene seemed almost unreal.

They reached the south walls at last. The city gates were bereft of most of its guards, and the few who remained were busy nursing wounds or fending off other, smaller crowds. To Ashne’s horror, the gates had not even been closed, though it was by now long past sunset.

Or perhaps it had been opened again, in the confusion.

By who? Not even the citizenry could have committed such a deed. Not even in the throes of madness.

“What are you waiting for, sister?” cried Jenhra.

She ran, mind whirling again.

Execution awaited her if she were to be convicted of murdering an official, corrupt or no. The twins would vouch for her, certainly. But other than that, she had no solid proof of the magistrate’s misdeeds. But that was all beside the point. Already the king suspected her involvement in the princess’s kidnapping. What more, this one small extra misstep?

The worst of it was the knowledge that the city would soon fall into ruin, with its chief administrator dead and the bandits overrunning the streets. As soon as foreign powers heard of this incident — and they no doubt would, for certainly there must be spies within the city even now, at this very moment, and perhaps even among the crowd — they would surely take advantage of the situation to seize the city for themselves. One of the most strategically vital border fortifications of the kingdom would be lost. Unless the soldiers acted swiftly. Unless reinforcements were sent.

Her feet plodded to a stop. Ahead in the distance, the apothecary’s white head continued to bob farther and farther away. The twins turned to see what was holding her up this time.

“You two, go back.”

They knew what she meant instantly. “But —”

“You must inform the lady of all that has transpired here. Now go!”

They did not question her again. The frightened look on their faces assured her that this time, at least, they would adhere to sense.

She watched their figures disappear into the night as well, in a different direction from the apothecary.

Then she turned back south. Took a step forward. And found herself swaying.

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palm. The world righted itself again.

She took a few more steps. Swayed again. Stopped again. Took more steps.

She did not know how many times she had repeated the same ritual when she realized she was alone no longer.

“Why are you following me?” The pain in her side throbbed as she spoke.

He had come back for her.

“You look ready to collapse at any moment.”

Zsaran, Zsaran, she thought, head spinning. Took another step.

“Don’t. Lie to me.” A step with each word.

“I speak only the truth.”

“This way!” Soldiers. She could hear their shouting in the distance. Her vision spun and danced. Blood roared in her ears.

The apothecary grabbed her arm — when had he gotten so close? — and tugged her in another direction. Fool. He would get them lost. Take them right into their waiting arms.

But the shouting faded, grew distant. Lantern light flickered, then plunged into darkness. She tripped over rocks and roots, but the apothecary did not hesitate as he pulled her away, away, away.

Only then, he did stop. She stumbled into him; he steadied her, almost instinctively, without once looking back.

“Oh, damn,” he muttered under his breath, or she thought he did.

The wind whispered and sighed. A shadowed figure loomed close, moving counter to the swaying of the trees.

Phas. Blade drawn, face grim.

“Come with me if you value the life of your princess.”

The princess. She was no longer thinking straight. She knew this. But she was sure she had not heard wrong.

The princess. How did Phas know of the princess? She had been sure she gave nothing away. And he was no sorcerer. There were no sorcerers left in the land.

The apothecary. Braksya. He was a sorcerer. No, he wasn’t. Were they working together after all?

No. No, impossible.

Never trust a northerner. Wasn’t that what Kitzon had said?

Damn him. Damn them all.

“Where is she,” she forced out. What have you done with her.

But no more words came. Her hands were numb. She could not find her sword.

“She is with my employer. Come.”

The princess. The princess. Phas had known all along. Or had he? He had been searching for employment...

In her blurring vision she saw the apothecary look from Phas, to her, then back to Phas again. “Oh, very well,” he said, and she could not tell if it were exasperation in his voice, or triumph, or resignation, or something else entirely. “You’ve got us.”

If he said anything further, she did not know. She slipped into oblivion, swept away by the distant, languorous scent of sea mingling with plum.