It was all done but for mopping up. Wild men and noble lay across the ground, so black with their own blood that nobody could tell the difference. The swordsman she had saved was kneeling down to hug two children, no more than twelve, taking care not to dirty them with the stains of red.

Kal Lugreth and his homunculus stood to the side, studying her.

Eyfrae herself hadn’t escaped the chaos unharmed. She was slumped in a commandeered chair. A table cloth had been fashioned into a rough robe so she could release her flames and be treated by a healer. Her hand dangled limply, the doctor pressing salves into the wound that cleft her shoulderbone apart. Everything hurt. The universe was raw and painful, every moment of it sieving through her lungs like jagged glass.

“Eyfrae!” The sound of Malvet’s voice went through her skull like a nail. He, of all people, was pushing through the crowd, babbling. “There’s a man, Attuned, who came out of the Tower. They took him prisoner. They won’t let me talk to him.”

It took her a second to blink through the fog, realizing what he was saying.

“Cathara!” Eyfrae pulled away from the healer, stormed towards the woman with her guards. “The man you took captive, where is he?”

“Oh, he’ll be executed by now.” Cathara purred out, triumph in her eyes. That alone was enough to confirm everything to Eyfrae. She didn’t waste words threatening the old bitch. She moved to storm out, feeling like her stomach might overturn in every step, heading for the courtyard.

If she was too late…

Gods damn this city.

She made it three steps before turning back, and asking, “Where is Suffi?” Something new flitted across Cathara’s face, something Eyfrae had never seen from her before. Genuine fear. It was as satisfying as cold, pure water. Oh how her life would be simpler if that freak was dead.

“We don’t know.” Cathara answered, every syllable bitter.

Trivelin was on his way out. One small stop to seize hold of everything not nailed down, and he was gone. The silver mist surrounding him was slowly dissipating, pouring back into the watch clutched in his hand. He vaulted through the courtyard, where the old guard’s body was still bleeding where it lay slumped against the wall, pausing to lift the man’s sword before glancing between the two doors out.

One of those doors, the men of ash had come from. One they had left by. And by Trivelin’s calculations, that meant one way took him away from danger, and the other was in no way worth considering.

That was the logic that led to him nearly running into Eyfrae. A gorgeous, dark-haired woman in a torn tablecloth of a dress. He was just busy being properly stunned by the sight of her calves emerging from beneath the rather short hem when a toadish, sour-faced man came around the corner behind her.

Ah but there’s always a boyfriend trying to spoil things, isn’t there. He thought bitterly, and smiled his most rakish smile, sweeping his hat off his head in a low bow. “Hello, my dear lady.”

“That’s him!” The toad shouted.

Shit. What had he done this time?

“Don’t move.” The woman commanded, a spark of flame curling off her fingers as she snapped them. It was a very good way to make herself heard. She reached out, seizing his chin, and made him meet her gaze. “What is your Attunement.”

“I don’t-”

“He changes shapes.” The boyfriend volunteered. Both Trivelin and the woman glared at him. But ah, he knew who she was now. A woman who commanded fire could only be the famous guild leader. The one with the notoriously atrocious temper.

And this little shit had on the symbol of the Institute of Magi’s High Mage, somehow.

“I change shapes.” He admitted, sour.

“Good. And where did you get that Attunement.” She demanded. The intense way she was staring at him, weighing him, was beginning to make Trivelin more worried than flattered. It was hard to lose himself in her emerald gaze when those eyes were full of such terrifying fire.

“I ah, I am afraid I cannot say, my beautiful jewel-”

She slapped him. That was the way this usually went, but my, she was strong. Trivelin’s head snapped about, the imprint of her hand stinging on his cheek.

“Never lie to me again.” She hissed into his ear, grabbing him by neck this time. “Tell me you won that Attunement from the Dungeon beneath our feet, and I will give you a seat at the table that runs this city. Or you can try testing my patience.”

“I um-” Gods, but what kind of situation was this? He felt more inclined to assume she was mad than really about to offer him a city on a platter, but either way, there was a clear right answer. An answer that would keep him from being turned into a charcoal shadow.

And really, would he be breaking his promise to protect the Dungeon’s interests to let this one little secret slip? Gods, and if she did make him one of the city’s rulers, wouldn’t that be a plum position to help the Dungeon from?

But it was one thing to convince himself. He could convince himself of anything. The question is, would the Contract let him speak.

“I did.” He was surprised when the words left his lips. He’d been half expecting her or the damned Contract to choke him first. “Yes, yes, I did.”

“And can you negotiate with the Dungeon, on our behalf?”

“Why, yes, yes I can. Very good friends, me and the Dungeon. We see eye to, mm, gem. Have I introduced myself?” Carefully extricating himself from her grasp, and stepping back, he returned his hat to head.“Trivelin Arbador. For all your negotiation needs.”

“You’ll do.” She said. Like so many before her.

My eyes saw everything.

Suffi’s kidnapping by the ash men, witness by a rat clinging on to the carriage axle. Trivelin’s encounter with Eyfrae, seen by a pair of ratty eyes on the balcony above. Dozens swarmed through the overturned banquet tables at the bloody aftermath of the party.

We saw the terrified maids sent to sweep away the blood as the rich and noble were herded away from such unsightly things.

Tonight was a triumph of my rats, and oddly, of Trivelin. However he’d become entwined with this strange tale, he’d somehow reemerged as one of its protagonists.

As the partygoers were shuffled into the feasting hall, he stood at the head of the long table, dressed now in fine clothes purloined from a nearby wardrobe; a jacket of yellow silk and high calfskin boots, a white wig, a dusting of rouge on his cheeks. He looked so utterly ridiculous he could only have been rich. It was unimaginable a poor man would have such bad taste.

It was Eyfrae who spoke first. “Ladies and gentleman, Suffi Halfhand has disappeared. We do not know if she still lives.” The gasp that ran through the crowd was polite fiction. All of them knew already, and half of them were taking bets. “But- We have found a suitable replacement for the position of Lord-Protector. A brave adventurer who has conquered the Dungeon and realized Attunement.”

“Allow me to present myself.” He stepped forward with a neat little swish of his long jacket, posing in front of them all. It was his moment of shining pomposity.

“I am Trivelin Arbador, a man of the world. Ah, but Caltern, Caltern is a special city, near to my heart. I consider myself home here. Nowhere else will you find such a motley assortment of people. Nowhere in the continent do such odd specimens rub shoulders, do we have to deal with dwarves and mer and humans, criminals and nobles, drunks and prophets. And what do we do?

“We make money!” He thrust a finger into the air. “We don’t care where they come from, and we don’t care where they’re going. We care that they’re here, now, and we can sell them something. Not a person in this room is poor, because we all know that one truth. We take every moment as a blessing and a chance to turn a profit. That’s the spirit. And this catastrophizing, oh, this wailing and gnashing of teeth over the Dungeon under our feet, isn’t that forgetting who we are?

“Dungeon or no, for us right-thinking people it’s just another chance to spin nothing into gold. I’ve met the Dungeon’s spirit, and I can tell you, it has things it wants. Things we can sell it. Things, even, that aren’t worth much to us. Why for very little cost I can guarantee we establish good relations with the Dungeon.

“All we’ll have to do is feed it a few criminals.” This gasp was very real. “Yes, feed it. Throw the pickpockets and such down. Let it handle them for us. And in exchange, we say, ask it to open up a hunting range, to let our brave adventurers poach a few creatures now and then. Think of what Caltern will become with a steady source of Mana rich meat, fruit that extends the natural lifespan, with trees that grow gold and jewels.”

His fist slammed on the table. “We’d be fools - Fools! - to treat this as a disaster, when it’s a gold vein beneath all our feet!”

I could have grimaced. He was making quite the list of promises for me, but still- the thought of a steady source of souls and Mana had me metaphorically drooling. Open up a hunting ground? I could do that. Yes, I could definitely feed them a little if they fed me a lot.