The room was so full of smoke that even the torches at the wall didn’t light up its inner area. The different tones of gray, darkened by the dancing shadows, made it hard to see the food on the tables. But given its taste, not recognizing the ingredients was more of a blessing.

It wasn’t a place the rich or powerful would frequent, but a secluded sanctuary for those who couldn’t cope with the farmers’ cheeriness in the streets. Thieves, derelicts, day laborers. People who didn’t like the >Where did you get your scars from?

A gathering of lost souls who cared even less for their seatmate than they did for themselves.

A few of them eyeballed the young woman entering from the nightly street for a second, but immediately lost all interest when she entered the tavern with no signs of hesitation. Her patched dress’ front displayed enough to fuel the men’s imagination even with her face and hair hidden under a dirty cloak, yet nobody tried to stop her footsteps.

Those wasting their lives in this basement wouldn’t deny a free meal, but any woman who consciously entered the tavern’s stench wasn’t worth the trouble she would bring.

Picking a table at the back of the room, the young women sat opposite a drunk guest.

“Not interested.” The middle-aged man addressed the newcomer without looking up. Instead, his full concentration remained on the small block of wood in his hand, slowly carving it into the shape of a horse’s head. A detailed work, completely out of place between vomit stains and other bodily fluids.

“I didn’t know I would need your approval,” the girl responded, stopping her counterpart’s hands.

“If it isn’t the little princess. Any work for this humble beggar?”

“Princess? Father should have beheaded you when you entered through the gate.” Harsh words, but the corners of her lips betrayed her genuine feelings. “Tomorrow, the incompetent will leave for the wolf. I need you to follow him.”

“The wolf?” The man’s eyes changed. No longer apathetic. “Is he that desperate?”

“He is.” The girl stopped for a moment, searching for the right words. “We had a newcomer with… interesting talents. A spy, according to the old geezer. So he runs back to his master, grovels, and begs. A lord with no pride, and a wolf with no honor.”

“So much poison for a girl.” The man chuckled to himself. “Well, not like I couldn’t understand you. So what’s the plan? An accident?”

“No, we need him alive or the wolf will move. Just follow him and report to me when he is about to return. That way I can leave for the southern encampment without worry.”

“The southern encampment?” A raised eyebrow. “Shouldn’t the vice be able to handle it? I worry more about Gladford in the blaze’s hand.”

“Flames or not, he can’t do anything on his own.” The girl waved aside his fears. “It won’t be for long. We already got new march orders.”

“That paranoid?”

A nod.

“Only backstabbers are this paranoid.” The man sighed. “Well, it fits him. So what are your ideas? Helping the newcomer to distract them?”

“No need. They are toothless anyway. It’s just… when he came to me, he spouted some nonsense about justice and the right thing to do. His head in the clouds. But… Attila liked him.”

“So that’s it.” The man laughed, kinda insinuating. “He reminds the young miss of the old times. That cute little girl using her stick to fight villains and monsters between the flowerbeds. The heroine with the injured knees and her doting father who would-”

“Enough!” The girl interrupted. “Enough. Vulmar, what is your position?”

“Your family’s sword.”

“Then don’t dishonor my father with further words. Or I’ll finish what my father didn’t.”

“As you wish.” An implied bow. But also a knowing smile. “So he really reminds you of the past?”

“He does. It’s like listening to my father’s stories once more. Those days underneath the old apple tree. Those tales I never forget. So here is another chance to fulfill these dreams. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

“Young miss, you would honor your father.”

“My father?” A shadow clouded Rhoslyn’s face. “I just want to see what he’ll choose. Whether he and his farmers can show me another miracle. Will they be able to overcome what the backstabber has in store for them?”

“A gamble?”

“A hope. As long as he isn’t reckless… If we can weather this storm, the horse might gallop once more…”

“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” A serene laugh. “A drink to that.”