Winding streets, little towers, and open markets; you could see all of Mirth from this bridge. The streets popped with colour, wood panels covered in carvings, brightly painted. Red banners proudly flying in the wind. The crowds milled about, smiles on their faces. Hellos waved to neighbors, friendliness on their sleeves. A contrast to Euphorian etiquette.

Diggery blinked, taking in the world below "This place is so cheery."

"Mirth is certainly different than the other capitals." I agreed, stepping away from the stone bridge. An eerie similarity to my hometown Enfold. I didn't want to think about that. A reminder of all the things I wanted to forget. As close as I can handle to going back.

I scanned the marketplace, searching for someone who would be good for directions. A friendly looking matron with a pastry stand waved in my direction. She seems like a good candidate. I stepped up to the booth, flashing her a friendly smile. "I'd like one of those sticky buns," I said, motioning at the rack on the table. She placed it on the front counter, waiting as I shuffled with my coins. Throwing in a little extra, I handed it to her.

"Thanks." She smiled, slipping the money in her apron pocket.

I leaned on the counter, tapping my fingers. "And I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of the Burgundy Inn?"

She twisted up her face in a frown. "You wanna go there? Why on earth would you want to go to a place like that?"

"Um…" I took a breath, spinning up a good story. "My uncle went there to drink last night, my parents sent me to fetch him." Believable enough.

"Well then," the woman sighed, pointing down the street. "Follow the road till you get to a large yellow house then turn left and four doors down, you should find the Inn there."

"Thanks." I stepped back from the stand, sticky bun in hand.

Running back to Diggery, he frowned at the pastry. "Where did you get money for that?" he asked.

I shrugged. "You can have it if you want. I just thought buying something would help us get directions." I held it out to him.

He took the sticky bun, frowning at me. "You didn't answer my question," he chewed.

"I pickpocketed it, It's not a big deal." Liar. Squirming at my accusation, I crossed my arms. It wasn't like I didn't feel guilty about it. It was better he didn't know, safer.

He narrowed his eyes, taking another bite of dough. I rolled my eyes. "Why are you being so nosy about it?" I bit.

"Let's just find the Inn," he huffed, starting down the road. I ran to catch up, heading down the cobblestones. The yellow house in mind, I kept an eye scanning. Carriages rolling through, staggered in timing. Each wore a different flag, familial crests. A common practice around here, a way to show pride in one's bloodline.

The whole thing was ridiculous to me. Basically saying, look at me, look at who I belong to, aren't I important. But belonging to someone isn't extraordinary. It doesn't make you special. It only means… I'm jealous.

Diggery yanked on my sleeve, pulling my attention back. "What are we looking for?"

I stiffened my shoulders, moving forward. "A big yellow house," I murmured the directions, the flags making me dizzy .

"Okay." He nodded, giving me a wary eye. "Anything else?"

"From there we turn left, the Inn should be around that corner." I trudged forward, looking in between people. Along the street, one carriage didn't have a crest. Two guards waiting beside it, dressed in red and black armor. Now where were they from?

Diggery pointed to a yellow building at the end of the road. "Could that be it?"

"Maybe..." I muttered, my eyes pulled back to the carriage. Something strange and intimidating about them. A man with a severe expression. His long dark cloak draping in the wind, power in his steps. Another two guards followed him, the street clearing as they approached a carriage. My eyes met his. A frozen icy glare, framed by a terrible scar ove4 his eyebrow. We had to get out of here.

"Come on." I grabbed Diggery's hand, pulling him with me, into the alleyway. Heart pounding, I ducked back against the wall, pushing Diggery away from the street view.

"Wait, what are you doing?" he asked.

I peeked out into the street. "That man, I have a bad feeling about him, I don't want him to see us again."

"What man?" Diggery furrowed his brow.

"The one with his own guards at the end of the road, I just want to wait till they leave," I explained, my face going red. I sound paranoid.

Diggery smirked, raising our interlocked hands. "Are you sure you just didn't want to hold my hand?"

I let go, swatting his shoulder. "This is serious, Diggery." A knot of fear stuck in my gut. That man, he was something scary. Worse than the typical scum I dealt with.

Diggery laughed, "Either way I don't mind why you hold my hand." He took my hand back, keeping that sly smile.

"You're hopeless," I huffed, a smile cracking through. Same loon as always. Peeking out the alleyway again, I saw no sign of the carriage. "I think they're gone," I sighed, loosening my shoulders.

I motioned for him to follow, slipping back into the main street. No more strange guards, just a sunny house, right on the corner. "That must be it," I sighed, stalling at the fork in the road.

"So left then?" He raised an eyebrow.

I nodded, dragging my feet. "She said it was the fourth house down the street but she didn't say what side," I repeated, turning around the corner. An ugly grayish brown building stuck out against the bright painted houses. The faded, paint chipped sign had Burgundy Inn scrawled across it. This is it? Trash in piles, derby strung out over the yard. It made Red Bear look like a palace.

"What a lovely establishment." Diggery wrinkled his nose.

"You'd think criminals would get sick of living in grim," I said, walking through the gate. A rat scurrying across the path. I turned up my nose, a smell wafting in from the building. Pulling on the door handle, it rattled against the lock. Locked, strange for an Inn. How were travelers supposed to inquire about rooms? Not exactly a friendly welcome.

I knocked on the door, stepping back beside Diggery. The place looked abandoned, hopefully someone was still inside.

A slit in the door shifted over, two beady eyes poking through. "What do you want?" his gruff voice boomed through the door.

I cleared my throat. "I have business with someone called Silver," I said, standing straighter. The slide closed, silencing poking at my nerves. I shrugged to Diggery, staring back at the closed door. A click, followed by a series of clicks. Tumblers rolling, till the door swung open. The beady-eyed man blinked back, motioning for me to follow.

I slipped past him, turning back to his arm blocking Diggery. "Just her, we don't know about you," he said.

"He's with me," I argued, walking back.

Beady-eyes shook his head. "Just you, or none of you. The boy can wait outside." Hardened gaze, jaw clenched. This guy isn't going to budge.

"Fine," I conceded. Diggery's eyes wide, panic sprawled across them. I pursed my lips, taking a step back. "I won't be long," I called. Diggery nodded, walking back down the steps. Thankfully he didn't fight me. I knew these sorts of people, making a scene was a bad idea. Best case scenario you get thrown out with all our limbs still attached.

Beady-eyes shut the door, locks turning shut. "Follow me," he echoed, his gruff tone unwavering. He walked down the hall, up towards the stairs.

Following him, I peeked over at the other room. Chairs lay on the ground, random papers scattered the floors. The wallpaper peeled in large chunks, yellowed edges. A lone drunk passed out on the counter. Maybe he was my imaginary uncle. I snorted. Beady-eyes's glare sent me scurrying up the steps. Creaking as I caught up, he turned his head back to the path.

He led me down a dark hall, footsteps echoed and muffled. We stopped at the last door, his hand over the handle. "Silver is just in here, he'll show you out." He cracked open the door, motioning for me to enter. I paused in the doorway, peering in. I've never dealt with Silver before. I didn't know how he operated, what to avoid. I shook off the nerves, stepping inside. This is your job, time for improvising.

Overwhelmed by the smell of dust, the office was a mess of books, papers, indistinguishable garbage. I stifled a cough, stopping in front of the desk. His back turned, looking out a tiny window. I couldn't see his face.

"Malachi responds quickly," he said, keeping his eyes on the window.

"When he wants too," I returned, arms crossed.

"Well let's not waste time then, if the boss is in a rush." Silver turned around in his chair. "Aw shi-" his voice cut out, the colour draining from his face.

Not him. "Silver, eh?" I hissed through my teeth, "I think you got your name wrong again, Alexander Wren."

He threw his hands up. "Trust me, I wasn't expecting this either."

I raised my eyebrows. "You know I work for Malachi."

"Ya, but I didn't think he'd send you. Whatever, it will still work."

"What will?" I asked, stepping closer.

"The business deal, doesn't matter who delivers it, only that It's delivered." He said, pulling out a package neatly wrapped.

I leaned on the desk, studying the wrapping. "What's inside?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." He smirked, fingers over the box.

"I would." I snatched the package. Shaking it by my ear, something rumbled inside.

"Gosh kid, don't shake it!" he stole it back, setting it down. "It's delicate."

"Delicate?" I grinned. "Now what sort of thing would be delicate?"

"Stop fishing, I'm not going to tell you" he spat, leaning back in his chair. He rolled his eyes. "I'm merely feeding your boss's appetite for eccentric treasures."

"Is that right?" I put my hand back on the box. "Keep your secrets, I don't care."

He let go, smirking. "You're not a very convincing liar."

"Either way I have to take it." I slid it over to myself.

"Ya, ya." He shook his head. "Once it leaves my hands it's not my problem."

"Alright then." I carefully slipped it into my pack, latching it shut.

Wren yawned, arms rested above his head. The scar on his wrist slipped out in view. I stalled in place. Did I dare ask him about Euphoria? I really wanted to know...

He sighed, lips in a fine line. "Anything else?"

"No…" I muttered, walking back towards the door. Just go home. Questions nagging at the back of my mind, I needed to know. I turned around, hissing, "Did you kill someone in Euphoria?"

Wren blinked, his wide-eyes breaking into laughter. "Recently? No, I don't think so." He slouched back in his chair. "Though you really shouldn't believe anything I say, kid. Do you think I would be honest if I murdered someone?"

"Probably not."

Wren tilted his head, tapping his finger on his lips. "Well for what it's worth, I didn't do it. I imagine Rayburn's tattoo friend might be the culprit, cleaning up loose ends. Deadmen can't talk or what have you." Wren snorted, chuckling to himself. "Fortunately I got what I needed before he was silenced."

"But he died?" I gawked at him. "Don't you at least feel sorry that you played some part in that?"

He rested his face in his hands."You can't ask me to feel bad for every poor sap whose time runs short. I know more dead people than alive."

I tightened my fists. How could he talk like that? It was so callous, unfeeling. If this really was the Alexander Wren from the story, he wasn't much of a hero. He's pathetic. Then again with so many names, I didn't know what to think. Was this name just another alias? Something stolen, tried on for size. He may not know Freya at all…

"If you're just going to stare at me like that, you should go," Wren growled, furrowing his brow.

I took a breath, ordering my words. "This may be a bit of a strange question, but have you ever met someone named Freya? She's not alive anymore but..."

Wren stiffened, his lips parted. "Freya..." he whispered.

I nodded. "Ya, it's just that she used to tell stories about a character with your name and-"

"I knew Freya," his voice low, pain behind his eyes. "She was an extraordinary person."

"She was."

"Notorious liar, though," he laughed, his grin almost childlike.

"About almost everything." I smiled. "I feel as though I knew her so well and yet not at all."

"Freya was always something of a mystery." Wren's smile weakened. Was that regret in his eyes? I wanted to know more, know how they exactly knew each other.

"...You should get that package to Malachi." Wren pushed back in his chair, regaining a blank expression. "Leave the past in the past."

I blinked at the shift, trying to read him. I wanted to ask more questions. I needed to know more...but it was none of my business. Diggery was outside, Malachi waiting at the camp. Always something standing between me and answers. "I'll see you around, Wren." I threw him a wave, turning towards the door. Abandoning my questions...

"See ya, kid," he echoed back, his voice hollow.

I walked back into the dark hallway, light pouring up from the staircase. Strange to think there really was a connection. I guess I would never know if the stories were true, or even about how they met. I needed to stop getting wrapped up in other people's mysteries. There was enough to worry about.

Stepping down the rickety staircase, I scanned for Beady-eyes. The silence deafening, he wasn't nearby. Sure it was fine if I just showed myself out. Crossing over to the door, I turned the handle, walking outside.

The buildings across the street brighter, a single woman walked on the side of the road. No one else in sight. Where did Diggery go? Wandering out, into the street, I scoured every direction. Where on earth did he go? We didn't have time for this. If Malachi wanted something quick he meant it. I picked at my nails, circling in the middle of the street.

Maybe Beady-eyes saw where he went? I turned back to the Inn, walking up the front steps. I knocked on the door.

"What," he growled, opening the slide.

"Did you see where my friend went?" I stood up on my tiptoes.

"No, I'm not everybody's keeper. Get lost," Beady-eyes huffed, slamming the slide shut.

"Well, sorry," I grumbled under my breath. I turned back down the path. Maybe he went around the bend? Something red and black catching my eye.

A letter stabbed through an old piece of fencing. The paper still bright, new. A red ribbon pressed with black wax. The same as the letter Malachi gave me. I ripped it off the fence, opening it up. I struggled to sound out the loose handwritten loops.

Dear Wanderer,

Your friend is perfectly safe, if you want him to stay that way, meet me at the top of the north tower in Mirth's grand palace. I look forward to meeting you.

-Augustine of Arcane

The paper rattled in my hands, the words blurring. They had Diggery. That group Wren told me about. This was bad, this was really bad. I needed help.

I ran back, pounding my fists on the door. After a long pause the slide opened. "You're really getting on my nerves." Beady eyes hissed.

"Please, I need to talk to Silver," I pleaded.

His eyes didn't waver. "Your business is done. You're not coming back in here." Shutting the slit, his footsteps stomped away.

"Wait, please!" I called, pulling on the handle. Knocking my fists on the door, no footsteps came back. I slammed another fist at the wall. Idiot.

I stumbled back from the building. Who knew the horrors Diggery now faced? Fighting back tears, I didn't want to imagine. My head spinning, I had to think of something, anything.

I didn't need the door to get Wrens attention. I stalked to the back of the building, picking up some stones from the dirt. A couple in my hand. I searched for his little office window. Throwing the stones at the window, little clunks as they bounced off the window ledge. Please let this work...

Wren’s face poked out the window, squinting down at me. I held up the letter, the red ribbon dancing with the wind. His face disappeared.

I held my breath, standing in the backyard, in the quiet. Numbing my mind so I wouldn't collapse in panic. What would I do if he didn't come? I needed him to know what to do. I didn't know what to do. The seconds ate at my sanity.

A door slammed shut, footsteps scattering around the corner. Wren came running out. His eyes wide, frantic. "Where did you find that?" he shouted, pulling the letter from my hand.

"They have my friend," I spat, hands shaking. Wren a sickly shade of green, he stared at me, waiting for an answer.

"They left it out front."

"How do they know you? You didn't do anything stupid with the letter did you?" His voice breaking as he scanned.

"No, I didn't do anything with it. I don't have a clue what they want with me." I buried my face with my hands. To my shame I did nothing with the letter. This couldn't be about that.

He waved the paper at me. "Well there has to be something. They don't go to lengths like this for just anyone," he stressed, pulling it back. "Oh kid..." his voice faltered.

"What?" I stepped closer, staring at the letter. What did he see?

A look of pity, his blue eyes wide. "It's nothing. I'll help you get your friend back." He handed back the letter. "But you really gotta stop holding out on me."

I couldn't figure out what he meant... I looked over the letter again, the greeting slapped me in the face. Dear Wanderer. I stared in horror at the title. They knew about my gifting, and now so did Wren.