“Good evening, Alara.”

“Hi, Adelmo,” Alara said glumly.

Adelmo’s lips pulled down into a frown, creasing his wrinkled forehead, although his blue eyes still sparkled with a hint of humor. His silver beard was short and unkempt—as though he hadn’t shaved since Alara had last seen him—making him look older and more tired. Next to him, upper arm gripped in other his large hand, stood Quenti.

“Now would one of you care to explain to me what Alara Ayar was doing down here at this time of night entering illegal skirmishes?”

“I… uh… we—” Alara stuttered, searching for an answer that made any sense at all and didn’t land them in a load of trouble. She turned to Quenti for help, but when she met her eyes, the other girl was only trying to suppress a laugh.

Alara glared daggers at her. She regretted not leaving Quenti on her own when she ran off the first time. She could be safe and warm in bed, and most importantly, not in trouble right now.

Face red with shame, Alara met Adelmo’s eyes. “We got lost?”

“You got… lost. Inside a fighting ring?”

Alara stared dumbly at Adelmo for a second, her mouth open slightly, as if she’d come up with a sudden genius retort. It didn’t come, and she closed her mouth finally, silent. She shifted uncomfortably on the balls of her feet and looked away, no longer wanting to meet the intensity of his blue eyes.

“Well, this is awkward.” Quenti finally piped up, laughter still dancing in her eyes. “Okay, so this was sorta my fault. I tripped and hit her, pushing her into the ring. Next thing we know, they’re throwin’ a spear at her. I’m just so clumsy.”

Adelmo looked Quenti up and down and then turned his gaze back on Alara, who was still trying to not make eye contact.

“Right,” the old man said. “Very clumsy indeed. Well, we’d better get you cleaned up before you head back to the dorms, then. Otherwise, Senya Emaru may find out how clumsy you can be.”

Alara looked down at her pants and tunic and saw them smeared with mud. Even her skin was covered in a thin layer of cream dust, lightening her complexion in the dull light. Biting her lip, she lifted her hand to her hair and gave a groan at the tangle of dirt and brown waves her hair had become. It was going to take forever to get it clean again, and she had just bathed that afternoon.

“Come on.” Adelmo was already a few steps ahead of her, his hand still leading Quenti along with him as he pushed through the oblivious crowd.

The onlookers’ attention had been drawn away from them again to the ring, which now held two new competitors.

It took a few minutes of weaving between people, but they finally burst through on the other side of the crowd. Adelmo led them down a dark and thin tunnel to the side of the fighting chamber. It was empty and the sound of the dark marketplace and din of the audience faded with every turn they took.

Quenti’s teeth shone bright in the dark and Alara gave a huff of annoyance to see she was still smiling after all of this. Alara wasn’t sure who she was angry at more, at this point: Quenti for leading her down there and pushing her into that ring, or herself for not having ditched the troublemaker when she had the chance. She was not looking forward to the disappointed looks from Adelmo over the next few weeks. He wasn’t the type to tattle to Emaru about this little excursion, but she doubted he would let this go quickly.

As turned around as Alara had gotten in their time amid the dark marketplace, soon as they ascended a set of stone steps, she knew exactly where they were. If they turned right they would find the healing quarter of the Haven and left would take them to the Council’s quarter. But Adelmo continued leading them straight down a familiar path to Alara, out to Cielo.

As they passed through the stone arch marking the threshold into the outer city, Quenti threw her head back and took a deep breath, taking in the starry view. “El’dyo, I missed this.”

Alara didn’t respond, still fuming at the last hour’s events. But even she had to appreciate the fresh night air that grazed her face. The moon had waned to almost nothing, and the streets were dark with shadows, the only light coming from a few lanterns and the stars that peppered the navy sky.

The roads were cobbled, winding, and thin. Having been built over hundreds of years, the city limits had slowly expanded as the power of the Council and Haven grew, attracting more and more blameless. Three distinct walls surrounded much of Cielo. As the population grew, the old walls became defunct. Now, they were more symbolic, separating the terraces and neighborhoods, though the doorways always remained open, allowing citizens to filter through without trouble.

Where they were now was one of the oldest parts of the city, though, where the original blameless had settled. Even still, the streets were barely wide enough for two carts to pass by each other. Against the building, small walkways raised up away from the streets, but these were only wide enough for one person to balance carefully. The three of them walked in the center of the empty street, the stones curving under Alara’s thin soled boots.

“Hey, Senya Strong Grip, where are we headed?” Quenti said, voice dry and unconcerned.

Ignoring her, Alara kept her face toward the sky, appreciating the breeze.

Adelmo didn’t look back as he responded, “Home.”

Quenti looked around the quiet, sleeping city, her eyes wandering slowly up the buildings, many two stories high in this district. “I thought all the Council’s mages lived inside the Haven?”

Alara gave a short snicker before remembering she was still upset at Quenti. Adelmo, however, let out a large and gruff laugh, his face beamed and he threw a wink at Alara before looking back at Quenti.

“I ain’t no mage, kid.”

***

Adelmo’s home was a short walk from the Haven entrance, and they made the rest of the trip in silence. As they passed by the stables, Alara peeked in to see the l’lamas and l’lamagas sleeping in their stalls, ears twitching as they dreamed. As soon as they entered Adelmo’s house, Alara made a beeline to the chest in the corner without so much as an order from the old man.

To Alara, Adelmo’s house was almost as much her home as the Haven itself was. In her years residing within the walls of Cielo, she hadn’t made very many friends, but Adelmo had always been a sort of parental figure for her—much to the chagrin of Emaru, given Adelmo’s blameless blood. Though, in spite of Emaru’s protests, Alara had always found ways to sneak away from the Haven to spend her free afternoons with Adelmo in his stables, helping care for the Council l’lamagas. It was the one bit of defiance Alara allowed herself as a magite.

She opened the rough wood lid and snatched a rough tunic and pair of trousers from inside the chest and retreated into the water closet to change. After putting on the clean outfit, she quietly went to work filling a bucket with water from the barrel outside.

Quenti sat on a stool near the door, looking dumbfounded at what she saw, and Alara couldn’t help but take the slightest bit of satisfaction in her confusion. Adelmo ignored both and made tea next to the fire.

“Okay, so why do you have a change of clothes here?” Quenti finally asked, her voice laced with irritation.

Alara said nothing, though she could hear Quenti just fine. After everything the girl put her through, Alara allowed herself this childish moment of superiority. Instead, she silently wrung out her tunic and pants, washing away the filth of the evening. She hung them out the window of the house before dumping the dirty water outside.

Adelmo handed Quenti a mug of coca tea. Upon receiving it, the girl absently tapped her fingers onto the leaves floating on top, soaking them in the steaming water.

“I,” Adelmo said, “might have taught Alara a thing or two about physical combat while Emaru wasn’t looking. I’m sure she’s figured it out by now,” he shrugged, “but she hasn’t told me to stop yet.”

Quenti grinned at this, taking a sip of her tea. “How did you learn to fight?”

Adelmo smiled and waved toward a small club that hung on the wall. It was marked with the Council’s symbol: two rings linked together. “The same way all councilguards learn to fight.”

Quenti’s eyes went wide at this.

“Mind you,” Adelmo said, “that was a long time ago, before time had its way with me, leaving me with sore knees and a bad back.”

Alara watched from the corner of the room, her own tea clasped in her hands. She didn’t like how relaxed Quenti looked. How was Alara the one anxious about getting in trouble when it was Quenti that got them into this mess?

To make matters worse, after the initial confusion, Quenti had taken to Adelmo’s home like her own—which was actually very annoying. She continued to chat with the old man, asking him questions about the councilguard and the history of Cielo.

Alara’s eyes grew heavy and she set down her mug, leaning back against the bale of hay in the corner. She vaguely wondered how long her magite clothes would take to dry before her eyes finally closed, the sound of Quenti and Adelmo’s soft voices lulling her to sleep.