“Hello, Markus.”

“Thief.”

They started at each other across a circular table on the first floor, Markus’ stony stare contrasting Dere’s arrogant grin.

“Markus, I already promised you wouldn’t kill him.” Marcella spoke up, already tired of the tension in the room. Markus took a deep breath, and Dere smirked. “At least, not yet.” A slight smile, almost unnoticeable, broke Markus’ stoic stare. Dere raised his eyebrows in the Queen’s direction, concerned. She pretended to ignore him.

“So this is the mystery man?” A figure, taller than even Dere, spoke up for the first time. He had red hair, beginning to show signs of greying and commanding blue eyes.

Dere inclined his head. “Pleasure.”

The man nodded his head in return and looked towards Marcella. “Can we trust him?”

“No.” Markus said, stepping into the conversation.

Marcella glared at him. Then, spoke for herself. “No, probably not.”

Dere looked a little hurt before thinking for a second. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

The man seemed unperturbed. “If we can’t trust him, why is he here?”

“I told you,” Marcella said, with a touch of annoyance. “He found us.”

“How?”

Dere met the imposing figure’s startling blue eyes. “Greased a few pockets, asked a few questions, displayed some patriotic sentiment, climbed through a third story window.” He finished with a smile in Marcella’s direction. She rubbed her temples with her fingers.

“If it’s that easy to find us…” Markus began.

“It’s not that easy. I’m just good at this, which is one of several reasons you lot probably need me.”

A delicate laugh chimed around the room. “He makes a fair point.” Dere turned and looked at a fifth figure around the table, a beautiful woman with silvery blond hair and pale skin in her mid-twenties. “Besides,” She continued. “I’d actually trust him to be able to do this particular job, unlike Markus.” She smiled in Markus’ direction.

“We don’t even know his name.” Said Markus, glowering a little from the previous comment.

They all looked at Dere. “Nobody asked.” He said, shrugging.

“Well,” Marcella said, trying to maintain her cool with steady breaths. “What is it?”

“Don’t even bother, he’ll just lie.” Markus murmured, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Loathe as I am to admit, the simpleton is right.” Dere said. “I would just lie.”

Markus rolled his eyes while the tall figure met Dere's eyes again, trying to piece apart his many mysteries. “I find it hard to trust a man whose name I do not know.”

Dere met his stare and allowed a moment of silence to seize the air before speaking again. “Names are irrelevant to trust, a label, nothing more. You don’t want my name, you want to know who I am. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you that either.” Eight eyes of varying intensity locked onto him. “I can tell you two things to try and make you trust me. First, I’m a man of my word.” Markus scoffed. Dere turned to grin at him. “I understand how that might be hard to believe, but, when I make a commitment, I follow through. Second, I can tell you what I want.” They were listening intently, searching for meaning in every word. “I want to find out how these monsters have come back. I want to find out who is responsible.” A hint of horrible anger blended into his last sentence. “And, I want to find that person and rip their heart out through their fucking throat.” Silence hung in the air for several seconds, each person started at him, wondering. He met each of their eyes in turn. “Truth is, you shouldn’t trust me, not really. I am entirely self-interested. I don’t care about you, or your kingdom, or your little rebellion, but I do care about what I want. As long as that aligns with what you want, you can trust me. I wouldn’t recommend anything past that.”

They turned for guidance to the imposing red-haired man. He turned to Marcella. She paused and examined the apprehensive faces of the other three. “You’re in.” She said, glancing back at Dere.

“Good to hear.” He didn’t smile this time. In that moment, the room felt huge as each person stared down at the table, the weight of every decision pushing them down and apart. Except Dere, of course, who appeared unaffected. “Alright then,” He said, breaking the silence. “What’s the plan?”

The tall man turned to face him. “Besson’s holding a party, a celebration of Duval’s victory. Every noble family in the area has been invited. It’s an attempt to assert Duval’s authority over them. Pretty standard procedure.” Dere nodded. The man glanced at the silvery woman. “We think if we get you and Arlette in there, you two could get to Besson.”

“The party will be held in Besson’s personal manor.” The silver-haired woman, Arlette, spoke up. “It’s a few miles outside the city proper and guarded like a fortress. Once you’re in, you’ll need to wait. Besson is infamous for retiring early at parties. He disappears into his private quarters and allows others to do the talking for him. That’s the opening we need.”

“How exactly are you proposing we get in?” Dere met her eyes. “I know you don’t know who I am, but I can assure you, at the very least, I’m not Clovish Nobility.”

An elegant smile wormed its way onto Arlette’s face. “No, but Robert Girard, fourth son of the humble yet very much noble Girard family of landowners is. The rest of his family won’t be making an appearance. You’ll be representing them. With me as your escort, of course.” She eyed Dere. “In the world of Clovin's Nobility, families like the Girards are invisible. Technically noble enough to get invited, not noble enough for anyone to bother talking to them. So, hopefully it won’t matter that the family has no fourth son named Robert.”

“Hopefully, indeed.” Dere stopped to contemplate for a second, going through the scene in his mind. “So, you’ll be my escort?”`

She gave him what looked like a normal smile, but it felt empty to the trained eye. “Both your escort and an escort, which shouldn’t be too hard for me. It is, after all, my job.”

The others watched them intently as they talked and turned to Dere after Arlette finished. His expression remained unreadable. Marcella broke into the conversation. “Arlette is my personal retainer and a Blessed of Glenmoa. She is experienced at these kind of events.”

A grin that seemed somehow off crossed Dere’s face, and he looked towards Arlette. “Ah, now I understand, a daughter of the moon, famed spies and prostitutes. I’m honored.”

Dere tilted his head, thinking about something distant. The others tried to read his expression, not sure what to say. Nobody felt inclined to break the sudden silence until the tall man spoke up once more. “Once you make it into the party, you are to wait until Besson retires for the night. Make your way into his personal quarters and extract what information you can on Duval. Don’t worry about making him talk. Point a dagger in the general direction of his throat and he’ll sing." His intense eyes locked onto Dere's. "I'm warning you, though, don't give him any oppurtunity. Coward he may be, but he is still a Highlord of Clovin with the blood of the Gods coursing through his veins. He is perfectly capable of burning you to a little crisp if you let him.” His face hardened, and Dere saw the cold calculations underneath. “When you’ve gotten all you can from him, slit his throat.”

Dere met the man’s intense stare. “Fair enough.”

“Don’t expect it to be easy.” Marcella spoke up again. “Besson will be guarded by several elite knights of his household and his two personal retainers, powerful Blessed nobles. Avoid them.”

“I rarely seek out trouble.” He almost meant it.

“Whatever you say. Come back here at noon in two weeks. Arlette will be waiting with a carriage and your clothes. Markus and I will be gone by then, fleeing to my father’s court in Coln to beg his aid. The party begins at six. Don’t mess it up.” With that, she left the room. Markus followed behind her. The towering man gave Dere a nod before exiting as well. Arlette stood up to join them.

“Wait.” Dere remained in his seat, contemplating something. She paused and looked at him, curious expression on her face. “So you’re a Blessed of Glenmoa?” Arlette nodded. “Do you know of any temples to the Moon Goddess here in the city?”

She gave him a suspicious stare. “No, I don’t.”

A slow smile crept across Dere’s face. “Ah, what a shame. Would you perhaps tell me, then, where I might find the prostitute's quarter? Could use some company.”

Arlette narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. “Why do you want to find a shrine to the Moon Goddess?”

“Just want to speak to somebody. That’s all.” He held up his hands as a gesture of innocence.

“You’ll find the district on the Northern end of the city, near where the river turns.” She gave him one last suspicious look before walking out of the room, leaving Dere alone.

He sighed and stood up, stretching his back as he did. It was time to speak to his sister. He wasn’t looking forward to it.