“He said that he wanted you first,” Traejan began, grimacing as though he was guilty of a sin. Maybe he was.

“And then the trilium,” he added sourly. “He said he’d thought you’d be… a challenge. I’m sorry; you did tell me you wanted men who could survive the trip. His friends take the most trips, bring back the best stuff.”

A challenge?

“Does he now?” she replied darkly, easing up out of her chair, feeling out the strength and stability of her bones, joints, muscles; Internalizing the revulsion, frustration, anger, fury that would have to substitute cool NAN control. In response, the hum of the NANs began murmuring in her ears; their rise in activity began crawling beneath her skin.

“And if he wasn’t in the picture,” she hinted. “Then the others would fall in line behind whoever could take his place, what do you think?”

She glanced over to the older man, offered him a conspiratorial smile.

“I bet you haven’t seen a good stage fight in some time,” she told him.

Kyso started to shake his head, then nodded slowly, beginning to understand, smiled back. Traejan shook his head.

“They want more than we agreed to offer,” he protested, gesturing over at the other table. “Didn’t you see me over there? They need to see what you have. I told you, we aren’t the most popular people here.”

She ignored the rest of his statement, turned away to the greggas’ table. The men were arguing over something. She looked past them, over the other tables, the way the people reacted to the group’s shouts, laughter; the throw of intimidation the group commanded. Around her, talking, yelling – creaking, squeaking of the furniture, rustling of the clothes – the sounds of eating and drinking were becoming sharper as the rush of hormones flooded her bloodstream.

You have to be fast to counter his reach and strength. You have to have perfect balance and control.

Training – experience – flooded her consciousness. She pulled Dorian’s case from her pocket, surreptitiously slipping it under the surface of the table, felt it adhere solidly. He would be safe, unseen.

“Goshram won’t do what he doesn’t have to,” Traejan was telling her. “He’s not hurting right now.”

“Then you should have made him think he was,” she snapped at the man. “Your job was to convince him to take my offer!”

He twitched, almost cowering from the demand. Althea continued stoking her internal fires. She could explain it all later.

“I was working up to it,” he explained, sounding weak to her. He made a gesture of helplessness. “That’s how this is done with them, that’s how it’s done here. Talk will only go so far.”

“I see,” she breathed, feeling the approach of maximum saturation. Everyone around her was acting as before – but now – even the smallest action was drawn into sharp detail: the twitch of an eyebrow, the clink of a fork, the smack of lips.

“Fine, then I’ll show him what I have.

Traejan nodded, then his eyes widened, expression turned to alarm. He stood up awkwardly, his chair grating as it was pushed back. She turned away from him, targeting Goshram, pushed her chair away.

She felt him approach, almost felt his hand before it touched her shoulder – resisted an urge to shove him back as she forced herself to turn around slowly. It was too soon to betray her heightening speed.

“Althea, he’s not going to talk to you. He barely talked to me,” he insisted. “They at least have some respect for us. They don’t know you. They won’t do what you tell them to do. You can’t just wave that much trilium in their faces. And… you can’t give Goshram what he asked for.”

Was that what he thought? She was going to give him what he asked for?! Althea almost laughed out loud. She struggled to keep calm, balance the rising buzz, gave him a sideways look.

“I’m not giving what he asked for,” she told him, waited for, then watched him nod. “I’m giving him what he deserves.”

“Then what–” Traejan started, confused. His expression turned to disbelief. He opened his mouth, reached out.

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, grazing his chest, pushing him back. Time to act. She was at peak, almost floating as electric energy saturated her body. She gave him a smile.

“He’s not Legionary – right?! I am.”

She motioned to the chair she’d left unoccupied.

“Have a seat, this shouldn’t take long,” she ordered. There was no way she could allow it to.