"What?" Syra asked, confused by the woman's sudden serious tone. "No, it's alright. We don't mind helping."

"No, you need to leave, now!" The woman pretended to fiddle with her grip on the carraige but her eyes darted to the brush behind them.

"But—"

"She's right," Cassius spoke hushed, his eyes scanning the trees like he was trying to place a scent, "I don't have a good feeling about this. I think we're being watched."

"Go!" the woman commanded, "before they—"

"Before they what?" called a voice from the trees.

"Damnit," the woman cursed to herself, "Before you try to attack these children!" She stood to face the squad of armed men slinking from the bramble like snickering foxes.

"So it was a trap," Syra chastised herself.

"I'm sorry, I tried to warn you," the lady said.

"That makes two of you."

One-by-one the men filed out into the open. And, one-by-one, Syra spotted each donning a single bronze coin identical to Reese.

"Come now, Tilly!" the lead man said, a playful hand on his hilt, "You know the deal!"

"This is no deal! It's a sentence!" Tilly spat.

"One that you agreed with!"

"Or risk my father's life? Oh yes, those were excellent options."

The old man stepped in front of Tilly and the carriage as the men approached. His steady stance and firm grip on his cane spoke of one once familiar with combat.

"Don't do this, old man," the ringleader warned.

But he continued to stand, "For moons now, we have done as asked. Every time, in every plot conspired, with every bed and meal provided, we have obliged."

"Yes, and that is why we keep you around. Now please, step aside."

"How much longer must we hasten to you?" His cane quivered.

"Until the Black Thorn has what it needs. Now for the last time, old man, step aside. You're in no shape to fight."

Again, the old man refused to budge.

"Dad, move!" Tilly called, "Let me handle this!"

"No," said the old man, "There is little else more wicked than a father refusing to protect his child. I will not let—"

Crack! The ringleader's scabbard knocked the old man's legs clear out from under him.

"I asked you, to move," said the ringleader, stepping over the fallen gentleman, "Twice! actually. But it seems politeness doesn't sit well with you. Hopefully, your daughter has better manners."

"Don't you touch her!" The old man growled, straining against his cane to stand. But it was quickly knocked away, and his head pressed into the dirt by the foot of another man.

"That's enough!" Syra shouted, drawing her sword and stepping in front of Tilly.

"You all should leave." Cassius cautioned while drawing his saber. It shook slightly until he grew accustomed to its weight.

"You all should leave," the ringleader mocked with flopping hands, inciting laughter in his men, "Looks like we got ourselves some brave ones, eh? All three o' ye? That's fine, I could use the exercise."

It didn't take many hits for Cassius to realize that Aidan had been right. The men were on top of them in fervor, hot for a brawl, and he struggled to merely block their advances.

"You're too open!" Syra said mid-swing, "Like this!" She lunged forward but kept her body sideways, dodging incoming blows.

He tried to imitate her stance, but his eyes were fixed on the man's heavy blade and his feet forgot their position under its weight. He faltered and his grip failed. The blade fell and he felt the sting of metal across skin. The shock weakened his legs and they gave away. The pain and hot blood running down his arm consumed his vision. He did not see the second blow.

"Cassius!" His name rang dull in his ears, followed by a clang above his head. Aidan crouched over him, his own sword blocking the sweaty man's, "Move!"

Cassius scrambled away clutching his bloody arm.

Shoving the man off balance, Aidan circled him and sliced at his calves, bringing him to his knees. His hilt's quick jab to the head knocked him cold.

It was now four against five. Leon escorted Tilly's father back to the carriage while Syra guarded Tilly, distracting the ringleader as Tilly swung away with a felled branch.

Petra charged and swung, and swung again, always forward and never back. Into a tree, she forced him, and primed for a fatal blow. She went forward, but he went under. Her longsword met only splinted bark and she felt her back scream from the claw tearing through her vest and shirt.

"Petra!" Syra screamed. She pushed harder against the ringleader, forcing herself towards her sister.

Petra stumbled a few paces, shocked by the burning that spread throughout her body. Then she steadied herself and clenched her sword. She spun, eyes locked on her attacker, and lunged. The long blade slid through cloth and flesh with ease. She saw red swell and trickle around the blade, felt his breath heave in his chest, and watched his eyes widen and lose focus. Then he fell to the ground gasping.

"Connor!" the ringleader abandoned Syra and rushed to the fallen man.

Petra went for a second attack, but Syra dashed in front of her, pushing her back.

"Leave him!" Syra said, keeping her sword raised as the men gathered around their comrade.

"We will not forget this," the ringleader said, glaring up at Syra through dark and narrowed eyes.

Together the men carried Connor back into the forest, leaving Syra and the others to bask in the sound of their own panting.

"Gragas," Petra said through strained breaths and falling to a knee.

Now that she was closer, Syra saw the slash streaking across Petra's back and the trail of blood running down her leg.

"What are you waiting for?" Aidan yelled, seeing to Cassius' arm, "Heal her!"

Syra knelt by Petra and pulled her clothing back away from the wound.

"Easy!" Petra snarled, wincing.

"Sorry, but I have to see what I'm working with."

Her hands hesitated at the wound. The cut was clean but long, and she had already lost a lot of blood.

It's too much, she thought. The mana stones Valen gave her certainly helped restore some of her mana reserves, but not enough. Not for this amount of healing.

"What is it?" asked Petra. "Is it that bad?"

"Yes and no. Normally, I could seal this up without issue, but I don't have the reserves. I'll be drained before I can even get to Cas."

"Then let me help," Leon said, fluttering over and landing in Syra's shoulder. "There's still a little light left."

The fae spread his dragonfly-like wings and turned them to the sunset, their translucent green hue glinting in its last rays. A moment later, they shimmered and specks of light veined down into his tiny body.

Syra jolted from the sudden warmth spreading from her shoulder, returning some strength to her.

"I thought fae were only sunfeeders," she said over her shoulder, a tad in awe.

"We can feed each other if necessary," he said with a proud grin, "and this seems pretty necessary to me. Sorry I can't give you more."

"Don't be—I can still use it. I can't close it completely, but I can at least stop the bleeding."

Syra placed both hands just above Petra's back. Feint purple light shone from her palms as she channeled mana into and around the wound.

Petra lurched from the sudden tingling, "Wait, why does that feels funny? I don't like th—" Petra's unease drained as warmth spread from her back and the pain dulled. Any harsh words were lost and her body drooped.

"Just try to relax," said Syra.

Petra rested her head on her knees and stared at the ground, "...thanks."

Syra was covered in sweat and panting by the time Cassius' wound was clotted, "We'll need to keep it dressed until it heals. Or until I recover more and can close it up."

I still have some amec left, so that'll help.

Cassius and Petra nodded, but Aidan stood rigid with a sharp gaze on Syra.

"Can I say 'I told you so'? 'Cause I told you so."

"Yes," she admitted with a heavy sigh, "You were right. But can I also say that you're an asshole for gloating?"

"And can I say," Petra chimed in, heaving herself to her feet, "Shut your mouths so we can get going? We've already lost the sun and we're still miles from Landelle. So much for 'one day's walk'."

"If you're heading to Landelle, why don't you come with us?" Tilly said, helping her father into the carriage, "We live just outside of town, and we really should repay you for your help here."

"That would be wonderful," Syra said, relieved, "It's much appreciated."

"You three hop in the back with Dad," said Tilly to the siblings, "Mr. Handsome here can take watch up front with me." She joked with a flirty wave to Aidan, who waved her away, seemingly unaffected.

"I'll stick with Leif, thank you."

Syra settled herself between the sacks of flour and a barrel of what smelled of ale. Her eyes examined the bags and crates of goods, mostly food or ingredients for food, before landing on the outstretched hand of Tilly's father.

"The name's Radstrom," he said. The creases at his eyes deepened as he gave that warm smile only someone of long years and strong heart can give.

"Syra," she said, shaking his callused hand. She went to pull back but he held on firm.

"Thank you, Syra," he said, gaze unwavering, "for saving my daughter. I'd be lost without her."

A small and bittersweet grin grew on her face, "I'm sure she'd feel the same way without you."

Radstrom chuckled and let his head rest against the wall of the carriage, closing his eyes. Leon nestled himself in Syra's lap and she looked over to see the twins already nodding off. The clopping of hooves and the light sway of the carriage calmed her nerves and she found herself in a similar position before long.

***

The stars were in full bloom by the time they arrived at the pleasant little cottage. Sleep nagged at the back of Syra's head and she stifled a yawn as they exited the carriage.

"It's small," Tilly said, leading them from them stables, arms full with flour, "but it's ours. The top floor is usually for guests who can't afford the transpoint, but feel free to make yourselves at home."

The bed-and-breakfast sat near the bottom of a hill, and the smell of a wood stove warmed the evening chill and made them drowsy. It was a simple cottage of two stories, with pastel eaves that smelled of fresh paint, and a pond bordered by ivory flowers that glimmered in the moonlight.

"Those are Cetillas," Radstrom said, catching Syra's curious stares, "or 'Moon Lilies'. Strange things they are, only blooming under strong moonlight, but beautiful. Tilly's mother loved them. So much so that we named our only child after them." He chuckled to himself and watched Tilly struggle, but insist, on carrying the heavy bag of flour into the house by herself. All the while smiling.

"I'm sure she'd be proud," Syra said, "She seems like quite a kind person."

Radstrom didn't say anything, but patted her on the shoulder with a soft grin and led her inside with the others.

Warmth and the smell of fresh baking greeted them as they entered into the dimly lit kitchen. Embers still smoldered in the fireplace and Tilly made a rush to store the large sack before buzzing from candle to candle, lighting the room in a soft glow.

"Let us help with that," Syra said, attempting to take the lit wooden stick from Tilly.

"No no, sit sit!" Tilly said and shooed her away towards the large table that beckoned to be filled with platters of food. "You've done quite enough already, I assure you. And I will not be held responsible for you remaining tired and hungry."

She waved a joking finger and went to tend the fire. "Once I get this fire going, I'll fix you up a nice hot stew and biscuits, and then you can take a long soak in the tub. Dad, would you mind drawing them a bath?" she asked Radstrom.

"Certainly," he said, dipping his head and heading down a hallway. "I'll also fetch some bandages. Best to keep those wounds clean and dry, else they'll fester," he said to the twins.

"Now go have a seat," Tilly insisted as baby flames gnawed at the dry log, "I won't ask again."

"Thank you," said Aidan, pulling out a chair.

The party sat themselves about the table, Petra with some difficulty as the chair's wooden back did not favor the gash on hers. But Tilly was quick to drape it with a thick blanket, and even Petra found a deep sense of appreciation of the human's generosity.

"Once you're full and dry, I'll have Dad mend those clothes right up," Tilly said with a gentle hand on Petra's shoulder. "I might be handy in the kitchen, but I'm afraid I'm of no use with needle-and-thread. Knit you an extra arm, I would." She chuckled and then busied herself with her knife and board and all sorts of fixings for a hearty stew. In between slicing carrots and peeling potatoes, she even put a kettle on.

All four party members seemed to fall into a stupor among the crackling fire and the chop-chop of the cutting board. Syra could see Petra was already trying to nod off; no doubt her stomach was fighting fatigue for the sake of food.

The room was mostly wood with low ceiling—cozy—and a tad plain, with only curtains and a solitary painting hung for decoration. But all were clean and tidy. Only the counter showed spots of dusted flour that hid from the washcloth. There were extra chairs, of course, and one smaller round table squatted in a corner. Curled up in one of these chairs, and staring back at Syra with large orange eyes, was a ball of gray fur topped with startlingly large, erect ears.

"That's Pema," Tilly said, noticing Syra's silent staring. "She's normally not fond of strangers, poor thing. With all the travelers we take in, I'm surprised she hasn't run away from us already. Heh," she laughed to herself, "can't keep a husband but I can keep a kila."

Aidan looked to Syra, unsure of whether or not to question the subject. But her attention remained fixed on the fluffy creature, so much so that he debated whether she had heard Tilly at all.

"Oh, don't mind me," Tilly said, noticing Aidan's awkward look and bringing over mugs of hot water and a tin of dried tea, "Just talking to myself."

"May I ask what you meant by that? If you don't mind, of course," Aidan asked. "You just seem like quite the capable housekeeper."

"Yes well, there's more to being a wife than just keeping house. To some, baring children is...a requirement." Her eyes clouded over for a brief moment before returning to her pot. "When I lost ours, he decided to start a family elsewhere, with someone more...'suitable', whatever that means."

"That's horrible," Aidan said flatly.

"Oh, indeed it is!" Tilly said with a wry laugh. "But, now I don't have to deal with his smelly feet or love of buttered liver. And I get to run this place how I like, so it's not so bad." She hung the pot over the fire and sat down on the tiny stool beside it, "Anyways, what are you heading to Landelle for, if you don't mind me asking? Most people are leaving for the festival from what I hear."

"Yes, Syra," he said, calling her attention away from Pema, "Why are we going to Landelle?"

"Because Valen said to?" Syra answered as if being tested.

"Don't forget about the cart!" Leon added, pulling himself away from Pema's licking, "Baba will have me roasted if I don't bring that back."

"You mean the archmage, Valen?" asked Tilly, now curious.

"Yes, you know him?" Syra asked.

"Only by name. But Baba I know quite fondly. She's a ways away, but makes the best medicine for Dad's body aches. But what would an archmage need from you younglings?"

Aidan hesitated and Cassius concentrated on sipping his tea; Petra had since lost her war against sleep.

"A quest," Syra said unabashed, causing Cassius to spit out his tea.

"A quest, you say?"

"Or rather, a test." Syra tucked a lock behind her ear to reveal the golden hoop, "I just graduated the academy, but still have to pass a practical in order to apply for the Court. We found Baba's cart on the way here, so I figured she'd be a good resource to question."

"That's wonderful!" Tilly beamed, "I hear the academy is actually quite challenging even for Gifted folks. And the others? Are you all mages as well?"

"No, they're," Syra paused to create a reasonable explanation other than, 'to defeat an evil dragon'.

"They're training," Aidan said, tapping at his sword. "Syra needed protection, so it seemed a good opportunity. But it appears they're not quite ready."

"Well, I'm glad to be of some service to our kingdom's vassals." Tilly grinned and stirred the pot a bit, examining its bubbling contents, "Now drink up! Dinner should be ready soon."

While Tilly prepared some biscuits, Syra took a crystal and a strand of Aru from her pack and dropped them into her mug. To her delight, the water turned a purple hue and she burnt her tongue out of eagerness.

When they had eaten and bathed, Tilly made sure to wrap and bandage any injuries—she even insisted on tying up Petra's unruly locks—while Radstrom took to stitching up their clothing. And then it was off to bed, at least for the twins who had had quite the shocking day. Aidan took to reading by the fire while Tilly cleaned and Radstrom finished mending Petra's vest. Pema decided Syra's lap was a suitable cushion, and Syra stroked her absentmindedly as she watched the moon lilies shimmer and waft in the night breeze.

"What 'deal' did you make with those men?" Syra asked, breaking the silence.

Both Tilly and Radstrom stopped their cleaning and stitching, a tad stunned.

"That's their business, not ours," Aidan said, turning a page.

"Those men wore the same coin as the man who tried to sell me." Syra turned a stern eye to him, "If there are more of them, we need to know so we can avoid them."

"There is no avoiding them," Radstrom said with downcast eyes, "Not for very long."

Neither he nor Tilly spoke in the quiet of the room. He had stopped his stitching, and Tilly gripped at the small cloth in her hands.

"We tried to," Tilly finally said, "but it just got Dad in more trouble, and now we're at their beck and call." She picked at a loose thread in the cloth with furrowed brow, "It was bad enough having to house and feed that lot, but to be expected to rob the travelers we used to help is just—"

She raised a balled fist to slam the counter, but held it, shaking in the air, until it fell gently by her side. "Some weren't that bad, in the beginning. Most just young men tired of working for nothing, or of their cries going unheard. They were all just...tired, and 'wanted to change things'. But they never lasted long. They were either killed or became like the rest."

She placed the rag down and stepped over to a squat cabinet in the corner. Without a word, she took something from inside a drawer and walked over to Syra. From her hand dropped a necklace, the bronze ring clunking against the wooden table.

"My husband was one of those."

Syra stared wide-eyed and Aidan closed his book.

"The Black Thorn would like you to believe they stand for the weak and unprivileged," said Radstrom, "rebelling against the courts and the magistrates, and the whole bloody kingdom for that matter. That they're 'fighting for a good cause'. But that's just a fantasy meant to lure in more bodies, and by the time the illusion fades you're already too far buried."

"And if you do try to leave," he unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his shoulder, revealing a branded scar sunk into his shoulder blade, "you're either marked as a traitor or killed. Usually both, given time."

"So, that's what the deal was?" Syra asked, her voice losing its edge.

Tilly nodded, "When Fin left, any protection he provided went with him. We became tools. Only kept alive for free food and a warm bed." Her fingers tugged at the edge of her blouse, "He didn't care what happened to us."

The tightening of Aidan's grip on the book's bindings was audible, but he just stared at the scuffed grains in the flooring.

"This will stop," Aidan said. "I don't know when, or exactly how yet...but it will. I'll make sure of it."

"That's quite the promise," said Tilly.

Aidan looked her straight in the eyes and stood. In one swift movement he latched his index finger around hers, causing her to jump.

"I also have people I want to protect," he said, glancing over at Radstrom. "I know you don't know me that well, or trust me, but I do know that there are people—people in power—that will tear them down without hesitation. I just have to give them enough evidence."

With that, Tilly picked the necklace from the table and pressed it into Aidan's palm, "I hope you're right." The fine lines peeking around her eyes spoke of both hope and fatigue.

"But," she waved the tension away with a quick pat to her apron, "you'll never make it that far if you don't get some rest. Tomorrow is bound to be a better day." She shooed them off to their beds and went back to cleaning.

Aidan walked Syra up the stairs but stopped her outside her room, his face solemn, "Hey Syra, could you hear me out on something?"

She raised a brow but invited him to continue.

"I know you're focused on saving your own family—which I completely support—but...please, don't forget there are people that need our help, too."

She scoffed, "Was it not me who offered to help Tilly in the first place? All to be ambushed by other people."

Aidan offered an understanding grin, but she did not look at him. Instead, she stared at the small royal crest stitched into his undershirt.

"It was people who banished me. You think me quick-to-change, but it was people calling for my head even after I fought their war, and blocked that falling tower. All because I don't have the face they want to see." Her unabashedness took Aidan by surprise and she turned to see a hint of fear reflected in the candlelight, "It is people who are fickle and forgetful, not me. So no, I won't forget." She turned away from him but stopped with a hand on the door knob, "I'm not that kind of monster."

***

The weather had indeed blessed the party with good day the next morning. A clear sky melted the early frost, and fresh bread with sizzled meats greeted their greedy mouths.

"You three sure can eat!" Tilly laughed, throwing a second helping of pork onto her pan.

"Runs in the family," Cassius said before shoveling another mouthful.

"I didn't know humans even knew how to cook meat," Petra hushed to Aidan in between bites, "let alone keep it juicy."

"It's because we don't char it all at once."

"I need to remember this," Petra said to herself, analyzing the light scorch marks that left the meat plenty plump.

"It's even better with pickled tomatoes," raved Syra. "This one cook made a sauce with them, and I swear I put it on everyth—"

A crash from the stove made the party jump.

"Shit," the hushed wisp of a curse escaped Tilly's lips as she stared, ashen, out a window.

"Put your dishes in the sink," she commanded and snatched Syra's plate from under her, "all of them!"

"What's wrong?" Syra asked, standing to empty the table.

"Who's out there, Tilly?" Radstrom shuffled to stack the last of the dishes in the wash basin.

"The Commander," said Tilly, seething.

"Lovely."

"Who?" Syra and Aidan asked in unison.

"A horrid man in charge of the local Black Thorn members," said Tilly wiping the table spotless, "the one I spoke of last night. And he's brought his squad with him." She turned to her father, "Could you get the—"

"Already on it," Radstrom hurried to the nearest closet and flung open the door to their widest. He shoved away the jackets and boots until the flooring was visible. "Come now, all of you," he said, waving the party over and kneeling just outside its threshold.

In the farthest back corner he grasped a latch, pulling up the small door that was just big enough for a person to squeeze through.

"Stay under there until they leave," he said, helping them into the crawlspace under the kitchen floor, "And do not make one peep. You understand? Not one!" He held Syra's hand tight as he lowered her into the hole, "No matter what happens."

Syra stared up at him in worry, but nodded, crouching down so he could lower the door

"Don't forget this!" Leon flittered over dragging Syra's bag, his little wings straining from its weight.

"Good catch, Leon," Radstrom said, handing the bag down the hole, "Now in you go." He waited for Leon to join the others before replacing the door and reassembling the closet.

The party sat huddled beneath the floorboards. Light filtered through the narrow cracks and they could see Tilly and Radstrom take their places at the table as if nothing were amiss.

But then there came a heavy knock on the door, and the siblings could smell the rush of fear.

"Tilly!" boomed a tall, clean-shaven man of fine linen, despite his rough profession.

"Larson," Tilly said in mere acknowledgement.

"Long time no see!" He said as he entered the room uninvited, throwing open the door.

She jumped to catch the door before it collided with the wall, "Not long enough."

"Oh, don't be that way, Butterbum. You're always happy to see me...and them," he pushed his way into the kitchen and waved to his men stationed outside the last stepping stone. "Come on in, fellas. No need to be shy; there never is."

The handful of armed men filed into the kitchen and Larson closed in on Tilly, "Normally I wouldn't be this rude as to jump right into the heat of things, but you see, I've gotten myself, and my men, into a bit of a...situation."

"Oh?" Tilly said, leaving the door open and leaning against the counter.

"Last night, while I was relaxing with the misses, a squad of my men came barging in—and I mean barging, caught me mid-stroke—and plopped another one of men right onto my favorite rug. But that wasn't the worst part! Worst part was that he was a bloody mess! And, after a few minutes, he was a dead bloody mess!"

"I wouldn't think that to be too uncommon in your field," Tilly feigned nonchalance.

"You know, it isn't," Larson agreed, "But the kicker is that, after we disposed of the body, I was told that he was killed by four young swordsmen who, get this, were helping you! Crazy isn't it?"

"Quite."

"So here I am, completely dumbfounded by how someone I have such a sweet deal with, could just up and betray me."

"Who said I betrayed you?" said Tilly, standing upright, "Your men aren't that honest of a bunch and—"

"My men are loyal to me," Larson said glowering, "something you and your father seem to have a problem with."

"So you want me to...what?"

Larson's face darkened and he stepped closer to Tilly, "What I want, is for you to tell me where they are."

"And why would I know where this group of 'swordsmen' went?"

"Do not play dumb with me, Cetilla. You know better than that."

"What I know, is that I honestly don't have an answer for you."

"Oh, don't you?" Sunken eyes scanned the kitchen and he smirked, "Yet there are extra dishes in the sink?"

"Yes, left over from dinner last night."

He hesitated with narrowed eyes locked on her, "You never leave dishes unwashed."

"You obviously don't know me that well," Tilly said, turning her back to him.

A large hand found her throat before she reached the knife left on the kitchen table, and she stiffened.

Below, Petra jerked forward and Cassius latched his hands on her shoulders to keep her still.

"Since when did you grow such a backbone?" he mused, almost impressed, "You're usually such a doormat."

Tilly remained stone-faced which made him chuckle, "Fin always did say you were a bit...neurotic. Heh, no wonder he left. Can't even give him a child yet you expect him stay and deal with your hot-and-cold bullshit? Poor man deserves his new woman."

He pulled her back against him and pressed his hips up into her lower back, whispering in her ear, "At least she's good in bed and not some...log."

Blood burned in Tilly's ears and hot tears pooled in the corner of her eyes, "If you are quite through, please leave. I have dishes to clean."

"I'll leave when I'm damn well ready," he said, pulling her head back and exposing her throat. "And right now," he nipped too hard at the skin below her ear, "I'm ready to hear just where those little usurpers are."

"Why do you care?" Tilly spat, tugging her head away, "They're just kids passing through, and no threat to you. Two of them can't even fight."

"One of those two killed my man! An act I do not take lightly." He tightened his grip on her throat, causing her to gasp, "So before you give me anymore of your bullshit, I'll ask you to remember our little bargain." He turned her head so she could see her father and the two men flanking his sides, cutting off any escape.

Tilly gulped against his hold and rose on her toes to speak, "They stayed the night, but left early this morning. I don't know where they went."

"So, let me get this straight. You and your father not only abandoned a scavenging mission, but fought against the men I assigned to help you? A fight I might add, that got one of them killed. And then you harbor these 'kids' and lie to me about it. Is that what happened?" He looked to each of his men who answered with confident nods. "That there seems like a standard breach of contract, if there ever was one!"

Again, his men nod, some growing a bit too joyous.

"So now the question becomes, what do we do about it?" He pointed his free hand to Radstrom, "Shirt."

One of Radstrom's attendants ripped open his shirt and spun him so the brand leered back at Tilly.

"You know what that is?" Larson asked, pointing and mimicking Tilly's nods, "Yes? Well, I'm going to tell you again because I really don't think you do. That! is what happens when you break a contract! When you break a deal. Do you know what happens when you do that twice?"

Tilly struggled against his hand to nod, "Yes! Yes, we know!"

Larson just shook his head with a sigh, "No...no I don't think you do."

"No! No, please! Please don—"

With a flick of his hand, both attendants plunged their daggers into Radstrom's throat and chest, as if one wasn't enough.

"No!" Tilly screamed, her voice breaking in a hoarse rasp.

Syra went to scream but Aidan slammed his hands over her mouth. Leon buried his face in Syra's shirt. Petra bit down hard on her lip and they all watched, motionless, as the growing pool of blood spread overhead and seeped down through the cracks. Syra shook and squeezed Aidan's hands as tiny drops of red dotted her arm and stained her sleeve; the sleeve which Radstrom had earlier mended.

Radstrom's body fell with a thud and Tilly screamed until her voice was weak.

"You monster! How could you? He was just an old man!" She flailed and tugged to escape Larson's grip, but he did not budge. "Papa!"

Syra's breath seize and her hands warmed and tingled.

The tiny spark of mana caught Aidan's eye and he whipped her hands under her cloak.

"Easy, now," he whispered in her ear, and she gulped back her sob.

"I know it's hard," Larson cooed after Tilly's strength had faded, "it's hard for me, too. But you know what will make this whole thing a lot easier? Telling me where those damn kids are!"

Tilly let her arms fall and massaged the finger Aidan had promised with. Stretching her neck, she craned her head to look Larson dead in the eyes.

"Fuck. You."

A pity-filled sigh accompanied the second hand around her neck, "As you wish."

Below the blood-soaked boards, Syra's party huddled and trembled at the sight and sound of Tilly's strained gasps that grew ever weaker. Until a second thud filled the quiet room, leaving the two bodies together on the floor.