It wasn't until warm blood began trickling down her palm that Sēlenīlat realized she was clenching her hands so hard it hurt. With a hasty curse, she pulled a handkerchief from her bag, dabbing at the bloody splotch she'd left on her skirt, but it proved a hopeless task. Even with the aid of some water from her flask, the rusty stain continued to taunt her until, giving up, she pulled the hem of her coat down and prayed it wouldn't betray her.

Looking up, Nīla's mood worsened as she caught the scornful glint in the eyes of the guards sitting across from her. Bloody bastards. She knew she was weak for her age, barely past level 23, but her real crime was being unimportant, save for a slip of paper with the Emperor's seal on it that she, and everyone else, knew she hadn't really earned. She still didn't know how her brother had pulled it off.

Before the Zalancthian invasion, her family's position in the province of Tiyām-Hareī had been second only to its king, but that time, like nearly everything else they once possessed, was reduced to naught but a memory. With no lands to their name, and most of their wealth lining the stoneflesh's coffins, their family's only hope of restoring their position had been in service to the Empire.

Her grandfather had proven his worth in combat, rising to third in command of the capital guard before his position proved his own undoing. When the great betrayal came, he'd died fighting on the walls of the capital, and the fortune he'd amassed had fallen for a second time into the stoneflesh's hands as what remained of their family was forced to flee.

Mārekdu, her father, had followed in his sire's footsteps - unfortunately, in more ways than one. Friends with Lord Eligon from their youth, he'd been given command of a battalion and sent to the southern front. For two years, his troops pushed back the enemy one battle at a time, and it seemed like their fortunes had finally changed, until that fateful day at Kār-Akkû. She'd been only six when her father and his entire command had been wiped out and, with them, the hopes of their family had also perished.

Nīla's brother had been only fourteen at the time, and though he was a talented mage, the gods had not been kind to him. The army had taken one look at his withered arm and refused to even give him a chance. If not for a few of her father's former officers slipping them coins, they might well have starved then; even as it was, they barely scraped until her brother was finally old enough to secure a small but unprestigious position at court. As a diplomat.

In times of peace, his position might have proved a viable pathway for their family to prosper again, but the Empire had little use for diplomats any longer. There would be no treating with the foul stoneflesh, no need to petition the Fey, still licking wounds that would not heal from their catastrophic loss in the final war between their peoples, no point in sending delegations to the Gemlirians that squatted in the ruins of their former empire. The durgū's cities were closed to imperial forces, and the elves, ever loyal to the former royal house, had little interest in missives from a Gonyan emperor. What the Empire needed was warriors, not men of peace, and thus, the opportunities to advance were practically nonexistent.

Still, his position had allowed them to survive, and her brother had funneled every gilder he could scrounge up back into her and her younger brother's education. There was no hope for his arm, but if she could snag a valuable marriage and little S̆ams̆āgû could rise through the ranks, then perhaps their fortunes could be reclaimed.

But his years of careful planning had been unceremoniously uprooted when Lord Eligon discovered many of his ambassadors and administrators had ceased even trying to do their job. In a flash, the court's hierarchy had been upended as men tenured for decades were unceremoniously cast out and hundreds of new positions opened up. Her brother had been more fortunate than most; perhaps moved by the fate of his old friend, the Emperor had appointed him, despite his junior position, directly as an ambassador, a rank far higher than he'd ever hoped to reach.

Unfortunately, it also required him to move halfway across the continent. Nīla had wanted to go with him, but knew they could not. There were no marriages to be found in that cold wilderness, nor could S̆ams̆āgû receive the training he'd need to succeed in the army. So they'd stayed behind, safe and sound in the home he'd bought for them - or so they'd thought…

Nīla hissed in pain as her nails broke through the partially formed scabs, drawing blood again. "Kruvas̆." She was too distracted dabbing at her bloodied hem to care as the guards snickered and, this time, she was forced to admit the skirt was ruined. As if I have so many to spare. With a sigh, she turned to face the window, not wanting to even look at the guards, but her head smacked against the glass pane as the carriage lurched to a stop.

"We're here." With a grunt, the guard closest to her shoved the door open and stepped over her, not even waiting for her to exit, as he stretched his arms back and forth. "Good to be out of that torture chamber," he grumbled.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Knowing she was unlikely to receive a hand down, she stepped out carefully, fastidiously avoiding the horse clod just outside the cabin. She'd never been to Merôm before, but as she glanced around her, she was pretty certain they weren't in the right place. Her instructions said their lodgings were in a quiet place in the second ring, but the square around them thronged with boisterous merchants, half-drunk townsfolk, and pilgrims packed so tightly together there was barely room to breathe.

Admittedly, it was a thrilling sight. Nīla had rarely been outside the walls of Dūr-Ṣadê, too poor to travel merely for fun and too low-leveled to dare braving the rural roads without a suitable guard, but she quickly shoved those thoughts aside. The Emperor himself had intervened to assign her this task; she couldn't afford to fail. "Is this the right place? Where's the Wounded Boar?" she asked, standing on her tiptoes as she strained to see above the milling crowd.

The man ignored her as he bent down and touched his toes, but Māras̆s̆i, one of the few in her company who didn't wholly ignore her, took pity on her. "We're not headed there just yet."

"But we're supposed to go straight there - what if the mages have already arrived?"

The woman's face hardened. "Then the mages can wait. It's been a long week on the road; we've earned the right to let off a little steam."

Dread pooled in the pit of her stomach as the other guards emerged from the carriage and, brushing past her without so much as a glance, walked off toward the nearest tavern. "Wait - can't you at least take me there first?" She hurried after them, hating herself as she heard a touch of desperation bleed into her tone.

"Why? You afraid you'll fall in the street and get a boo-boo?" Ardus̆ar sneered, finally turning to look at her.

"It's your job-"

"Our job," he interrupted her, "is to protect you from elves. You see any elves around?" He gestured to the crowd around them as dramatically as a ringmaster commanding a stadium. "I didn't think so," he continued, not giving her time to respond. "Now you can sit in the carriage and wait for us to return, or you can walk yourself to the tavern - if you can manage it," he added contemptuously as he turned away and disappeared into the crowd.

"I-" With a growl of frustration, Sēlenīlat glanced back at the carriage. Despite what Ardus̆ar had said, there would be no waiting in the carriage. The door was already shut and locked, the wheels tied down to bolts in the street, and the coachman long gone. There was only one option left.

Fluffing her skirt to hide the bloodstains, she trudged through the market toward the gate in the distance, blocking the path between the first and second rings, Ardus̆ar's words grating on her with every step. If I can manage it…Sure, she was a bit low-leveled for her age, but it's not like the townsfolk were paragons of strength; she'd be fine walking to the Wounded Boar by herself, but she shouldn't have had to. It was her job to accompany her, elves or no, and she could only pray that the mages hadn't made it to the city yet. If I show up on foot, in a blood-stained dress, by myself…the thought was enough to make her shudder and, fueled by a sort of desperate fear, she made good time as she pushed her way through the crowd.

Thus, she was too preoccupied to notice the men following her at first. It wasn't until she'd broken free of the crowded pavilion onto the quieter street leading to the gate that she realized she had a tail, and one not especially trying to be stealthy. The two men wore nondescript clothes, the rough travel gear blending in with the hundreds of other pilgrims thronging the city, but the bright yellow pins she spotted hiding beneath their collars told her who they were. Did he really send men to follow me here?

She moved faster, her steps just shy of a run as she tried to reach the gate before they could reach her, but it was a losing battle. Akīlu might not belong to a noble house, but his family had deep pockets, and the men, despite their ragged appearance, were at least as high-level as her guards.

Gathering her skirts, she prepared to run, her only hope of escape in making a spectacle, until her eye caught on an odd couple walking up the street.

The woman was fair as any elf, with long flowing hair the color of honey, and a graceful pair of antlers peaking out of her tresses. Ardusar had been right about one thing - there weren't many elves in Merôm, and if there was any doubt about the pair's identity, his own unusual appearance put them to rest.

The man was clearly a Djinn, though the oddest one she'd ever heard of. He lacked the usual horns of his kin, and his skin, though clearly indicating a certain degree of power, was a muddy red that could almost be mistaken for a bad burn over a suntan. He had the frame of a warrior, but not the muscles to go along with it, and though his hair was an unruly mop of waves, he was somehow rather fetching. Perhaps it was the confidence he exuded, a carefree smile on his face as he strolled down the street like he owned it, despite not appearing to be particularly powerful. The only thing that mattered right now, though, was that they matched the description she'd been given.

Painfully aware of the men following her, she quickly looked away from the pair, waiting until she had almost drawn abreast to cry out the mage's name. "Lord Yas̆peh?" Not giving her pursuers time to grab her, she darted into the street, calling out his name a second time. "Lord Yas̆peh, is that you?"The man looked startled as he turned around, and there was no sign of recognition in his eyes, but the fact that he'd answered to the name gave her hope enough. Please help me, she wanted to say, but instead, something very different slipped out. "Well, you're not as ugly as they said." Selene's grace, WHY?

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.