Faster now that it no longer carried severed corpses, the ox-drawn cart bounced along an uneven dirt road, across a bridge, and through Ravenfall’s northern gate. Charcoal clouds filled the sky as it trudged towards the pleasure district, arriving at a stable down the street from Delphine’s brothel. Luminous scarlet lights illuminated eager-faced passersby who crept down the road in search of cheap thrills. The smell of horse droppings and ale tainted the air.

Dimitry turned away from the street and towards Saphiria. The young woman, perhaps in her early twenties, caressed the bridge of a weary ox’s nose. She led it to a stall beside one that housed two horses: a black one, and the other white with brown spots.

“What are we going to do with the cart?” Dimitry asked.

“Just leave it here.”

“But it’s full of stale blood. If someone finds it—”

“It’s Delphine’s stable.” Saphiria fastened a latch on the stall’s door. “She’ll handle it.”

Among several stables in the city, sheer size made this one unique. Four cottages could take its place with room to spare. How rich and influential was that woman to own so much property? Delphine was vile, but Dimitry had to stay in her good graces until he completed his escape plans.

When they reached the brothel, Gerbald, a man whose gargantuan frame was matched only by his ego, leaned by the front door. He noticed them, and a foul smile crept up his giant face. “Saphiria, you’re back. Did that fuckwit slow you down?”

Saphiria acknowledged neither Gerbald’s question nor his existence as she passed through the front door.

“I’m fucking talking to you!” His enraged words echoed throughout the brothel’s vast first floor, leaving silence in its wake. “Don’t you dare turn your back on me!”

Prostitutes and customers with blushed faces halted their forced romance to watch the commotion with anticipation and bated breath. Few things could detract attention from sex. Violence was one of them.

Dimitry didn’t look back. He didn’t want to give Gerbald the attention he craved. Not only would that encourage the moron, watching him chase validation was too much damn fun. How long had it been since Dimitry hated someone as much as him? Let that fucker suffer.

From behind, boots struck faster against a plank floor. Gerbald’s meaty hand grabbed Saphiria’s shoulder, her black cloak protruding between his thick fingers, and pulled the woman back.

Gerbald towered over her, looking down as if prepared to crush an insect under his heels. “Answer. Me. Did he fuck up?”

Should Dimitry get involved? Nah. Saphiria could handle herself.

She turned to face the bear of a man. Her eyes, vacant moments ago, burned with the callous fury of a seasoned murderer. A killer. Saphiria stepped towards him, unflinching.

“Stop. Talking.” Her words were mild but bore lethal hostility.

Gerbald teetered back. He probably wasn’t used to backtalk from girls two heads shorter than him. “What the fuck happened to you? Your collar’s enchantment, did it—”

“I don’t take your orders. Interrupt my task again, and even Dimitry won’t be able to piece you together.” Black cloak swinging behind her, Saphiria turned away and climbed up the stairs.

Dimitry savored the sight of the broken man. It filled him with elation and a newfound respect for Saphiria. Precious squirmed beneath his tunic, probably struggling to hold back laughter. He would high five the faerie were it not for dozens of observers.

Gerbald snapped out of his trance to glare at Dimitry. “What are you looking at?”

Dimitry grinned. “Nothing much.” The ecstatic shuffling beneath his tunic intensified. Although teasing the oaf was fun, he wasn’t here to deal with a man-child. He followed Saphiria to the reception hall on the third floor.

Glass-coated enchanted stones hung from the ceiling, infusing all with an azure hue. Delphine sat, hand supporting her chin, across a long table. A brown ponytail hung over her shoulder, tied at equal intervals with golden ribbons. Dominic stood beside her.

She lifted her head to glance at Dimitry. “How was the trip?”

“We completed the transaction successfully.”

“That’s good. But I wanted to know if it was fun.”

“Fun?” Dimitry asked.

“‘Travel is only as good as the company you keep’.” Delphine patted her hair. “My mother used to say that.”

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”

“I’m merely asking about your company.”

Dimitry glanced at the black-cloaked girl beside him. He had only respect for Saphiria, but a nagging sensation told him Delphine wanted praise for herself.

His answer was half true and half appeasement. “Saphiria saved my life in the forest multiple times. In my humble opinion, she’s a capable fighter and deserves praise for her efforts. You’ve made an excellent choice choosing her as my company.”

Delphine rose from her chair with grace. Her primitive high heels clacked against the wooden floor when she strolled past Dimitry to stand over Saphiria. Her hand, adorning clanging golden bangles at the wrist, reached to grab Saphiria’s chin.

“A woman that can fight is useful, but her life is meaningless if she lacks grace.” Delphine stroked Saphiria’s cheek. “A rigid, antisocial woman like her can’t possibly rule a people or a land. Don’t you agree?”

Rule a land? The man Dimitry delivered corpses to let slip that Delphine was once a baroness, but how did that relate to Saphiria? Was it just pompous noble banter? Poor girl.

Although Saphiria’s words were indeed sparse, curiosity was her charm. For Dimitry to slight the only person who afforded modern thought consideration was unforgivable. He needed a diplomatic response—something a politician would say to reconcile both parties.

“It’s possible.”

Delphine shook her head. “That’s no answer. By sparing the girl’s feelings now, you only injure her pride. Tell her what she needs to hear.”

Damn. What the fuck was Delphine’s issue?

Dimitry glanced at Saphiria.

She looked back at him out of the corner of her eye. They shared a silent conversation that transcended the need for speech. It told him to get it over with.

Grateful for Saphiria’s mercy, Dimitry begrudgingly lied. “You’re right.”

“See, it is better to be frank.” Delphine’s smile pressed her cheeks upwards, coaxing wrinkles from her temples. “Not only does she lack social grace, she’s too powerless to take back what she lost. But I’m different. That’s why I’m standing here, and you’re not. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Saphiria muttered.

Delphine’s cruelty, Gerbald’s power trips, the glowing collar around a girl’s neck that forced compliance. Saphiria was a pawn trapped in a brutal world just like Dimitry. Although watching her take abuse pained him, he was powerless to help. Lashing out now would achieve nothing except compromise any chance of escape.

The only person to show remorse in the room stood silent in the back. Dominic averted his gaze as if to not get involved more than necessary. He twirled his curved mustache instead.

“Now, onto business.” Delphine retrieved a dark green pellet from her pocket and yanked Saphiria’s collar. “Servia.” The vol vanished. “Was our client impressed with the shipment?”

“Only the steward was present,” Saphiria said.

“Then they didn’t see the cargo?”

“No.”

Delphine frowned. “Let’s hope they’ll be there next time. Saphiria, speak to our suppliers and tell them to have their shipments ready by tonight. We have an idle surgeon in desperate need of work. Understood?”

“Yes.” Saphiria marched out of the reception hall.

Staring at his boots, Dimitry pondered why a wealthy lord needed dissected corpses and why Delphine wanted him to deliver them when Saphiria was perfectly capable on her own. It was probably another power play—a competition of who owned the most slaves amongst nobles.

“Is something bothering you?” Delphine asked.

“I’m just fatigued from the trip. That’s all.”

“It’s not a simple task to be on the road for days without a proper bed or meal.” Delphine scooped his hand in hers and pressed a gold gadot to his palm. “Use your leisure time to put some meat on your bones. An inn or alehouse or whatever you fancy. I need you to look presentable for your next trip. And no wandering off. I’ll know if you do.”

Days ago, having enough money for a barber’s certificate would have exhilarated Dimitry. Now that he did, he felt nothing. Tenebrae wasn’t an organization that would allow him to leave even if he joined a guild.

He feigned gratitude to maintain appearances. “Thank you.”

“Now go.” Delphine waved him away.

Eager to use the chance to begin escape preparations, Dimitry exited the brothel and emerged onto luminous red streets. He needed a secluded place to draft a plan. Somewhere he could consult with Precious without alarming Delphine or the person she would send to trail him.

Dimitry lowered his cloak’s hood to conceal his eyes and tapped the clumped faerie beneath his tunic. “Get inside.”

“At last!” Precious clambered up to his nape. Her wings, like innumerable tiny chimes, rung alongside his ear. “Air!”

“Why complain when you’re the one who asked to come along.”

“Whatever you say, Dumitry.”

Something weak clamped his earlobe.

“You know your pinches don’t hurt, right?”

“Yeah,” Precious whispered, “but they make me feel better.”

“I’m glad, but I need you to focus. Remember you sensed the guy that followed me when we met in the alley? Can you do it again?”

“Since you asked so nicely, I’ll keep a lookout.”

“Thanks.”

Dimitry scoured the pleasure district for an establishment that permitted private conversation and fit Delphine’s requirements. Alehouses were cramped and boisterous, with rowdy patrons shouting at neighbors. Inns were calmer, but their small dining halls hindered privacy. Neither sufficed.

“Found someone stalking us,” Precious whispered. “A few strides back.”

“Well done. Tell me if they get too close.”

“Yup.”

Jutting from a street corner, a wood-framed two-story building blended into the scenery. A sign depicting grapes and oats leaned against a plastered wall. Above the door, a weathered board displaying strange yet decipherable characters proclaimed the location to be ‘Thamor Tavern’. The quaint atmosphere and a massive second floor to explore made it the perfect option.

Excited breaths exhaling faint mist, Dimitry rubbed his hands. “Precious, you hungry?”

“Don’t forget you still have a promise to keep.”

“You mean the fent we agreed on? What makes you think you deserve it after annoying Saphiria and I for two days straight? Why should only I have to hold up my end of the bargain?”

“I… I really tried! When emotions get intense, I just can’t help myself sometimes!”

Were faeries prone to mental illness? Dimitry offered her a chance at redemption. “Will you try harder in the future?”

“Yes!”

“I know you can sense me pitying you, but if I ever feel you’re taking advantage of me, I’ll never buy you fruit or anything else ever again.”

“I’m already trying my best, okay?” Precious’s whispers grew somber. “Cut me some slack…”

The sadness in her voice drained all anger from Dimitry. Cursing his empathy, he entered the tavern and walked past a waitress who poured wine into a customer’s mug.

“It’s a tavern,” he whispered to the faerie lying in his hood. “Should I sit down and wait or go to the counter?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

Hearing sass already, Dimitry raised his voice. “You’re useless.”

The waitress turned to face him. “Were you talking to me?”

“Say yes,” Precious whispered.

“Ye—no. I was just asking if I should wait to be served or—”

“Take a seat anywhere.” The waitress walked towards the bar. “I’ll be with you shortly.”

Dimitry clicked his teeth. “Couldn’t help yourself there either?”

“It was easy embarrassment,” Precious said. “What did you expect me to do? Not take advantage?”

“I know I said it before, but you have issues.”

Each step eliciting a soft creak, Dimitry climbed a set of stairs to the second floor—a spacious room filled with tables and stools. Although customers populated the space, they were distant enough that he could whisper to Precious in relative secrecy.

“Did they find the disappearing man yet?” a man two tables away bellowed.

“Nah, guards’re still lookin’,” said another.

“Imagine what we could do with all that money!”

“But hows’re we to find him?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Dimitry sat in a dark corner and wriggled on an unstable chair. People still hunted him. Fortunately, no one discovered that the green-eyed holy cleric was also the disappearing man. His distinct irises wouldn’t reveal his invisall capabilities to anyone at the brothel, and since he no longer dressed like a beggar, no one else would know either. The gossip merely complicated magic usage. He had to carefully consider each spell.

“The human stalking us is downstairs,” Precious whispered.

“Are they coming any closer?” he asked.

“Don’t think so.”

Were corpse butchers so valuable that Delphine hired spies to prevent Dimitry from attempting escape? Or were they simply making sure he didn’t aggravate the Church or city guards further? Regardless, their presence afforded him little secrecy. Every preparation had to be swift and secretive.

Now that Dimitry had basic medical supplies, which he used to mend the deep puncture in his foot during the trip, he would focus on attaining necessities like vol, food, and maps. Most vital, however, was saving enough to purchase a barber’s certificate upon reaching a foreign city and to hire a trustworthy caravan to help Dimitry navigate hazardous woodlands. Fyrhounds nearly killed him last night. What else lurked beyond Ravenfall’s walls?

“Sir?”

Startled, Dimitry looked up.

It was the yellow-gowned waitress from before. “What do you want to eat?”

“Ah.” Although Dimitry no longer consumed less than a thousand calories daily, refeeding syndrome remained a threat. A sudden drop in magnesium, phosphorus, and potassium levels after a filling meal could kill him. He opted for nutrient-dense foods packed with essential minerals to counter electrolyte loss. “Anything with lots of beans, leafy greens, and red meat.”

“And fent,” Precious whispered into his ear.

“—and fent.”

The waitress’s eyebrows rose. “Fent?”

Recalling the vile bitterness of the melon, one that no sane person could enjoy, Dimitry concocted an excuse. “Strange as it may sound, fent helps me with my bowel problems.”

“Good to know. And how do you eat it? Whole, cut, or diced?”

“Diced,” Precious whispered.

“Diced, please.”

“If that’s what you want.” The waitress walked away, shaking her head.

“You better be worth the humiliation,” Dimitry breathed into his hood.

“It’s just fent. Don’t be such a baby.”

“Keep up the attitude, and I’ll eat it all myself.”

“W-wait, there’s no need to be so rash.” Precious climbed onto his ear. “I’ll make it up to you with information.”

“What kind?”

“For example, how Delphine feels about you.”

Impressed with the faerie’s bargaining skills, Dimitry leaned back into his unstable chair. Identifying the taskmistress’ emotions could simplify navigating conversations with her while taking advantage of potential weaknesses. “Go on. I’m listening.”

“She loves you.”

He winced. “Loves me?”

“Maybe love isn’t the right word. More like ‘prizes’. Like I prize fent, except more sinister.”

No wonder Delphine treated him like a family pet. “How about Gerbald—the guy we met outside the brothel? Think he’ll ever attack me?”

“Maybe. He not only hates your guts, but he’s also jealous of you.”

“Jealous because Delphine shows me affection?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Precious whispered. “You humans are all weird.”

“Can’t deny that.” Dimitry’s thoughts shifted to a girl who literally slaved away while he enjoyed a relaxing evening dinner. “How about Saphiria?”

“Aside from self-hatred, guilt, and shame, her collar dulls her emotions too much to tell. But she doesn’t hate you… probably. I think.”

The sinking sensation in Dimitry’s gut exited with a sigh. Just days before, he yearned to rescue slaves that were being sold at the market, but upon meeting one whose company he enjoyed, he prioritized his safety over her freedom. It was for the best. Dimitry’s involvement only hurt others. Helping Saphiria would not only endanger both of their lives but those of countless patients who may rely on him someday.

Precious giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“You! I already told you I can’t help myself, so can you at least try to control your guilt? And, by the way, I’ve been trying my hardest not to bring it up, but what have you been scheming all this time? It better not have anything to do with me.”

That was right. Dimitry never told her. “I want to escape Ravenfall.”

“Escape? But you’re doing so well here. You’ve got whores, a comfy job, a boss that loves you. What’s not to like?”

“Oh, shut up.”

The waitress dropped off a tray of food, shot Dimitry a disgusted glare, and hurried away. A familiar diced fruit lay on a plate. It had leathery green outer skin and a fibrous brown top.

“Fent!” Precious tugged his ear. “Gimme!”

“Since you’ve been annoying me nonstop, I think I’ll enjoy it myself.”

“Noooo!”

Dimitry popped a piece into his mouth. His face contorted. The bitter fruit formed a pasty, persistent layer that stuck to his tongue. Why would a tavern stock something this awful?

“You know that I know that you don’t even like it!” A little arm reached from his hood towards the plate. “Give! Me!”

“What are you talking about? It’s delectable.” Dimitry chomped another piece, struggling to ignore the bitter taste. “Soooo good.”

“You’re such a jerk.”

“I’m the jerk?”

“Yes!”

Dimitry found himself pitying the faerie once more. “Fine. Here.” He plucked a small, square chunk from the tray. “Just don’t get any on my tunic.”

Tiny teeth munching sloshy fruit beside his ear, Dimitry’s thoughts returned to Saphiria. What if freeing her proved an asset rather than a detriment? She was a formidable fighter, could cast spells, was knowledgeable about the world, and no doubt wished to escape Tenebrae’s clutches.

Perhaps Dimitry could come to an agreement with her. But before then, there was another problem to handle. “Is it possible to get rid of Saphiria’s collar?”

“Not unless you can cast dispelia and cut through steel.”

“Explain.”

“The dummies at the Church engrave every collar to say where the servant comes from, who their master is, and what bishop at which church does the re-enchantments.” The faerie reached from underneath his hood once more.

Dimitry placed another fent chunk into her outstretched hands. “Go on.”

“Her collar is made from steel, so even if you disenchanted it with dispelia, they’ll hunt her down forever.”

“In other words, even if the collar stops glowing and Saphiria regains free will, the Church and their zealots will target her whenever they see it?”

“Yup.”

“And how many people follow the Church’s teachings?”

“Almost everyone.”