The beds at Praccus’ Pocket were as lumpy as Lucky always claimed. Climbing out of bed left Shade a hair less stiff than he was getting in, however, and at least he was no longer cold and wet. He still wanted a damned bath but contented himself with scrubbing himself using the washbasin. It was better than nothing.

Always an early riser, Shade was at the corner table downstairs before the dining room started filling with patrons. Nessie brought him so bread and honey in exchange for two aus and then delivered a steaming cup of dulce.

Dulce was a sweet, hot mint drink that Shade generally eschewed in favor of alcohol; however, today, he needed the warmth in his chest.

“You look a mite pale.” Nessie frowned. “Couple healers here ain’t bad, though they’re expensive. Want me to have one of the girls grab you one?”

“No, thank you.”

“You sure?” She crossed her arms. “If money’s the issue, you did us a service, and Rander owes us a favor…”

“It is not, and I am sure. Thank you.” Shade would not tell her that magic healing didn’t work on him. Revealing that weakness was stupider than he was, even at his sickest. Besides, he could suffer through a chest cold and survive. Healable or not, he was hard to kill.

“Have it your way.” Shrugging, Nessie headed back to the bar and left Shade with his dulce and bread. At least both were warm.

He was contemplating paying for another night and crawling back into bed when a young man stumbled into his table.

“Hi.”

Shade sipped his dulce slowly and said nothing, studying the young man. His new companion fidgeted when Shade remained silent, revealing good teeth and freckles. Maybe he was twenty years old, perhaps a little younger, with dark hair, blue eyes, and a slight droop to the left side of his face.

He was tall, too, tall enough that Shade would have to crane his neck if the kid wasn’t bending over the opposite chair.

“You’re Shade, right? The Night Rider?” the kid grinned again and then faltered when Shade didn’t smile back. “I was looking for you.”

“That much is obvious.”

“I think you can help me. Or at least I hope you can.” Another smile. “Maybe?”

Shade checked a sigh. “First, you have to tell me what you want help with.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” He blushed. “I want to be a Night Rider.”

Oh, Lady. Shade was afraid of that. Swallowing the last sip of his dulce, he sat back in this chair, ignored his creaking back, and eyed the kid. Maybe it would scare him off.

Unfortunately, it only made the nervous smile grow. “Can I sit down?”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“Um. I mean, you have to learn from a Night Rider to become one, right?” He gulped. “And you’re a Night Rider.”

“I am.”

“Can you teach me? I learn quick.”

“Not quick enough,” Shade muttered before he could stop himself. “Sit down and tell me your name.”

Glowing, the kid plopped into the chair. “Seril Rufio. I’m from here in Coelera. My parents both work in the port, but I want to make a difference. I want to help. I want to save people. Like you do.”

“You’ll start by never answering that question again, boy.” Seril Rufio, Coelera. Shade committed it to memory. He would write it down later, in the code he kept his records in.

“But you just asked—”

“And a Night Rider’s first line of defense is anonymity,” Shade cut him off. “The only thing that protects your friends and family from your actions is that the Olorians don’t know who you are. You take a name, and you live by that name. You never put it down, not even for a moment. And you don’t come home.”

Seril blanched. “I thought…I thought I could help here.”

“And get those parents of yours killed?” Shade shook his head. “Do you know what happens to Night Riders when they’re caught?”

Now was not the time to think of Instance.

Shade prayed he’d died in battle.

“I’ve heard things. Terrible things,” Seril whispered.

“They’re all correct. Any Night Rider who is caught alive is tortured to death. Publicly.”

“Oh.”

“That is what you risk. Every moment. Every day.” Shade folded his hands. “That’s what being a Night Rider is. One out of every three of us is caught.”

“And dies?”

“Painfully.”

Seril looked down at the tabletop, breathing hard. “Is it worth it? Do you help people?”

“Yes, we help people. We help those no one else will.” Shade didn’t count the number he’d saved. He didn’t count the number he’d failed to save, either. But he counted the Night Rider losses. Every one of them. “Only you know if the risk is worth it.”

Shade knew the answer before Seril spoke. Seril Rufio was one more in a long line of good kids—good men and good women—who were willing to follow him into this insanity. Evendarians to their core, they weren’t willing to admit defeat any more than he was.

Twelve years after the Fall of Evendar, after the catastrophic end to the war where they lost their freedom, their hope, and so many lives, there were still Evendarians willing to fight. Even with some of our own people hunting us. Shade’s heart clenched.

“I can do it. I know I can,” Seril said.

“Then choose yourself a name, and I will find you a mentor.”