The path upward tasted like leaf-mist and rules.

  Verdantine's upper ways did not feel like normal roads. They were not merely carved. They were agreed upon. Every step Idalia took made the living structure beneath her flex and settle, as if the city itself decided, Yes. You may stand there. For now.

  Good city.

  Smart city.

  A city with manners.

  Braunches walked ahead, hands folded behind his back like he had all the time in the world and none of the predators in it. His presence was a tidewall in motion. The vegetables along the railings brightened when he passed. Thin lines of ward-light stirred in the rootstone, spiraling like sleepy fish around his boots.

  Idalia liked the floral scent of Verdantine. Somehow, the higher terraces smelled better. Lower Verdantine had smelled busy, wet, and lived-in.

  She padded after Braunches along the living-root walkway, tail swaying with bright confidence.

  Elves watched from balconies and archways. Some were brave enough to stare directly at Idalia. Most were brave enough to stare when they thought she was not looking. Idalia looked anyway, delighted by the variety of fear-scent. Fear was honest. Fear told you what mattered.

  Lief walked on Idalia's left, trying very hard to look like he belonged in the same world as the hero in front of them. Elemae walked on Idalia's right, quiet and alert, her posture steady. At one point Idalia leaned toward Elemae and whispered loudly, "Do you think your Chief actually faints or is that a threat?"

  The Chief had been described as a lady; an elven lady who was deathly afraid of monsters. This confused Idalia when she heard that the Elven Chief adored animals. Were monsters and animals not the same?

  Elemae made a sound that might have been a cough if it had not smelled like restrained laughter. "Both," she murmured. "Please do not test it."

  "I will try," Idalia promised brightly, as if it were a compliment.

  Lief made a pained noise. "Why must you say things like that?"

  Idalia blinked at him. "Because I feel them." That shut him up for a whole seven steps, which was impressive for someone with so many opinions.

  They reached a vast terrace that did not have flowers or benches or pleasant vines. It was bare and clean. The stone here was pale and dense, threaded with crystalline veins that pulsed softly like twinkling stars. Symbols were carved into the floor in concentric rings.

  Not decoration. Not art. Wards again.

  Idalia's whiskers pricked. Her {Sight} tried to bite the air and returned with a faint sting, like licking lightning. It wasn't the same sensation as Kelix's lightning, though she liked both. It felt as if the place were alive. She wondered how Kelix and Rhaya were doing and became self-conscious of her concern for them.

  She didn't realize how much she liked them, just as she did Pyro and Pyra; she missed those two dearly as well. Her chest ached with an awkward embarrassment as she realized she had ignored her friends' cries not to chase Tiamare and had instead left them behind in her pursuit of Tiamare and Hirohowl.

  She grumbled softly in her throat. Tiamare had rex-napped Hirohowl. After she finished here, reclaiming her father, she would return to her hunt for Tiamare to get Hirohowl back.

  It bothered her, though: why would Tiamare take him? She broke away from her musings when Braunches stopped before a pair of doors made from living wood and polished stone.

  Their surface resembled bark that had learned to become glass. The carvings on the doors featured wave patterns braided into leaf patterns, the kind of design that made Idalia's eyes wander and her mind hum with pleased confusion.

  Lief kept glancing at her as if she might suddenly do something spectacularly awful. Idalia made a point of not doing anything at all, which seemed to worry him more. Behind them, a handful of elves followed with stiff, careful steps. They were all trying to pretend this was normal.

  It was not normal.

  A Liorex did not walk through sanctums. A Liorex did not get guided by the Hero of the Tide like a guest who might bite the furniture if bored. Idalia's whiskers twitched in delight at the thought. Braunches pressed his fingertips to the door.

  The doors opened without sound.

  Warmth rolled out, carrying the scent of oil, ink, old iron, and foreign cloth. Underneath it all was a sharper note Idalia recognized instantly.

  Monster. Not Liorex. Not forest-beast.

  She saw the beast; something long and scaled, something that lived close to magic and learned to enjoy the taste of fear.

  Idalia's tail began to swish faster. Her paws stepped forward before anyone told her to.

  Inside, the room was wide and circular, its ceiling high and ribbed with crystal arches that looked like the underside of a seashell. Lanterns floated near the ceiling like captive moons, their light soft and green-tinged. A shallow channel of water ran in a ring around the chamber, not deep enough to drown anything, but deep enough to make the air damp and attentive. The water moved on its own, slow and purposeful, as if listening.

  In the center stood a low table. There were maps spread across it, not just of jungle and rivers, but of something deeper. Lines that looked like fault marks in the world. Old roads. Hidden roads. And near that table stood a woman.

  At first, Idalia's mind tried to label her wrong.

  Tiamare, it suggested, because the shape was similar. Human-ish. Strong posture. Similar aura and bones. The silhouette, the presence, the feel of her struck too close to memory. Too close to the green-haired girl who rode storms and bent monsters to her will. For a single breath, Idalia was back in the sky, wind screaming past her ears, Hirohowl's scent torn away from her grasp.

  "You—" Idalia took one heavy step forward. "Tia?"

  But then the woman turned her head. Her eyes lifted. They were not crimson; they were sharp, green-teal, polished like gemstone honed on a whet. They took Idalia without flinching, without awe, and without fear.

  No. Not Tiamare. This one had a different kind of heat. And then Idalia saw it. No horns. No red, curved, goat-like crown sweeping back above the ears. Just hair.

  Her hair was light-brown and green like mottled leaves in late sun, cut in a straight hime line that framed her face neatly, while a thicker braid ran down her back like a spine. Her clothing was imperial in its cuts, the kind of patterned fabric that spoke of empires and officials, but it was worn like combat gear. Loose enough to move. Tight where it needed to be. Sleeves that could be rolled and tied. A sash that held weight like it was meant to anchor weapons.

  The woman looked calm. She smelled like she fought anyway. Her eyes slid to Braunches first, then to Elemae and Lief, then to Idalia. They did not widen. They did not dart away.

  They sharpened.

  Something in the room shifted, subtle as claws leaving its sheath.

  Around the woman stood several Wanderans, their posture more alert than the elves's, their hands already near tools and weapons. They smelled like travel and discipline and the strange bitterness of people who had slept on bad ground too many nights in a row.

  Subordinates, Idalia decided. A pack. Good. She liked packs that moved together.

  And still curled around the woman's neck like a living scarf was a beast. It looked rabbit-like at first glance, soft-bodied and compact, but its spine was too long, its head too angular, and its eyes too wild. Whiskers trailed from its snout, and faint scales shimmered along its back like dew on stone. It lifted its head and hissed at Idalia.

  Not a cute hiss. A warning hiss.

  The beast's ears were long and delicate, but the sound it made belonged to something that could swallow a snake and still be hungry.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Idalia leaned forward, delighted. "Hello."

  The beast hissed harder. "Back off!"

  Idalia's whiskers twitched in pleased offense. "Oh, you are rude."

  One of the Wanderans shifted his stance as if he expected Idalia to leap. Another's hand tightened on a strap across his chest.

  The leaf-haired woman lifted a hand, two fingers flicking in a small signal.

  The scarf-beast settled, but it kept its narrow gaze fixed on Idalia, as if memorizing her for later violence.

  Braunches spoke first, his voice carrying that ocean calm. "Cheyin."

  So this was Cheyin. So this was the one with Papa's scent tangled in her wake.

  Idalia's chest tightened with an eager, hot knot.

  Cheyin stepped forward one pace, then stopped at the ring of water that circled the floor. She did not cross it. She respected the boundary, or pretended to. Her subordinates remained behind her like a shadow that knew how to form shapes.

  "Lord Braunches," Cheyin said. She bowed shallowly, not a court bow, not a surrender. More like a warrior acknowledging a stronger warrior. She looked at Idalia again.

  Her expression softened, just a fraction, like she had found something interesting in a pile of problems. "A Liorex," Cheyin said, as if tasting the word. "Here. Your kind is not native to Orun."

  Idalia stood taller, tail swaying. "Yes."

  Cheyin's gaze slid over Idalia's frame, the way hunters looked at terrain. Not greedy. Calculating.

  "Not just a Liorex," Cheyin murmured. "That scent. The set of your shoulders." She tilted her head. "Pawail's blood is loud in you."

  Idalia's ears perked. People kept saying Pawail like it was a door key. She liked doors.

  Cheyin's mouth curved faintly. The expression tried to be polite. It almost succeeded. There was still a spark behind it that looked like it wanted to punch something.

  "I am Cheyin," she began, voice even. "Former princess of the Orun Empire, currently acting in—"

  "Give me my father," Idalia snapped.

  The chamber went silent in the way forests went silent when lightning struck. Cheyin blinked once.

  Then she laughed, short and surprised, like that was the most honest introduction she had ever been offered. The calm professionalism stayed on her face, but Idalia could see the hotheaded spark behind it, tucked away like a knife under a sleeve.

  "That's direct," Cheyin said.

  Idalia's ears lifted proudly. "Yes. I want Solrift," she said, as if demanding a meal that had been promised. "You took him. Or you led him away. Or you did something that made him leave. Give him back."

  The rabbit-like shenlong hissed again, and its sinuous body tightened around Cheyin's neck. Cheyin reached up and scratched it affectionately under the chin like it was both weapon and pet.

  The creature grudgingly stopped hissing, but it did not stop glaring.

  Idalia returned her focus to Cheyin, tail swaying with impatience. Cheyin's expression turned thoughtful. Intrigued, even. She was still easygoing, still composed, but the air around her changed. Like a fighter setting their feet.

  "I have heard of Solrift," Cheyin said. "I have heard of Pawail's line. I did not expect one of you to come knocking at my door with your teeth out and your heart on your tongue."

  Idalia's grin widened. "It works."

  Cheyin's packmates exchanged quick looks. One of them, a tall Wanderan with a scar across his nose, muttered under his breath, "She's smiling."

  Another muttered back, "It is worse when they smile."

  Idalia's ears flicked, catching it. She smiled wider just to be polite. Meanwhile, Cheyin took a seat and rested her forearm on the table, relaxed as if this were a friendly conversation at a festival stall. But her eyes did not relax. Her eyes stayed sharp.

  "You want your father," Cheyin said.

  "Yes."

  "And you believe I can simply hand him over."

  "Yes."

  Cheyin hummed. "I like the confidence."

  Idalia puffed with pleased pride.

  Cheyin's fingers tapped lightly on the wood. "Here is my counter," she said. "I want you."

  Idalia paused. Not because she was shocked. Idalia was used to things wanting her. Everything wanted her, usually to either eat her or run away from her. But the way Cheyin said it was different. It was not hunger.

  It was ownership.

  Cheyin's smile turned faintly, dangerously playful. "Not in a cage," she clarified smoothly. "Not as a trophy. As my monster."

  "I am already a monster."

  "Yes," Cheyin said, as if that was the point. "And you are glorious. Another Liorex in my hands would make half the Empire rethink what they know about beasts. It would make Orun's men of law stop pretending monsters are only problems to be culled."

  Her gaze moved over Idalia with a calm that did not match the ferocity under it. It was the look of someone cataloging threat and opportunity at the same time.

  Braunches stepped forward, his presence filling the chamber like a tide rolling in. The Wanderans stiffened. Even the ones who tried to act brave shifted their weight, subtly orienting themselves as if preparing for impact.

  Idalia noticed, and her happiness swelled again. He was the Hero of the Tide indeed. Even foreign packs smelled him and remembered old stories.

  "That is a nice dream," she said, bright and cheerful. "But I do not belong in your hands."

  Cheyin's eyes glittered. "Then we test it."

  Idalia's grin returned, immediate and delighted. "Test!"

  Braunches’s presence shifted like a warning tide. "Cheyin," he said, soft.

  Cheyin's shoulders stayed loose, but she offered Braunches a small, respectful tilt of her head. "You brought her to me knowing what I am, Lord Braunches. You brought a Liorex into my chamber and asked me to stay calm."

  Braunches did not deny it. He simply watched, as though measuring the size of the wave Cheyin was about to make. Cheyin pushed off the table and stepped fully into the ward-circle. Her subordinates shifted, not intervening but ready. The rabbit-shenlong beast tightened around her neck and hissed at Idalia again, louder this time.

  Idalia leaned closer. "Your scarf is rude."

  The creature hissed like it understood.

  Cheyin's smile twitched. "It has good instincts."

  "So do I."

  Cheyin stared at her for a blink, perfectly calm.

  Then the calm shifted. Not vanished. Not broken. Just… repositioned, like a shield turning. Her eyes moved briefly to Braunches, as if checking whether the tide-hero would scold the beast that had wandered into his neat negotiation chamber.

  Braunches did not scold.

  Cheyin's scarf-beast lifted its head again and hissed, quieter this time, like it was whispering advice into her ear. Her fingers brushed the creature's fur, casual, almost affectionate. "Easy," she murmured to it. Then, to Idalia, she said, "You came here to take something from me."

  "I came here to take what is mine," Idalia corrected. Cheyin's gaze sharpened again, and for the first time Idalia felt the ferocity under the professionalism.

  It was not loud. It was not messy. It was trained.

  Cheyin spoke like a person who could smile, sign paperwork, and then slam your head into a wall without changing her breathing. "I like your eagerness. It will make this more enjoyable."

  Idalia's ears lifted. "Enjoyable?"

  "I cannot simply hand you Solrift," Cheyin said. "Not because I cannot. Because I will not. You want him. You want answers. You want to pull something from the knot I have tied and pretend the rope will not snap."

  Idalia's teeth bared in a snarl. "I am very good at snapping."

  "Yes. That is why you are interesting." Then Cheyin's expression settled into something that looked almost businesslike. "Let us make it simple. A challenge."

  Lief made a strangled sound. "Oh no."

  Cheyin did not look at him. She only looked at Idalia.

  "The winner gets what they want," Cheyin said, as if she were proposing a fair trade from the prey pile after a hunt. "If you win, I will return Solrift to you. No games. No excuses. No opposition."

  Idalia's heart did a delighted thump. That sounded like a good deal. But…

  "And if you win?" Idalia asked, suspicious, but still smiling because fighting was also a kind of talking.

  Cheyin's mouth curved, and the calm professionalism cracked just enough for the wild underneath to show its teeth.

  "If I win, you become mine."

  The words landed like a rock into still water.

  Idalia blinked, then laughed, a bright sound that made several Wanderans flinch on instinct. "Your monster?" she repeated, as if she had misheard.

  Cheyin nodded once, as if confirming a contract. "My monster. Tamed and bound. A Liorex under my command."

  The scarf-beast huffed, pleased, and coiled a little tighter around Cheyin's neck like it approved of the claim.

  Idalia's grin widened until it was all teeth.

  "Oh," she said happily. "You are funny."

  Cheyin's eyes did not soften. "I am serious."

  Lief’s face had gone the color of wilted moss. He leaned toward Idalia and hissed in a whisper, "Idalia. That is Cheyin the Beast Hero. She is a rising prodigy. The Orun Empire does not produce soft royalty, and she is their worst kind. She is famous for taming things that cannot be tamed!"

  Idalia's ears flicked back at him, annoyed.

  Lief continued, voice shaking, "This is a bad matchup! A really bad matchup! Orun's Beast Tamers exist for a reason. They do not fight fair. They fight smart, and they make monsters obey. She will try to bind you. She will try to break your instincts and turn them into a leash!"

  Idalia turned her head slightly and said, very politely, "Hush."

  Cheyin's gaze snapped to Lief, and her calm smile returned. "Hush," she echoed.

  Lief's mouth closed so fast his teeth clicked.

  Idalia looked back at Cheyin, eyes bright with feral joy. Cheyin looked back at Idalia, eyes bright with contained wildfire.

  "So if I win, I get Papa back. You're absolutely honest about that?"

  "Of course," Cheyin replied instantly.

  "And if I lose, you get to try to make me sit and roll over."

  Cheyin's nostrils flared once, like she was suppressing a laugh or a growl. "You will not be asked to roll over. You will be asked to obey."

  "That sounds worse."

  "It is," Cheyin agreed, utterly calm.

  Idalia tilted her head, studying her properly now.

  Cheyin did not feel like a stolen-princess story.

  Cheyin felt like a person who had walked through war and decided it was a career path.

  Idalia's stomach rumbled in pleased anticipation. Her paws kneaded the living stone once.

  "Fine," she exclaimed. "I accept!"

  Several Wanderans inhaled sharply. Elemae's eyes widened just a fraction. Lief made a small, despairing whine. Cheyin's scarf-beast hissed again, as if warning Idalia that she had just agreed to be eaten in a different way.

  Idalia leaned forward, nose wrinkling. "Stop doing that," she told it. "I will bite you first."

  The creature's eyes narrowed, unimpressed.

  Cheyin lifted a hand, palm outward, calm as a court official about to announce a duel. "Terms," she said. "No killing. No outside interference. Winner determined by surrender, incapacitation, or binding."

  Idalia's ears perked. "Binding?"

  "You will learn."

  Idalia's tail swished faster. "I like learning."

  Cheyin's calm smile deepened, and for a second Idalia saw the hotheaded wild tucked behind it, straining like a chained beast pretending it was a pet.

  "You are going to be a problem," Cheyin said, sounding almost pleased.

  Idalia beamed at her. "Yes."

  Braunches finally spoke, "Then we do it properly."

  The ward-lines in the floor brightened in response, spiraling outward from the water ring.

  The chamber, the city, the tide itself, all seemed to lean in.

  Idalia bounced once on her paws, infectiously happy, feral as dawn. Her eyes locked on Cheyin.

  "Bring Papa," she said, cheerful and sharp. "Or bring your leash. Either way, we are doing this."

  Cheyin's scarf-beast hissed and her subordinates shifted, ready to witness history.

  Cheyin rolled her shoulders once, loose and combat-ready beneath imperial fabric, and her voice stayed calm even as her eyes sparked.

  "Good. I was hoping you would say yes."