Mid-Spring - 1901

  During the second day of the week for Torrance’s training, Reeva headed out early into the city to clear her mind. She walked, head down and hood up, along the streets with a warm spring air to fill her lungs with the smells of the districts. She paid no heed as to where she walked; there was a lot for her to clear her head.

  Her memories were coming back.

  Fragments and visions, at first.

  People fishing in canoes honed from the hollows of beach palm trees and mountain oaks.

  Sea creatures swimming under the surf, just beyond her arm’s reach. Red snappers, lionfish, sea bass, urchins, and lobsters.

  The sun, bright and powerful, beating down on the white sand that felt soft under her bare feet.

  The waves, rhythmic and slow, loudly crashing against the shoals and cliffs that she used to dive off with her brother, S?nu.

  S?nu. Her older brother.

  Gods… how could she forget about him? He taught her how to sail, fish, and braid ropes. Who helped tend to her with their father whilst their mother was on her pilgrimage to the continent Peteshko. The continent that Reeva now called home.

  This place wasn’t her home. Not in the sense that it was for Arcos, Torrance, or even Boras. They were all born on this land. She was born of the sea, like all the Easterners that she had seen travelling in the city. That was the disconnect she had begun to develop since leaving the Guild. With the Guild and Silverstreak before that, she had a home. A purpose. A place to build her roots. But because of events beyond her control and through no fault of her friends or herself, she had lost those carefully placed roots. Once again, she was rudderless like a helpless canoe in the current. Like the canoe that she was thrown from during that storm that killed her father and robbed her of her mind. And now, she couldn’t even remember how her mother disappeared or even if S?nu was alive or dead...

  Reeva shuddered as she trudged the streets of the Merchant District. It was supposed to be a good feeling to remember her old life. So why did it not feel good? Why did she feel… foreboding?

  And as if it wished to answer that question in her mind, the birthmark itched again.

  She growled and scratched at the mark.

  The birthmark. In the shape of a snake eating its tail into a circle. The symbolism was not lost on her.

  The Wyrm, the creature personified in the fountain that she and Torrance saw the night of the killings, was the one religion revered by all Easterners across the Archipelago.

  When Letti noted the mark on Reeva’s neck, she believed it to be the work of the Hands of Fate, a blessing of good luck for her future as an Easterner living in a foreign land.

  Reeva was not so sure anymore.

  Whenever danger or disaster struck herself or those she cared for, the birthmark would itch. As if it was a warning of some kind… And it was itching even more now.

  And including that irritation, there was the headache that came and went without warning. That was a new development which started since that night with Torrance and seeing the fountain of the Wyrm.

  Reeva wondered if there was something wrong with her. If she had an illness undiagnosed. She wasn’t sure. She wished she was. She wished for a lot of things.

  She turned a corner and, being so wrapped up in her thoughts, nearly nudged into someone turning the corner with her.

  “Crap!” Reeva cursed, as she stumbled. She remained upright and turned to the person she ran into. “Sorry about that, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  The other person was a young woman with short, mousy brown hair, a plain, suntanned face with freckles across the cheeks and forehead like flecks from a paintbrush. She dusted down her frock dress and her long sleeves. She bent down to pick up a dropped wicker basket by its handle.

  She looked back up to Reeva and smiled meekly. “It’s quite alright, Miss.” The woman said with a short bow of her head. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” Reeva noted that a bread loaf wrapped in paper had fallen out of the basket. She picked it up and handed it back to the woman.

  “Uh, I’m not so sure you should be eating it now…” Reeva suggested.

  The woman smiled sweetly. “Oh, I’m not eating it. This is an offering for the gods.”

  “Offering?”

  “Yes, at The Deity Alcove. Were you not going there to pay your respects?” She pointed down the street that she and Reeva had turned down together.

  Reeva glanced down that way and noted other Easterners and others heading down the street. All of them had offerings of food, incense, or even coins in hand. Others held scrolls of parchment with scrawled writings in clenched fists, whilst reciting the words under their breath.

  Reeva blinked with some curiosity.

  “You do practice worship, correct?” The woman asked politely. “I am assuming that you would be a follower of the Archipelago god, that dragon spirit.”

  “The Wyrm,” Reeva corrected. “Not dragon. And no… I haven’t practised the prayer for a long time.”

  The woman’s smile did not diminish. It was thick with warmth. “Then maybe your walkings brought you here for that reason. Come.” The woman gestured for Reeva to walk with her.

  Reeva eyed her suspiciously. “Are you not being a little too trusting?”

  “I have a good read of people.” The woman eyed Reeva with the same intensity. “You smell good to me.”

  “Smell? You can smell good in people?” Reeva laughed.

  “So can my mother.” The woman tapped her nose. “You can always smell the bad ones from the good. Anyway, my name is Claire, Miss.”

  Claire offered her hand to Reeva, to which Reeva shook it with a nod.

  “Nice to meet you. My name’s Reeva.”

  As Reeva walked with her new companion, she learnt that Claire worked as a freeform nursemaid for children with single parents or guardians. Her services would see to the betterment and growth of these young boys and girls, helping them become beneficial members of society. At this very moment, Claire’s attentions and those of her mother’s— who was herself a leading nursemaid that Claire works with— are currently focused on the raising of a young girl from a rich and powerful household. That was all she was allowed to say.

  Reeva wondered if Letti had been rich enough, maybe she would have sent a young Reeva to a finishing school for ladies or had a nursemaid like Claire to help form her into a lady of high society.

  Reeva decided very quickly that she was glad that wasn’t the case.

  She was absolutely content with who she was at the moment, despite the tumultuous feelings of displacement she had at the same time. She loved hunting the fields around Silverstreak and the mountains surrounding the Guild. She enjoyed the sparring sessions with Tilda and now with Torrance. The camaraderie with Boras and Arcos and the equality she felt with them.

  She did not enjoy wearing the dress for Victor Sade’s initial meeting with them. She shuddered to think of the continuous existence of wearing frock dresses and ballgowns if she had been raised as a highborn lady, attending suffocating debutantes and dealing with insufferable nobles and merchants at claustrophobic luncheons and dinners.

  She would sorely miss the adventures that her life had blessed her with.

  Claire was a relaxed walker. She moved without much hurry and gave Reeva appreciative smiles and nods when she asked Reeva of her life without too much prying. A respectful curiosity. To which Reeva returned with carefully spared information. No mention of the Guild nor her mission in the city with her friends.

  “Incredible…” Claire marvelled. “To arrive on these shores unharmed despite the storms… you must have been blessed by the Wyrm.”

  Reeva nodded. “Right, certainly feeling the blessed and unharmed parts…” Her headache throbbed quietly at the base of her skull, as if it was a snarky response to her sarcasm concerning her amnesia.

  “You should give thanks,” Claire recommended, “just so the Wyrm knows that you acknowledge and appreciate their gift. We’re nearly there.”

  They reached the end of the street and entered a large circular area of flattened cobblestones. In the centre of the great circle stood a tall squared column of black granite seated on a white marble plinth pointing high into the sky with an arrowhead cap.

  Reeva realised as she noted the granite obelisk cast a straight shadow that reached along the cobblestones and towards the edge. The edge that encircled the area of cobblestones was labelled with numbers going from one to twelve. She looked down and saw that she herself was standing on the number seven.

  “Oh!” Reeva realised. “This is a sundial.”

  “Indeed.” Claire nodded and then gestured towards the edge. “Worship takes time, so it helps to know how long we take per visit. The size of the dial allows for space for the hundreds of worshippers that come to the temples.”

  Taking her eyes off the sundial, Reeva finally saw the six temples.

  They were built in a patterned row around the circle, with each temple facing its opposite. They were tall, slender buildings with many steeples and multi-coloured painted windows that ran alongside the walls. Each of the buildings held a level of authority. A silent command that only homes of worship could emit.

  Worshippers, heads down, moved in and out of the buildings.

  Reeva felt a sudden swell of national pride grow in her chest when she spied the smallest of the temples, which had Easterners entering the great oak doors.

  Claire pointed to each of the temples in turn. “I’m not sure how versed you are with our religion, but please allow me. We have the Hands of Fate ahead of us, in the largest of the temples. The Hands decide the events of our lives and the outcomes of our deaths.

  Moving around, there is the temple for the Slumbering Mother. She is the god that oversees night itself and the dreams we have. There is the Healer, who provides love and care for all.

  The Hammer, whose vengeance and power is felt through the arms of our soldiers. As well as courage for any who require it.

  Other at the last two, they are the newest additions. The first is the Torchbearer, the Tashiishans’ god. And over there…”

  “Is the home for the Wyrm, my god.” Reeva nodded. “I’m surprised by how tolerant you Darganians are of foreign gods.”

  “So was I when I came here.” Claire lightly put her hand on Reeva’s shoulder to guide her forward. “I came from a quiet town on the Eastern coast, just a shy north of the Great Thicket. In our town, we only had a small shrine for all four Darganian gods. It was a shock to see such devotion given to the gods. I would credit the Barons Francisca and Vilx for being so open-minded towards all the gods in the world.”

  Not all the gods, Reeva thought.

  Her mind went back to the Guild and the teachings she had been instilled with regarding the truth of the religions that sprouted in the beginning. That the true gods, the Black and the Light, had spawned the myths and tales that gave rise to the incarnations of the six gods on display here.

  That made her wonder. Was that necessarily the truth? That the Black and the Light came first? Who’s to say that they did? Only the teaching that Brother Archibald had taught her.

  What about the Wyrm? Was the Wyrm just another part of the stories left behind in the wake of the events that led to the Moral Fracture and the Black and Light’s departure? And if that is the case, what would be the point of her worship?

  “I’ll be heading to the Slumbering Mother.” Claire explained as they crossed the expanse and passed the sundial. “My lady Frigga is having some trouble sleeping, so I will beseech some mercy for her nights with some fruits.”

  Reeva sighed sadly. “Poor Frigga. I hope your prayers help her.” She said with a smile.

  “Thank you. Here.” Claire pulled out a fresh red apple. “For the offering in your temple.” She handed the apple to Reeva. Reeva stared at the fruit and back at her.

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “Certainly. You strike me as being troubled. Troubled by dark thoughts. Maybe the Wyrm will help give you some clarity?”

  Reeva blinked. She wasn’t angered by the insinuation of her troubled state. She was surprised that Claire cared enough to do something about it. “That’s… that’s very kind. Thank you, Claire.” Reeva took the apple and slid it into her cloak’s inseam pocket.

  “You’re welcome.” Claire curtsied before turning towards the temple that she pointed out as the Slumbering Mother’s. “Take care, Reeva Braider. I pray you will find the peace you’re looking for.”

  Reeva watched the strange and kind woman walk away before glancing with some strange sense of apprehension at the temple for her kin.

  “So do I.” She spoke softly to herself.

  Within the Temple of the Wyrm, shafts of beautiful sunlight cast through the air in straight, solid beams. Much like the wooden beams that made up the temple’s rafters high overhead. There was an amount of dust that hung in the air, but not so much to make it seem musty or untidy. It just gave the temple an age that was easy to witness.

  Standing in the entryway, Reeva was suddenly overcome with an emotion of longing. A longing for home.

  There were Easterners, dozens of their number, seated in wooden pews with their eyes closed and their hands clasped in prayer. The main hall of the temple had two rows of pillars that lined and bordered the temple to the back. And at the back was a stone altar with a lit fire pit seated on top. The black and grey smoke rose up from the flames, the remnants of the offerings which Easterners dropped into the flames.

  The smoke rose up and curved around and over a wooden helm that was suspended high above the fire pit by ropes tied around the last two pillars. And wrapped around the wooden helm was the skeleton of a snake. The Wyrm, or at least a human representation of it.

  The Wyrm was known to be so large and vast that its body could encircle the entirety of the Archipelago thrice over, and that its movements would set ocean currents into a frenzy. Which was how the people of the Isles explained the storms that cut the Archipelago off from the Peteshko continent for months at a time.

  But still, it was a good show of respect.

  The scent of the smoke was mixed with the briny, burnt smell of salted fish, lobster shells, clothes, breads, and fruits. The smell was heady but comforting. It made Reeva think dearly of home.

  After dropping the apple into the fire— but not before taking a solid bite out of it first and enjoying it deeply— Reeva settled into a pew away from the other Easterners, bowed her head, and clasped her fingers together. And with all her will, she prayed for guidance, peace, and an end to her headache.

  She wasn’t sure how long she was taking in her silence. She realised it was a while as she felt the warmth of the sun creep up her face as the sun’s movement pushed its beams up along the temple floor.

  The itch on her neck was gone. In fact, as Reeva continued to think about it whilst seated in that pew, the itch had faded the moment she set foot in the temple itself. That faded, and soon afterwards, as she thought of it with confused wonder, the headache also dissipated.

  She was peaceful again. Taking a deep breath through her nose, she exhaled the same breath with a long and deep plume of warm air through her mouth.

  The meditations from the Guild flowed back to her mind, and Reeva channelled her will to calmly breathe in and out rhythmically, utilising the quietude of the holy home of her people.

  In her meditation, Reeva considered Claire.

  A stranger by all terms. And yet, despite that and all the troubles the city and the country were in, she did not allow that to mire her kindness and generosity. She went out of her way to show care to Reeva, who was clearly in a strait of anguish. She was a devoted follower of the gods, and Reeva felt inspired by that.

  So much so, that Reeva considered her original plan. She had planned to leave Dargania. Now she had developed friendships over the years living in the country, developed bonds that she knew that could not be severed without great pain. She had believed that this would be her end, as her home lay across the eastern seas. But wasn’t this her home as well? Her friends and family lived here too.

  She glanced up, seeing the skeletal visage of the Wyrm.

  Was that why? She asked in her mind to the deity. Is that why you sent me here? Saved me from the storm? To help my friends? Save the people of Silverstreak? Defeat the Barons? Serve the Black?

  She narrowed her eyes.

  And my memories? Did you take those away so that I would be forced to create new ones here? Is that my destiny? Is this country to be the home that I live and die in?

  Well, then so be it. If that is your will, and if that is also the will of the Black, then I shall do what must be done.

  She nodded and slowly rose with a steady poise.

  Thank you. She nodded. I know where I stand now.

  Reeva bowed her head to the Wyrm, turned out from the pews and strode towards the temple doors with her head held high and a soft smile on her face once again. She had found peace. Small, fragile and built upon soft sand. But peace nonetheless.

  ???

  “Again!” Torrance barked after Boras crashed onto his back once more.

  It was the fourth day of the week’s training and Boras had been put through his paces. Arcos and Reeva, having excelled quicker in their own paths of training with their weapons, Torrance had focused more closely on the last of the trio.

  Boras had grown better in his skills with his twin axes. But he was still clumsy. He was still slow. But he was getting there. He just needed to fix his damned footing.

  It was the late afternoon as they trained on the rooftop arena of The Four Claws. There was an overcast of clouds, but the deep warmth of the spring sun was not deterred. Boras felt sweat soaking his shirt and breeches, and his training sandals were doing their damn hardest not to fall apart from the amount of wear and tear that the daily training was putting them through. All his muscles ached and swore against the strain of the workouts and fighting Torrance had insisted that he and the others needed to go through. If that is what it took for them to be ready, then so be it.

  The others were downstairs either eating, resting, or enjoying their free time. Reeva was with Maraby, having elected herself to assist the Wayward’s proprietor with the cooking and the arrangement of supplies.

  But Arcos was seated in a corner of the roof, cleaning his boots and his selection of swallowblades. He was quiet and watching the training with a critical eye. He had been quiet for a couple of days. Boras was worried, as was Reeva. The last time Arcos was this quiet and brooding was when they had their Hunting Test against the mountain spiders. And he had risked his life and recklessly put theirs in jeopardy. His mind was in a bad enough place then.

  Who knew what he was thinking now, with all that has transpired?

  “Fighting the Bodyhunters will be different than fighting some Fist soldiers, kid.” Torrance grunted. He offered Boras his hand. Boras took it and was yanked up to his feet.

  Torrance slapped his hand on Boras’s uninjured shoulder. “Fists soldiers are decent enough fighters if pitted against farmers with pitchforks. But if we’re going toe-to-toe with the Bodyhunters, I need you at the top of your standards.” Torrance gave Boras a kind smile. “Okay?”

  Boras nodded as he rolled his bruised shoulder. “I know. I know… But fuck Torrance, maybe pull your punches once in a while, huh?”

  Arcos snorted a laugh. “You really think the Bodyhunters are going to be that generous?”

  Boras cocked his eyes at him. “Who asked you to butt in?”

  Arcos shrugged before replying in a tone too sharp for anyone’s liking. “Torrance has to fuck us up. It’s the only way to learn, right? Since there’s nothing else we can do at the moment. We can’t go help our friends, we can’t do anything to attack Markus. So may as well waste some time and train like slaves, right?”

  Eye wide in shocked rage, Torrance rounded on Arcos.

  Boras also fixed the sullen Arcos with a stunned glare. “The hells the matter with you-?”

  Arcos met the two men’s looks with a cold stare on his own.

  Suddenly the door to the stairwell opened and Sitra Sade stepped out from the shadows.

  Upon seeing her, Boras felt his throat catch with a nervous gulp of air. She had cleaned up very well. She had forsaken the thieves’ attire of her dark cloak and black boots. Instead, she was dressed in a free-flowing black dress with an outer crimson corset tied tight across her chest and midriff with silver lacing crisscrossing the central and spinal folds. The dress had stitched-in sleeves that extended to her elbows, leaving her toned forearms exposed. Her hair, once braided, was now undone and left to tumble down in luscious curls just past her shoulders. And her satin mask was now a deep red with gold roses stitched into the fabric to complement the corset. Her jade eyes glittered against the sunlight as she regarded the three men, leaving Boras to last.

  Boras stared at her, mouth a tad agape. She was utterly stunning.

  “Afternoon, gents.” She nodded to the three after she looked away from Boras without a hint of a smile in her eyes. She crossed her arms and leant against the open doorframe.

  Torrance, having torn away his eye from Arcos, gave a short bow towards Sitra. “Miss Sade, pleasure to have you with us. Are you intending to train today?”

  Sitra had been stopping by the tavern to privately train with Torrance when she had time on her hands. She favoured knife-fighting as per her livelihood’s demand for close-quarters combat.

  Boras tried - in vain - to forget the sheen of sweat that made Sitra’s shirt cling to her back on the occasion she walked past him on the roof as she left. It was a hot and bright day and he noted the shifting toned muscles around her spine.

  He recalled feeling those under his fingers in the alley… Damn everything, he needed to get a grip.

  “Not today.” Sitra shook her head and then rolled her arms. “After yesterday, I feel better off stretching my legs. No, I was sent by my father to look over the Waywards’ progress.”

  “And everything’s to your liking?”

  Sitra glanced towards Boras before returning her eyes to Torrance. “Everything is satisfactory.”

  Boras did his best to hide his disappointment.

  Testament to his willpower, he had refrained from bragging to Reeva and Arcos about his make-out with Sitra in the alley. He doubted he would get praise for that. And as far as he knew, Sitra had not mentioned anything to anyone either. Boras would imagine that if she did, he would get an impromptu night visit from dearest daddy Victor Sade and loving uncle Vanto Heartly, both furious and armed with knives. He was damned thankful for that. He did not want to be the reason for the fallout of a possible alliance. Not with so much at stake now.

  With that secret between them, Boras had hoped that something would happen with Sitra. He wasn’t so sure what that something would be, but he wouldn’t have minded it if it was with her. Maybe they could grab a drink at one of the local bars down in the southernmost district? He didn’t have much money on hand to pay for alcohol, but he could filch some off a pompous merchant around there.

  Fuck… she was beautiful, even though she claimed that she didn’t believe him when he told her directly. And he liked her, regardless of whether she was beautiful or not. He liked her smell, her hair and her eyes. And gods, he liked her sharp words. It cut through him in a way that never left a sting afterwards.

  It made him want her more. He recalled her body against him as she pressed him up against the brick wall. Her hands tracing his arms. His hands cupping her waist, her arse. Damn, the last few nights he found himself pleasuring himself just from the memory of that kiss alone. Gods help him if they had fucked before she stopped him.

  And she did stop him. And since then, she kept him at arm’s length. Four days after their kiss in the alley, Sitra never went out of her way to speak with him in private. The only times he spoke with her was with others involved, be it with Reeva and Arcos and Torrance or with Vanto or Volstag Moneylender. As if she was avoiding him on purpose.

  “Good to hear…” Torrance looked at Arcos, who had said nothing during this conversation. Boras noted the throbbing vein in Torrance’s neck. The man was pissed at Arcos and too right. Arcos was being an insufferable prick. Again.

  Boras understood why Arcos was being like that. But he wasn’t the only one going through this shit. Arcos needed to get a damn grip if they had a chance to make this work.

  Sitra nodded to herself. “I’ll be off then.”

  “Wait a moment.” Boras piped up, drawing another cold glance from those jade eyes. “You want to stay for lunch? Reeva’s cooking some of her home staples she found in a cookbook.”

  Sitra shook her head. “Already ate.” She turned and walked away down the steps.

  Boras gritted his teeth and hissed through the same locked teeth.

  Torrance noted that look and gave Boras a knowing eyebrow raise. “You care to explain? She’s been extra frosty with you. Still on you about that sewer incident?”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Boras sighed deeply. “You could say that…”

  Torrance rubbed his neck and sighed. “You have a way with women, don’t you? We need Victor’s help. I do not need you buggering everything up because you don’t have self-control when it comes to the fairer sex.”

  “I do!” Boras protested.

  “Then get that,” Torrance jabbed a finger towards the open door when Sitra walked through, “resolved and fast.”

  Boras nodded and bowed his head. “Okay… okay… Torrance? Can I call it a day? Just so I get rested and sort some shit out?”

  Torrance gave him another eyebrow raise. But he glanced to the sullen Arcos and nodded. “Go.”

  “Thank you, mate.”

  “Be back before sunset. We’re going to start evening training now.”

  “Oh goodie. Cannot wait.” Boras grumbled as he grabbed up his boots, pulled on his discarded jacket and headed quickly down the stairs, leaving a beleaguered Torrance to deal with the last of his students.

  Boras nearly tripped down the stairs towards the main hall as he hurriedly yanked on his boots and double-tied the laces.

  He was frantic. He didn’t want to wait another day without some answer from her. Any answer from her. She needed to explain what that kiss was about. Why she was avoiding him. And what he did that annoyed her (apart from pulling her into a shit river).

  If he didn’t hurry, he could lose her and his chance again. Who knew when she’d be back to meet with the others again?

  After ducking through the mercenaries in the hall, unable to return a pleasantry from Reeva who was helping carry a barrel of wine with Maraby and earning Reeva’s middle finger for the ignorance, Boras barrelled out of the hall. Down the front hallway and out into the narrow alley.

  Twisting on the spot, he jogged towards the main street and skidded to a halt.

  He scanned the heads and dresses of the many women within the thronging of city folk that paced up and down the street. Too many. Blonde hair. Blonde hair… There!

  It was the crimson corset, it stood up stark against the mundane colours of the rest and not the hair that bounced over her shoulders.

  Sitra was stopping by a fruit cart, handing over a copper coin for a small apple. The female seller bowed her head with appreciation before Sitra turned and strode away.

  Boras began his pursuit, deeply eager to see what this alluring woman - who had caught his attention so intrinsically - does on a day off in the city.

  She stopped by the market stalls in the street, sometimes zigzagging across the road to attend a stall opposite her. Boras watched as Sitra began to accumulate a collection of foods and items in a wicker hamper basket that she hung on her elbow.

  Boras, able to hide well enough in the crowd, watched with fascination as Sitra conversed with the market sellers with a polite attitude. A far cry from her icy demeanour when it came to him. Was this how she acted truthfully, without an audience to appease, an enemy to cripple or a business partner to demean?

  She moved on, and he followed. Cutting across the central part of the city, heading westwards and towards the border of what Boras assumed was the Mercuries’ territory, Sitra led him into the Residential District.

  Where the Merchant District housed all the commerce that made the city run, or the Militant District that housed and trained all armed personnel in the city, the Residential District was built and designed for the well-being of the populace. Yes, people lived all over the city. But the Residential District was home to more well-off families or those of reputation. The Residential District housed the majority of the schools that taught the young, the hospitals where men and women like Hacker worked. It was the place you’d want to call home.

  The buildings were clean, not a stain nor a drop of muck that would typically cake the walls of the other districts. The streets were just as clean, with a young road sweeper on every other corner.

  After passing iron picket fences that doubtless housed men and women who had more riches in their pockets than what Boras could earn in two months, Sitra finally stopped at a tall house of four floors.

  The house stood apart from the buildings on either side, isolated by green grass that grew tall and was peppered with brightly coloured flowers in full bloom. It was built of red brick with wide windows on each floor. It was also large, with its body stretching back towards a wide communal garden that was hidden from the street.

  Hidden around the corner of the street, he had followed her down. Boras watched in rapt silence.

  Sitra unlatched the black-painted gate that bordered the tall house’s front yard from the street and headed up the flagstone garden path towards a front porch. Up the three wooden steps and stepping under the veranda, Sitra swung the door’s brass knocker twice, waited a moment, and then the front burst open with a woman’s voice ringing out.

  “Sitrania! Come in, pet!”

  Sitrania? That’s her full name?

  Sitra nodded with a warm “Hello, Yvette. Good to see you.” before stepping inside.

  Boras sprinted down the street and skidded to a halt outside the shut gate. He glanced down at the sign that was screwed into the gate’s face. A curved iron banner with red paint that was starting to slightly flake, which read as: Julianna’s Orphanage.

  An orphanage? Boras scrunched up his face. What the hells is going on?

  He hopped the gate and scurried towards the front-facing window of the ground floor. Sticking low to the brick wall, he could hear something of a commotion within. He raised his head and peeked inside. And all he saw was children. A whole tribe of them.

  “SITRA!” Came the collective roar from the thirty-odd children that was rushed through the main living room as Sitra was seen dodging and weaving among the young ones.

  She was laughing. Laughing.

  Boras stared in wonder at the rare sight and he swore in that moment that he would give anything to be the reason for her laughs. An older woman, maybe pushing her sixties, bustled in behind her. She was wearing a large bib apron and carrying a very young child still wrapped in swaddling clothes. Boras assumed that this was Yvette who had let Sitra in.

  “Mum!” Sitra called out as she hoisted her basket from the grasping hands that attempted to open her goods. “Help! These piranhas are trying to steal from me!” She laughed again.

  “Just a minute!” Came a third voice from a hallway that curved from Boras’s sight. Stepping through the hallway and into the living room was a woman that could easily be the spitting image of Sitra. Sitra’s mother.

  Tall like her, with thick blonde hair that was flecked with white and grey and plaited into two braids that were curled and pinned around her head like a crown. She was older, but Boras was certain that she must have been a truly great beauty when she was younger. Gods, she was still. The same regal, sharpened beauty like Sitra. Boras could only imagine the dozen of suitors who would have crawled in their knees for her favour.

  Sitra’s mother wore an old yellow nursemaid dress covered in paint and dust. She patted down her hands, cleaning them against the dirty hem with three swipes.

  She beamed with joy upon seeing Sitra and then extended both her hands.

  Sitra rushed over and embraced her mother with the deepest of hugs. The other children started to make mocking aw-ing noises at the sight of the hug, but the two embracers ignored them.

  Boras leant on the windowsill and watched with warmth billowing in him. He smiled deeply. This was such a sight that he never dreamed he would see. And to see Sitra, so happy and content and… having a mother to hold…

  Boras felt his face grow crestfallen.

  His mother… He had no idea what became of her. Since fleeing his home and family, he never looked back. Never bothered to check in with letters nor ask fellow Tashiishans on the events back home for fear of discovery. He had feared that Ashmak Hali would have caught on to who Boras truly was, but the Tashiishan remained silent on the matter.

  Boras was damned grateful for that. He never wished to ever return home. That was a decision he would live by. But it was not easy. Sights such as these, of a mother holding her child close to her, pricked painfully against Boras’s resolve.

  But pain or not, family or not, Boras would never go back. Never face the blame for what befell his siblings. And never look into the face of his father and mother, who would hate him and blame him and curse his soul to the very pits of—

  “Excuse me,” a young girl’s voice beside him said, “but what exactly are you doing, standing on my flower bed?”

  Boras jerked back with a surprised yelp, tripped over his heels and fell with a whoompf onto his back. Blinking back his shock, he saw that a girl stood by the window he had spied through and was holding a metal watering can with a spout.

  She placed one hand on her hip, which was wrapped in a thin leather apron that was covered in mud and cut grass. She was pretty, in that young, cute way with a button nose and rosy cheeks. Youthful and innocent, maybe four or five years younger than himself. Her blue spring dress was a graceful little design with a swishing hem that swung just above her shins. Her blonde hair was cut to a chic bob that curved past her earlobes, but there was an interesting tinge of raven black amongst the blonde colour.

  Her bright hazel eyes narrowed at Boras with some suspicion. Narrowed in a way that only one other girl was able to.

  That other girl opened the window with a bang of sliding panes. Sitra threw up the pane and stared, first at the gardening girl and then at Boras himself.

  Boras quailed. There was irritation, there was anger. He had seen plenty of both in Reeva’s eyes and Arcos’s and most lately, Sitra’s. This was the first he had seen rage. Sitra was furious.

  “You…” Sitra hissed at Boras. Her knuckles grew white with the tension of her grip on the windowsill. “What the hells are you doing here?”

  “Hi…” Boras made a gentle wave.

  “Friend of yours, Sit?” The girl inquired.

  “Not for long…” Sitra threatened.

  “Oho!”

  The front door opened with Sitra’s mother poking her head out and surveying the scene. Once taking in the state of Boras and the two girls staring him down, Sitra’s mother puckered her mouth with a face of disappointment.

  “Sitra! You should be ashamed of yourself!” She tutted.

  Still at the window, Sitra made a double-take at her mother. “Wh-what?”

  Sitra’s mother strode out and headed for Boras, who was still lying on the ground. She offered her hand to Boras. Boras waved her off with an apologetic smile. “I’m okay, thanks…” He quickly rose and patted down his trousers and cloak to rid himself of the dirt.

  Sitra’s mother crossed her arms and turned to Sitra. “You have a friend waiting outside and you haven’t brought him for a cup of tea.”

  “I didn’t know he was even out here!” Sitra protested. “He wasn’t even invited!”

  Her mother held up her hand. “Tut-tut! I’ll hear none of that! It’s about time you had some friends of your age and that does not include your father’s little cronies.”

  “Mum!”

  But Sitra’s mother turned away from her daughter’s outcries - which Boras found extremely amusing - to face him with a smile. A smile so warm and welcoming, gods… Boras felt his chest squeeze from the sudden ache of happiness and safety she made him feel.

  “A pleasure to meet you, lad.” She offered her hand. “I am Julianna. The two unwelcoming reprobates behind me are my daughters. Sitra, you’ve met her baby sister, Henrietta.”

  Henrietta stomped her foot. “Ma! I’m not a baby, please stop telling everyone that!”

  “You’re a baby in my eyes, sweetie.” Julianna spoke over her shoulder. “You always will be.”

  “I’m fourteen!”

  “My point exactly.”

  Henrietta scoffed before turning her attention on the flower bed that Boras had trodden on.

  Boras took a gentle hold on Julianna’s fingers and bowed his head. “A pleasure, ma’am. My name is Boras Cutter.”

  Julianna pressed her chest. “Well, well, quite the charmer. You must come in, we have tea.”

  “Mum!” Sitra implored.

  “Thank you. I would love that.” Boras grinned at Sitra, who steamed hotter than a kettle. “And thank you, Sitra.”

  Julianna nodded and turned back to the door. “Henrietta, the triplets want to plant sunflowers. If you would like to join us in the garden?”

  “Yep!” Henrietta patted down the last of the seedlings that were upturned by Boras and wiped her gloved hands.

  On her walk to the front door, Julianna paused to glance at Sitra with a chuckle. “He’s very good-looking, honeydrop. Well done for snatching a handsome friend.”

  Practically hanging out of the window, Sitra looked set to combust as she stared at her mother. “Oh my gods, Mum!!”

  Boras fought his best to suppress his laughter as Henrietta followed her mother. She also made a parting shot to Sitra as she passed. “If you get any redder than that, I think you might catch fire, Sit.”

  Sitra lashed out her hand to smack at Henrietta, but the younger sibling danced out from her reach with a laugh and a stuck-out tongue before pursuing her mother through the door.

  Leaving Boras and Sitra alone, facing each other.

  Sitra was silent. As was Boras.

  He could see her eyes were wide with indignant rage, panic, and shock. A storm of emotions, both expressed and repressed in light of where they were.

  Boras just shrugged without much reply.

  Sitra snarled under her breath and turned away, not before closing the window with a little more force than was necessary. Boras headed for the open front door, offering a prayer to the Black that he would leave this place alive.

  But should he die… Well... it was worth it after seeing the embarrassed look on Sitra’s face.

  Julianna poured out hot jasmine tea from a silver teapot into three ceramic cups and arranged them before herself, Boras, and the seething Sitra as they took their seats in the large garden that also acted as a playground for the orphans who ran and jumped and played wild antics with each other.

  Henrietta was with a group of young girls in a corner of the rectangular garden, showing them how to plant the sunflower saplings and arrange the numerous flower beds around them. The garden itself was bordered with a high red brick wall that stretched down the garden, with a row of small apple and pear trees dotting the edges and providing ample shade from the sun.

  Boras breathed a deep sigh of relief. This place felt safe. Safe and secluded from the dangers of the world that he knew were only a few hundred metres away.

  “This is delicious.” Boras smiled as he sipped the luscious tea. It was smooth and light, with a hint of natural sweetness.

  Julianna smiled and she also partook of the tea. She sat with the true poise of a high-born woman. A real person of class. How the hells did Victor Sade— Victor of all people— get with this… lady?

  “Thank you, Boras.” She replied sweetly. “I thought you’d like this. This tea is from the South, nearby the Maiden Coast. A Tashiishan family harvests a naturally grown tea crop there which the sun’s heat allows to ripen the flavour.”

  Sitra had not touched her tea. She was too busy glowering at Boras.

  Both Boras and Julianna ignored her as they talked. “Well,” Boras continued. “This flavour is nostalgic, that’s for certain. I haven’t been to the Maiden Coast, nor the city Paratell. Have you been there, Mrs Sade?”

  Julianna shook her head. “Oh no, that is too far for me. I am more than content right here, I have all I require. And please, call me Miss Julianna Fletcher.”

  Boras blinked, stopping halfway to drinking his tea. “Oh, I- uh… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to assume. I just thought since you’re her mother-”

  Julian waved away Boras’s embarrassment. “Please, don’t apologise. It is natural to assume. You see, Victor and I have been separated for a long time. A family issue, you need not be concerned.”

  Boras nodded. “I see. Still, sorry about that…” He drunk his tea quietly. Julianna did also before she opened with a new line of questioning, clearly eager to switch subjects.

  “How did you two meet then?” She looked to Sitra. “I believe this is where you come in, my dear. Stop glooming like a gargoyle.”

  Sitra tore her glare away from him and regarded her mother with a cooling attitude. “I am ‘glooming’ because I did not invite this… this boy to this place.”

  “Well, he’s here now. Look, I know it is asking a lot of you but do try to be accommodating. How did you meet?”

  A lengthy sigh escaped Sitra’s tight lips. “We met at work. At Dad’s. He and his friends are doing some errands for us.”

  Julianna raised a plucked eyebrow. “Ah. I see.”

  “We’re not working for him.” Boras interjected. “It’s sort of a quid pro quo situation. We help him to help us.”

  The matriarch nodded. “Very good. What do you make of him? Of Victor, I mean.”

  “Uh… he’s intense.”

  Julianna suddenly threw back her head and laughed. “Hahaha! Oh, that suits him perfectly… Oh… Yes. He is certainly that.” She looked a little nostalgic. “But there’s a lot more to him under that mask, as I am sure you will find out.”

  “I gather.”

  “He is a fair man, you will get whatever you agreed to from him. He helps those he wants to.”

  “Is that how you got this set up?” Boras pointed at the orphanage behind them.

  Julianna gave the building a glance over her shoulder and cracked a wide smile. Boras wondered then if it was a trick of the light, but he thought he saw a semblance of tears forming in her ice-blue eyes.

  “Yes,” she said after a pause. “He helped set it up with me. I’m an orphan, you see. I never knew my parents. I was sent to a few orphanages, ones that were not… let’s just say that they were not ‘up to code’. And because of that, I did not have the best childhood. I swore that I would never let that happen to another child like me. Victor, so here is where I fulfil that promise. The children here, they either come from families who have died or families who do not or cannot care for them. They get fed, housed, and taught schoolwork. Later, as they grow up, they are sent to become apprentices to find their feet in the world. Though some of them do come back to say hello to me and offer help. It’s not much, compared with all the terrible things happening right now. But in the face of all that, I’m glad and grateful to be able to do some good.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Boras said with a smile inspired by the warmth Julianna exuded. “I’m glad there are some people who aren’t complete bastards.”

  “The good ones are there,” Julianna smiled sadly. “You just have to look pretty hard… Well!” She brightened up. She drunk the last of her tea, placed her declared hands on the table, and rose to her feet. Boras, being trained in the languages of courtesy, also stood up politely.

  Julianna nodded her appreciation for his manners. “I must be getting on with arranging the music class. Today’s piano day. It has been a pleasure to meet you, Boras. I hope you come by again.”

  “I shall, Miss,” he bowed.

  Julianna laughed. “Goodness! Handsome and polite? Sitra, you have raised your standards. Well done.”

  Sitra could have lanced a hole in the wooden table with her glaring eyes. Boras winced as Sitra lifted her gaze to her mother and fixed her with a more than vicious stare that would have scared him shitless.

  But Julianna, Sitra’s seemingly indomitable mother, only coolly regarded her daughter’s rage with a gentle smile. “Don’t frown like that, you’ll get wrinkles. Be sure to give my best to your father.”

  She turned and walked with a purposeful stride back to the house.

  Leaving the two of them alone, once again.

  Sitra watched her mother walk off, arms crossed and eyes blazing. Boras gently reached a hand to the teapot to pour himself another cup of that delicious tea.

  When he moved his hand, Sitra’s head and eyes whipped towards him with the reaction of a feral fox. She stared him down with an extreme intensity. She actually reminded Boras of Arcos when he was in one of his frequent black moods. The same dead-eyed stare.

  Boras froze, his hand mid-reach of the teapot.

  The children’s laughter peeled with small echoes across the garden and around the two of them.

  Sitra blinked a few times. Arms still crossed over her chest, that heaved with short, angered breaths. She looked at the teapot. At Boras and his empty cup. Then with gritted teeth, she spoke.

  “Allow me.” Her words dripped with venom.

  Boras retracted his hand cautiously as Sitra pulled one hand from her arms and latched it onto the teapot’s handle. She lifted it, spout facing him.

  Boras had a moment of panic. He thought she was going to swing the metal pot into his face. But she did not.

  Instead, with a will that could rival Tilda’s, Sitra poured out tea for Boras.

  After that was done, she upended her cold tea from her own cup and refilled it with steaming liquid. She then reached into her pocket and pulled out her metal straw and started to sip the tea by passing the end under her mask to her mouth. Her eyes were not so blazing now. But Boras could still see the rage, just brimming under the surface.

  Boras nodded his gratitude, not just for the tea, and drank.

  Sitra set down her tea. “So. Are you the type that just doesn’t care about requests or boundaries?”

  “Huh?” Boras blinked.

  "'Huh?' 'Huh??'" She scoffed. “Ugh! Gods, you are just the most ignorant… I told you to never ask about my family. Never to ask about my private affairs. What part of that did you assume meant that you should follow me— no, stalk me to my mother’s home? My mother’s home??” She repeated with a sharp bite of teeth and spit.

  Boras closed his eyes and nodded. “Sorry about that… I was curious. I had no idea you helped your mother manage an orphanage.”

  “Maybe there’s a good fucking reason that you didn't know. A little thing called privacy, something you know not much about.”

  “Why hide it? It doesn’t feel like something you should feel ashamed of.”

  Sitra leant forward, causing her hair to whip forward and swing by her neck. “I am not ashamed. Take that back.”

  Boras raised his hands. “I take it back! Sorry. Fuck, Sitra…”

  Sitra closed her eyes, placed her hands on the table, and retreated with a few deep breaths. “It’s something I keep private… because of my reputation.”

  “Reputation?

  “Yes. I’m the eldest daughter of Victor Sade. Heir to his gang, his second-in-command, and all that implies. I have to… I have to uphold a reputation for being…” She made a derisive laugh to herself. “Well, being a bitch.”

  Boras scratched his head. “You didn’t seem like a bitch to me when we first met.”

  “And how did I seem to you when we first met?”

  “A fucking scary woman. That’s all.”

  Sitra laughed hard. “Thanks. And that’s why I keep my affairs private like that. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “The pressures of living up to a standard set before you.”

  Boras blinked a few times and slowly looked away. “That’s a lie.”

  “Excuse me?” Sitra asked, her eyes flashed angrily.

  “I do understand…” Boras sipped his tea and swirled it in his hand. He watched the tea leaves dance in a rhythmic concentric circle. “I’m from a family. To be fair, I was… And my uncle… He had trained me and my siblings in all manner of courtesy and societal routines… He was very strict.”

  Sitra listened with a few nods. Her posture seemed to relax as well, her shoulders lowered, and her neck went from taut to smooth.

  Boras continued, words falling out from him. Maybe it was the safety of the orphanage that disarmed him or the two jade eyes that pierced through the layers of his armoured bluff and bravado.

  “He would punish me for screwing up my lessons.” He said plainly.

  “How?”

  “Sometimes it would be a slipper or a cane. One day when he was really angry, he’d get my father’s belt. Father did not know, neither did Mother. I was told to keep quiet. So I did.”

  “Oh.”

  Sitra could not explain why a mote of anger flickered at the thought of Boras being beaten by this uncle. She wondered how the fucker would feel if he was on the receiving end of one of his punishments.

  Sitra cocked her head as she looked at Boras. Really looked at him. “So the rats? Did your uncle-?”

  Boras raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Oh, no, no. He had nothing to do with that. That was… someone else.”

  Someone who is dead and gone from the fucking world and not a moment sooner…

  “All your jokes…” Sitra said, whilst looking at him. “All of that is… what? Running away from something? Pushing people away?”

  “Honestly?” Boras shrugged. “I don’t know anymore… I ran from home when I was young. I’ve been running ever since. Then Arcos and Reeva met me. And now I’m on this journey and… I just want to find my place in the world. Same as everyone. But what I’m trying to say… I understand pressure, Sitra. I understand it. Look, I’m so sorry. You’re right. I should have never followed you. This was a secret only for you to share. I won’t do that again.”

  “Because you were curious.” Sitra replied. Then she shook her head. “I don’t believe you. There’s something else, isn’t there?”

  Boras made a nod. “And I wanted to talk.”

  “Talk? About what?” She leant back in her metal chair, arms crossed again. “Go on. I’m all ears, buddy.” In her voice, Boras could hear the sardonic smile.

  Boras drank his tea with a final gulp, rubbed his mouth and chin and worked his brain over the words he was eager to get out. He had not planned for this particular conversation to be held in a place like this, but he had put himself in it all the same. So this was as good a place as any…

  “Back in the alley…” he said. “When you and I… uh… you know.”

  “Kissed.” She stated without much emotion. “Yeah. I was there.”

  “Well…” Boras swallowed. Where was his bravado, when he needed it most? This would be so easy if he was talking to anyone else. But Sitra was not like many people. She was… well, Sitra.

  “Why did you kiss me?” He asked. “You said it was a reward. But rewards can be anything… So why a kiss?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yeah, honestly.”

  “I was emotional.” Sitra rolled her eyes. “Nearly died down there. You saved me. You see my scars on my neck. Then you and I were fighting… Emotions. Nothing more.”

  “Nothing… more?” Boras felt his heart make a slight twist. He was scared of this happening. “So, it meant nothing at all.”

  “Nothing.” Sitra replied emphatically.

  Boras squinted at her. He recalled how she clung to him in the alley. Pressing her body against his with heat and desire with hot breaths lathering his face. He remembered her firm hands on his body. That was not ‘nothing’ at all.

  “I don’t believe you.” He said sharply. “Not with what we did. You enjoyed it.”

  “Hard to not enjoy any make-out session, Boras. You’re a good kisser, that’s it. Don’t look too much into it. I certainly haven’t.”

  “How can you say that?” Boras replied hotly. He felt his cheeks grow warm with embarrassment.

  I’m a good kisser. That’s it? That’s all you have for me?

  “You enjoyed it, you said you did, you-”

  “Oh my, you and your boyfriend having a little tiff, Sit?”

  Boras and Sitra whipped their heads to notice Henrietta standing a few paces away from them, arms folded and smirk wide. She stood alone, having seemingly sent off the gardening children back in the house. She was covered head to toe in mud and grime, but her bright face shone with a mischievous glint in her eyes, the same shade as Sitra’s.

  “He is not my boyfriend.” Sitra hissed. “Hen, stay the hells out of this.”

  Henrietta laughed and that mischievous glint in her eyes turned to something… cruel. “Oh, I’m sooo sorry, Sit. My mistake. Not your boyfriend… Your latest fling, I’m meant.”

  Boras froze.

  Sitra bolted to her feet, hands clenched and eyes ablaze once again as she stared down her sister who was a head and shoulder shorter than her.

  But despite the height, Henrietta stood her ground and glared right back at her.

  “Go on. Hit me.” She dared. “See what happens.”

  “What the hells is wrong with you?!” Sitra snarled.

  “I’m just doing him a favour.” Her little sister replied. “He’s lovestruck, it's so obvious. I don’t want him to waste his time, that’s all.”

  Sitra’s eyes twitched as her grew hoarse with the rage choking her throat.

  “Shut up. Right now. I swear to the gods, Hen. If you don’t shut the hells up, right now, I do not care what Mum will say- I will grab your head and jam it right into the-”

  Boras pushed back his chair suddenly and rose to his feet.

  Sitra turned towards him and stared at his expression.

  His face was something akin to hurt. His eyes were pained. His mouth was tight. His breathing came ragged. The face he had on him sickened her.

  “Latest fling, huh?” He said quietly. Then he turned and walked away, leaving the silent sisters in the garden.

  After hopping the wall and rushing up the side alley, Boras had made it to the street facing the orphanage when he heard the boots running after him.

  “Boras!” It was Sitra.

  He did not stop. He did not turn. He felt so stupid. So small. So used. How could he have been so naive? So blinded by the pretty eyes and her unique mannerisms? He felt his nails digging into his palms. He blinked back tears. He ground his teeth. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “Boras!”

  He ignored him. He felt used. He felt used and humiliated and embarrassed. Once again, he was made out to be a fool. Never to be taken seriously by anyone. No one to really care about what he felt, no matter how much he cared…

  Sitra caught up to him, pushed past him and actively stood in his way.

  “What the hells?” She snapped. “You leave, just like that?”

  Boras stopped dead and glared right at her. “The fuck do you care? You’ve made it clear you don’t.”

  Sitra flinched at his savage tone. “Listen… Hen shouldn’t have said those things. That stupid idiot. I didn’t want to bring that up when you were talking about that… that kiss and I wanted to try and- Come on.”

  She thumbed towards a narrow street off the main one they stood on. “Some privacy?”

  Boras grunted, but turned and headed down the quieter, darker street with her on his heels.

  He turned to face her, but kept his distance by stepping away from her across the narrow road. Sitra leaned on the wall facing across from him.

  “Look,” she explained, “I need you to understand. I don’t do relationships. It… It just doesn’t work well for me. Alright? I don’t trust people. Hells, I don’t like most people. I fight with nearly everyone, even my family. It’s what works for me.”

  “So all those things your mother was talking about. Raising standards and all that? She obviously knows. About your… flings?”

  Her eyebrow twitched. “Yeah, so does Dad. They hate it, but fuck them. I like it. It works for me.”

  “How many flings?”

  Sitra’s eyes widened. “Excuse the fuck out of me?”

  “How many flings have you had?”

  “And how the hells is that any of your gods-damned business?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just something I would have liked to have known before I came out here and said what I said and made an ass of myself.”

  “Said what? That you like me? That you think I’m pretty? Cutter, I know your type.”

  “My type??” Boras felt anger burning through him. He felt ready to explode.

  “The type that will say absolutely anything to get into someone’s breeches.” Sitra spat. “You think I’m stupid? With you sucking it up to my mum? Is that supposed to impress me? Am I supposed to quiver and swoon like some doe-eyed primrose princess?”

  Boras felt the anger in his head. It was burning his brain.

  “I did that because that is how I was raised!” He snapped. “I treat people with respect. You certainly don’t treat anyone with respect. You just lash out and hurt and insult like some thug!”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, big fucking surprise for you then, eh? In case it’s somehow escaped your far-seeing notice, I’m a fucking gang member. We don’t work with niceties. I’m not sure how your courtesies work over there in Tashiish, but you won’t find them here.”

  “I haven’t seen my homeland since I was twelve years old…” Boras whispered with a hiss. “Watch your damned mouth.”

  Sitra scoffed. “Bet your slut father did the same with your mother when he- shit!”

  Boras exploded from the wall with a growl and slammed his hand on Sitra’s neck, driving her against the wall. Sitra’s eyes flew wide open as Boras brought his face close to hers.

  Sitra froze. There was something dark in those brown eyes. Something broken. Something twisted. In the sewers, he had that strange look. There was something in his past that haunted him even to this day and today it was brimming in his eyes.

  Boras’s face was stone, but his teeth were bared.

  “Never,” he snarled with a grave intensity that slightly shivered Sitra’s resolve. “And I fucking mean never, insult my father or my mother again. I owe them everything. Do not do that again. You understand me?”

  “Get your hand off me!” She snarled. She whipped up her hand to slap him. But Boras lurched, then gripped her wrist with his other hand and pressed it against the wall. In doing so, his body pressed up against hers. Her breath hitched.

  He refused to let go. His anger had finally boiled over.

  “Have your flings seen your face?” He asked with a nasty grin. “You let them take off the mask, or do you blindfold them too for the fun of it? Like you did with me? Would you have had me fuck you blindfolded as well? You like to use people and throw them aside like waste? Does that make you feel better? Knowing they can't see your face??”

  “Fuck. You.”

  Sitra shook with her own electric anger to match his. The pair stood there, locked in that strange embrace.

  She pushed at him, but that only made Boras press his chest against her to hold her in place. She lurched to try and fire up one of her knees to strike his groin, but he placed both his boots between her feet, rendering that attack useless.

  The friction of his thigh against her and the press of his body on hers gave Sitra a strange chill through her spine. She couldn’t believe it. Was she getting… aroused?

  She felt his hot breath on her nose. He smelt her breath on his. Their eyes were latched on each other like chains. His hands locked on her wrists. All she had to do was move her hips forward to feel him against her, to grind against his-

  What the fuck? No. Fuck that. That is NOT happening.

  “You should be so lucky!” Sitra hissed with her face only centimetres from his. “That I let you kiss me! You have no idea how many people would want to go to bed with me! Now get off me!”

  Boras scowled. A few moments of heavy breathing passed.

  He paused. Then he released Sitra and took a step back. He suddenly sneered.

  “By the sounds of it, half the city’s already been in your bed.” He sniped back with as much cold cruelty he could muster.

  CRACK.

  Sitra’s fist swung around and bashed him across the jaw. The blow sent Boras spinning on the spot. A blow like that would have sent him down. But he had been trained in taking vicious beatings from both Tilda, Torrance, and others of the Guild. He was no longer a weakling. Holding his jaw, he turned back to Sitra.

  Sitra had her fists up and was poised in a guarded stance. She looked like she was ready for retaliation. As if she had expected this. As if she had done this before. Goading people, maybe men, to fight her. As for her reasons, Boras did not have the emotions to care enough to ask.

  “Come on!” She goaded. “Come on! Fight me! Go on!”

  He looked her up and down. He rubbed his bruised jaw, then spat out some spit and blood.

  He was not like the men she had fucked or fought.

  He was better than the bastards like Dargo.

  He was better than the people who haunt his memories when the drinks could not provide his shelter. And he was better than being this mewling, smitten-struck pup traipsing after a girl who clearly does not give a shit.

  “See you around, Sade.” Boras said coldly before turning away from her and walking down the street.

  Sitra stared at his back. She felt her chest heave. She felt her eyes grow dark with emotion. She felt so much anger for the brash, inconsiderate, and stupid Tashiishan who just invaded her life and ruined a perfectly good day. And he wouldn’t fight back. He wouldn’t hit her. Why? Because he pitied her? Is that it??

  Gods. She hated him, she hated so much— she— she—

  “Coward!” She screamed after him. “You’re a fucking coward, Boras Cutter!”

  Boras stopped in his tracks just before he turned the corner.

  Sitra watched him hang his head before looking back at her.

  Sitra stepped back. Dear gods… He was crying.

  “Fair enough…” he spoke. His voice was broken. “But I’m nothing compared to you, poltju…”

  He turned the corner and was gone from Sitra’s sight.

  Sitra stood there, silent and shaking. She felt her eyes burn. Maybe from the anger. But as she reached up to touch her face, she felt tears on her cheeks as they soaked the tops of her mask.

  Shame. It burned her heart.

  She felt her knees give way and she crumpled to the ground.

  She gripped her arms to her chest and began to bitterly sob, away from the prying eyes of the world.

  She had never felt such self-loathing.