The smoky tavern reeked of stale ale and poor life choices. Cade, the realm's sharpest-tongued rogue, kicked open the door with a bang, his leather boots clacking like a disapproving nun's ruler. Across the room, Sif—ex-mercenary, current Duchess-lackey—lounged at a table, sipping drinks like he hadn't a care in the world. Typical Sif.
"Oy, Sif!" Cade barked, his voice all gravel and mischief. "Why're you workin' for the Duchess, eh? She pay you in biscuits and guilt? Come work for me! I pay in gold and style." He punctuated this by flicking a dagger into the table, where it wobbled beside Sif's wineglass.
Sif raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. "Cade. How'd you even find me? Last I heard, you were hiding from that baker's wife in Parma Village. Something about a 'misunderstanding' with her cannoli ?"
"Pfft. Rumors," Cade lied, sliding into the seat opposite him. "This town's got more gossips than grannies at a knitting circle. Took me two hours to track you down. Place has trust issues worse than my ex."
Sif snorted. "And you're here to… rescue me from gainful employment?"
"Rescue? Please. I'm here 'cause Vex Dusk is in town, and someone planted this—" Cade slapped a crumpled wanted poster on the table; Vex's smirking face glared back, "—on my doorstep. Word is she's holed up at the Rusty Flagon. Our contact there slipped her a 'nap-time special.' She'll be snoozin' till tomorrow."
Sif leaned back, grinning. "Knockout drugs? That's not your style, mate. Since when don't you stab first, flirt later? Getting soft for Vex? Saw how you handled Treson. You two had… what's the word? Chemistry."
Cade's cheek twitched. "Soft? Me? Nah. I want her awake when we burn her world to cinders. Let her watch." He mimed an explosion with his hands. "Boom. Now move your scheming carcass—we got a room to ransack."
The Rusty Flagon stank of mildew and regret. Vex lay sprawled on a moth-eaten bed, snoring like a drunken accordion. Cade loomed over her, grinning as he tilted his head. "Well, well. The mighty Vex Dusk, reduced to a droolin' puddle. Who's got the smug face now, eh?" He poked her cheek with the tip of his dagger. "Bet she dreams about losin' arguments to me."
Sif rolled his eyes. "You done? Or you wanna braid her hair too?"
"Shhh. She's almost adorable like this," Cade crooned, mocking a lullaby. "No stabbin', no schemin'… just peace and quiet. 'Cept for the snorin'. Sounds like a goat in a woodchipper."
They tossed the room like a salad—drawers upended, mattress slashed, rug flipped. Sif paused, holding up a slip of parchment. "Found somethin'! It's a note. 'Meet me at Dusk's Hollow. Bring the Relic. —V.'"
Cade snatched it. "Dusk's Hollow? That's a death trap full of spiders and bad decisions!"
"So… Tuesday for you?" Sif smirked.
Cade opened his mouth to retort, but the door creaked open. A shadow stretched across the floor, followed by the cold click of a crossbow
The Rusty Flagon's door room groaned open, cutting through Vex's woodchipper snore. Framed in the doorway wasn't a drunkard or a barmaid, but an elf.
He was unnervingly tall, easily seven feet, forcing him to duck slightly under the lintel. Long, impossibly golden hair, like spun sunlight, fell straight past his shoulders, stark against the grime of the room. He wore a long, impeccably tailored coat of deep brown or maybe dark that looked absurdly expensive for the Flagon. His face was all sharp angles and cold, ancient eyes that swept the room with palpable disdain. The air itself seemed to thicken, heavy with a silent, chilling authority. This wasn't just any elf; this was trouble wearing pointy ears.
Cade froze mid-mattress-slash, his dagger hovering over the stuffing. His usual smirk vanished, replaced by genuine surprise that quickly curdled into recognition. "Blimey," he breathed, his voice losing its usual gravelly bravado. "Him?"
Sif, holding the note, went rigid. "Who?"
"That," Cade hissed, slowly lowering the dagger and edging towards the grimy window, "is Kaelen Thistledown. Officer of the Third Circle. Skyrouth Embassy's attack dog. And if he's sniffing around Vex's mildew palace..." Cade's eyes darted to the unconscious woman, then back to the elf who was now scanning the room, his gaze lingering on the slashed mattress and flipped rug. "...he ain't here for the complimentary bedbugs. He's Dominion muscle, Sif. Pure poison in pointy shoes."
Kaelen's cold eyes finally settled on them. He didn't speak, didn't need to. The sheer weight of his presence was a command: Explain yourselves.
"Right," Cade muttered, grabbing Sif's arm. "Time for a tactical withdrawal. Preferably before Mr. Tall, Blonde, and Terrifying decides we're part of the decor." He kicked the rickety bedside table towards the door, sending Vex's empty wine bottle crashing to the floor. The sudden noise made Kaelen flinch minutely – enough.
Cade yanked open the warped window. "Ladies first!" he stage-whispered, shoving Sif towards the three-foot drop into a malodorous alley.
Sif tumbled out with a grunt, followed immediately by Cade, who landed in a crouch beside a overflowing bin that smelled like regret had a baby with old cheese. They scrambled to their feet, dusting off grime.
"Dominion?" Sif panted, peering back at the window. No sign of pursuit yet, but the oppressive feeling lingered. "Working with Vex?"
Cade snorted, already striding down the alley. "Doubt it. More likely against. Bet my favorite lockpicks he was here for the same reason we were – that note. Or the shiny thing it mentions." He pulled the crumpled parchment from his pocket, smoothing it out under the flickering light of a dying alley lamp. "'Meet me at Dusk's Hollow. Bring the Relic. —V.'"
"V," Sif mused. "Vex? Signing her own note?"
"Too obvious," Cade scoffed. "And Vex wouldn't meet herself. Unless she's developed multiple personalities, which, honestly, wouldn't surprise me. Could be 'V' for Varmint, Viscountess of Vermin... or maybe just some other poor sod whose name starts with V and is about to have a very bad day at Dusk's Hollow."
"And the elf?" Sif prompted, keeping pace.
"Thistledown? Official business, my arse," Cade declared. "Skyrouth Embassy my left boot. He's Dominion through and through. They want the Relic, whatever it is. Probably why he was turning Vex's room inside out before we got there. Beat us to the messy part, the show-off." He stuffed the note back. "Point is, Necklace Lady is hotter property than a baker's wife after missing cannoli. We need that shiny before the meet."
Sif nodded. "Agreed. Vex hid it. Too smart to leave it in a room about to be tossed by rogues and scary elves."
"Exactly!" Cade clapped him on the shoulder. "So, tomorrow night. We liberate the trinket before she waltzes off to Spider Central. Meet you at the Leaky Bucket, sundown. Don't be late. I might start the party without you." He winked and melted into a side alley, whistling a tune that sounded suspiciously like a funeral dirge.
Sif shook his head, turning towards the slightly less malodorous district where the Faln House stood. His path took him past a row of marginally respectable shops, their windows displaying everything from dubious potions to slightly less dubious vegetables. Then he saw it, sandwiched between a cobbler hammering like a deranged woodpecker and a shop selling suspiciously vibrant dyes: "Glimmer & Gleam: Purveyors of Sparkly Things