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My head swung to the left and right out of habit to avoid traffic, even with the flow now blocked by the rest of my guard to maintain a safe distance from the rest of the populace. Ever since the death of my father, may the gods torture his wretched soul, security has been heightened to painful degrees by his lingering advisors until my official coronation.

I was the only male heir alive. If I couldn't take the crown, the entire royal family would shift to a cousin on Father's side. Pila Monato, while known for her beautiful golden hair, blue eyes, and skill with the lute—but hardly known for being my mother—was nothing more than a valued mistress to Father even after my birth. No one in her family was even remotely considered to be in line to the throne, despite their distant connection to old Julran nobles.

"Wait here," I commanded, stopping at the bottom of the stairs beside the statue. "I will not be too long."

Beolf huffed again. He was the only person alive who could talk back and not get immediately dismissed for impudence. We grew up together, him serving as my childhood friend-turned-general, so he earned that right after so many years of putting up with my schemes. This latest scheme had tested and proven his loyalty the most of all. "Fine. But only because those bony fuckers creep me out. Then again, so does this." He jabbed a thumb over at the Wira imposter.

The closest soldier taking place beside Beolf guffawed loudly. "That's your weakness, General Zirch? Some starved old men with gnarled hands? They're hardly—"

"Can you please move? I already told the guildmaster to shove off!" The demanding voice rang strong and husky from the top of the stairs. A voice that was most definitely feminine, despite the rough language. And the unladylike growl that followed. "I said, get out of my fucking way! Get your hands off me before I turn them into shriveled jerky!" Another man responded in a lower tone, with boots scuffling on the stone as if a skirmish had broken out from whatever he’d said.

Behar’s ears swiveled toward the noise, and he sprinted the rest of the way up the stairs. I barely needed to glance at Beolf to come with me as we followed him up the staircase to assist. What we walked up on was about as far from what I expected as possible.

A black-robed man howled in agony and gripped his right wrist, holding a gnarled hand in front of his face where it trembled violently. It looked like it had been pulled from a hundred-year-old crypt, all dried and contorted with pieces of desiccated skin flaking off. Another man held onto a tall, rather muscular woman for just a moment before ripping his hands off as if they had caught fire. Her vibrant red-gold hair—half of it pulled from a fat braid draped over a shoulder reaching just past her chest—was disheveled enough to appear she had been manhandled in a brutal manner before we crested the top step. Now, a vicious snarl pulled her lips back from white teeth and a wild light lit in her eyes. If I hadn't hear her speak before, I would have thought a feral animal the guild held trapped in their hall had broken loose. Behar remained at the top step, hackles raised and a low, rumbling growl rattling from his chest.

My mouth opened to call out and insert myself into the fight, when the woman whipped around almost too fast to track andplanted a brutal sidekick straight to the center of her captor's chest. His body flew back like a discarded doll to slam against the heavy doors behind them and set him wheezing from the blow. It was at that moment I realized she was not the one who needed saving. My arm shot out to hold Beolf back by his bicep, more wary than before of getting involved in this fight. The guild's door creaked open behind the limp body of the necromancer, slumped against it, and let him fall the rest of the way to the floor as more robed men barreled through.

"Haron Val Toric, by the guild's authority, I command you to halt!" There was hardly any conviction behind the shouted order. Whoever it was sounded utterly terrified, actually. "We just want to talk like civil adults! Come back inside before you make a fool of yourself."

A harsh laugh barked from her twisted lips. "That's fresh coming from you, Nebold. I know exactly where you put people who don’t fall in your line. Now, I recommend you let me leave before you have more thanjustme to deal with!" Slowly, with the obvious experience of a blooded fighter, the wild woman backed from the door and closer to the stairs where we hovered. She didn't think we were as much of a threat, it seemed. She didn't spare us more than a cursory glare.

"Is assistance needed?" Beolf chose to interject, his voice low and authoritative. His hand not held back by my grip moved to rest on the sword pommel at his hip. "What seems to be the issue here?"

The woman whipped around, mouth open as if to chew him out as well, when a shocked expression crossed her face. “You?” There was enough context in that single word to tell she recognized Beolf from somewhere, now that he had her full attention. “By the gods, I thought I got rid of—”

Her tirade was interrupted by two more cloaked guild members walking cautiously through the double doors, followedby one clearly stooped with old age. The latter clung to an intricately carved staff polished to a high shine. Topping the black wood was a large Wiran ruby, one of the largest I’ve seen in person, so dark a red it was almost black. I considered myself well-versed in magic enough to know that ruby was from Julra, commonly used for strong castings of dark magic. How someone like Nebold got his hands on it was a mystery I mentally marked to review later.

"These greedy bastards want more than a tithe," the woman, Haron, offered up before anyone else could. "Lest this old skeleton forget who the fuck he's trying to hold hostage! You know what? I'd like to see you try to fight off the hordes of undead from your own catacombs! They scream the screams of vengeance for being kept down there! Let's go, Nebold!" She lunged at the old man, hands outstretched as if to wrap them around his neck, when I lunged thoughtlessly to catch her by an arm.

Once, when I was a boy exploring the gardens with Beolf, I had caught a snake whose width was larger than my lanky wrist as it slithered through the bushes. It had been a venomous banded topal, and I remember to this day the feeling of holding it behind the jaw as the powerful snake thrashed in my hand. Knowing it could bite and potentially kill me if I made one wrong move was the most exhilarating and terrifying thing I’d ever done… until now.

Holding Haron by her arm as she thrashed and spat profanities, after seeing what she’d already done to the other guild members, now topped that memory. Despite the alarms blaring in my mind to let go, the immediate fascination with her took hold of rational thought and promptly kicked it off a ledge.

"Let's all take a step back and calm down." I tried to pull Haron a little further from her intended target, not that she responded much to my effort. I barely cleared her shoulders,and judging from her strong build we may even be close to the same weight. It was unlikely I stood a chance to physically move her, if she refused to come along. The second tug was more convincing, drawing her closer to my side. Her eyes were still locked on the old man’s hunched form, hostility tensing her body as if she would pounce at any moment. This close, I was able to see her eyes were mismatched colors, the left a sparkling blue and the other so dark it appeared black. Unusual, to say the least. "Guildmaster Nebold, I presume? Did this woman break any laws?"

Suspiciously, the guildmaster seemed hesitant to answer. His wrinkled face crinkled even further as he scowled at the woman. "Not exactly. Or perhaps I should say, not yet. But this one is a feral woman set on a path of destruction, should we allow—"

"Allow?" she screeched incredulously. "Youallowme to what? Exist? Just because I don't have a dick doesn't mean I lack the same gods-given talent as any other necromancer in this fucking crypt! I buy my right to practice in this profession every damn month, and you want to lock me in a cell because I refuse to accept you as my ‘master’?" The way her voice pitched lower made it seem like those were his words. "Well, you can take my final tithe and shove it right up your pretentious ass! Consider our ties cut, you fucking bone chewer!"

Her arm was ripped from my grasp as she snarled and muttered to herself, spinning on a booted heel and descending the stairs in long, purposeful strides. Two of the other guild members that came with Nebold made as if to chase her, but a warning bark from Behar startled them enough to hesitate. He had moved his body between them and her retreating form, hackles raised and lips pulled back slightly to expose long fangs as he began to growl. The sudden protective gesture from him was surprising, to say the least. He didn't usually warm to people that quickly, much less defend their backs.

The guildmaster sighed and leaned heavily on his staff, the picture of rejection. "Let Haron go. She will come back on her own when she needs the guild again."

"I wouldn't hold my breath on that," Beolf snarked, too quiet for Nebold to hear. "Even the wrath of gods is challenged by a woman scorned. Especiallythatharpy."

I chose to let the comment go unrebuked. "Guildmaster, could we keep our scheduled meeting?" My question was slightly pointed, very disenchanted with the woman Haron's treatment from him. "I have pressing royal business to discuss and would rather not take any more of your time than necessary."

Honestly, I didn't give a rat's ass about the old man's time—beyond the fact it could be cut short abruptly from the aged look of him—but in my experience, appearing considerate of whoever I planned to manipulate was the first step to lowering their guard. The decrepit guildmaster was well known for his greed and stinginess, and I knew he saw me as a fat sack of drummons.

And I was anxious to retreat to my study again, to research who this fiery Haron Val Toric woman was.

"Of course, of course! I would never turn away a member of the royal family. My deepest condolences for the loss of the late king, he was a great man and a great ruler."

Nebold's slimy sympathies almost made my gorge rise. Only years of schooling my face for the public view kept me from showing the pure, unbridled hate and disgust at the words he simpered. He was one of the few guildmasters who didn't show up weekly at Father's court, trying to get into his good graces for favors and business. The Gilamorst Necromancy Guild was strong enough to stand on its own, and I had little to no leverage against them. As much as I hated to acknowledge, I was on the back foot in the upcoming negotiations. And my request was… an odd one, to say the least.

"Please, come join me in the study." Nebold beckoned with a gnarled hand. "We will have all the privacy we need there. I have to say, I was both startled and pleased when your assistant came calling for an appointment." The man turned to shuffle back into the hall, his slipper-clad feet silent against the lush pile of the blood red carpet runner beneath our feet. His two attendants each held a hand out on either side of Nebold's teetering walk, as if ready to steady him at the first sign of falling.

Was he close to death himself?