“Lady Elyra? Lady Clarissa wishes to see you in her office at your convenience.”

  Elyra sighs inaudibly and then turns to face the servant at the door. ‘At your convenience’? Immediately, then. Her aunt must be in a hurry – Elyra only arrived back a few flames ago.

  “Please inform her I will be there shortly.” The servant bows and disappears on silent feet. Elyra looks longingly at her bathing room and even more longingly at her bed, but all she permits herself is a damp cloth wiped across her face and a brush quickly passed through her hair. She doesn’t even spare the time to change out of her assassin’s black gauze. Instead, she just lays a closed overrobe over the top. It doesn't lie perfectly, but it will suffice for now.

  Walking gracefully through the manor in a way that looks deceptively unhurried, she approaches the ornately-detailed door of her aunt’s office and raps decisively on its surface.

  “Enter.”

  Elyra takes a single deep breath in and out, then ensures that her face is set into the flawless mask that her aunt has required her to perfect. Pushing down the handle, she opens the door and steps quickly into the office beyond.

  “You wished to see me, Aunt Clarissa?” she asks in tones that are perfectly controlled. Her aunt stands in front of the window, her own metallic robes flashing in the light from the sun.

  “Close the door behind you, dear,” she instructs, the silken caress of her voice hiding a sharp blade of steel. “And then come closer.”

  Elyra does as bidden and then walks over to join her aunt at the window. She observes the angle of her aunt’s eyes and then follows it. They gaze over the city of Goldroute for a long, silent moment. Elyra knows better than to start the conversation.

  Though significantly smaller in population than Crownseat, it sprawls just as widely. Wider, if the temporary tent districts are included in its size. On its northern side, it touches the arid land of the desert proper; on its southern side, it is surrounded by agriculture. Symbolic, Elyra decides, to be the connection between two very different worlds.

  Whether Goldmine’s specialism shaped the city’s location or the city shaped the House, no one now living could say. The grimoires from that time were lost in an unfortunate fire a couple of generations after they were written.

  “I received a curious message today,” Aunt Clarissa muses. Despite the contemplative tone, Elyra’s attention snaps to her immediately. Nonetheless, she keeps her eyes fixed on the city and its bustling streets, revealing none of her true focus.

  “Oh?” she asks a moment later, controlling her voice to casualness. The faintest of clicks from her aunt indicates that she isn’t as successful as her lady would prefer.

  “It seems that the…cargo I entrusted you with has been…stolen.”

  Ah. Elyra had been expecting it, but she’d been hoping to have been able to deliver the news herself – all the better to put her own slant on it. Unfortunately, it seems the message has beaten her to Goldroute.

  “Let us speak plainly, Aunt Clarissa,” she suggests calmly, forcing her nervousness away from her expression. It’s not that she’s worried that her aunt will hurt her, but this was an opportunity to prove herself – and she failed. “Dexil proved to be a poor choice for this mission. He was too arrogant, too sure of himself. He chafed at my presence and sought to go above my head.”

  Aunt Clarissa’s eyebrow lifts by the faintest degree.

  “I have had no communication from him.”

  Elyra shakes her head, a hint of the exasperation she felt at the ambitious crime ‘lord’ creeping into her expression.

  “He went to Lord Torrent.”

  There is silence. Elyra’s heart beats once, twice, three times before her aunt speaks.

  “That is arrogant indeed,” she answers, the edges of the blade sharper than ever, pressing through the silken covering that usually hides it. “How did he find out the identity of our…colleague?”

  “I know not,” Elyra admits. “But I can only assume that those who delivered the hostages to him let something slip. They, after all, were employed by Lord Torrent directly.”

  Lady Goldmine sighs, the breath barely audible, but a clear sign of her disapproval nonetheless.

  “Amateur,” she judges harshly. Elyra isn’t entirely sure whether she’s referring to Dexil or Torrent. Personally, she would use it for both of them after this debacle. “What was the result of this…unadvised contact?”

  “Lord Torrent was apparently frustrated that the Titanbend heir hadn’t yet approached him for help finding his Bonded. He ordered Dexil to torture one of the Bonded in a way that Markus would feel, as a reminder of what Markus stood to lose.”

  “Impatient idiot,” Aunt Clarissa condemns. Elyra agrees entirely. “I take it that you were unable to dissuade Dexil.”

  “Money speaks loudly,” Elyra agrees simply. “And Dexil was eager enough to inflict pain that he probably didn’t even need the additional payment.” She allows a hint of a grimace to pass across her face. “His treatment of the hostages was poor as it was – I had to work hard to ensure that they remained alive at all.”

  “The downside with working with such people,” Aunt Clarissa murmurs. “I take it that this is what led to the downfall of the operation?”

  “Evidently. Dexil interpreted Lord Torrent’s orders to be that he should remove his target from the stronger set of wards around the basement, so that Markus would feel every moment of pain that was inflicted on his Bonded. Neither of us knew at that point that Lord Markus had arrived in the city shortly before. Within half a mark of the Bonded’s return to the basement, Lord Markus was knocking down the door.”

  Aunt Clarissa taps her lip with one elegant finger.

  “How curious.”

  “That he was able to follow the Bond even through a layer of warding?”

  “That he was able to pinpoint the location of his Bonded despite both layers of warding,” Aunt Clarissa clarifies. Elyra hesitates.

  “He could have just been coming to visit Lord Layton,” she suggests tentatively. “They seemed friendly enough.”

  “I don’t believe in such coincidences,” Aunt Clarissa dismisses. “Nor do I believe that you would have allowed Dexil to continue such an idiotic course of action with no escape plan. What happened?”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “When the alarms sounded, I went straight down into the basement to check on the hostages. One of Dexil’s group was already down there – helping them to escape.”

  “Could the man not even control the loyalty of his minions?” Aunt Clarissa demands with the faintest hint of a furrow between her brows. “We shall not work with him again.”

  “Little fear of that,” Elyra responds dryly, a nugget of satisfaction nestling under her sternum. “He’s dead. From what I have heard, he possessed and used a Final Detonation Skill.”

  Clarissa tsks.

  “A fitting end for one who had proven unfortunately incompetent. Go on.”

  “I knew Dexil was on his way down, so attempted to redress the situation. Unfortunately, interference from one of Markus’ Bonded prevented me from returning the beasts to their chains and cages. Delay was the best I could achieve. I knew that avoiding capture was more important than assuring the success of the mission, so I left Dexil and his Classers to their retreat plan – a teleportation circle to a preorganised destination just outside the city walls. But by the time I slipped out of the basement, Markus was already there. Evading him was surprisingly tricky.”

  “From Nicholas’ own testimony, his heir has had a single year with his Class. Is he truly so formidable?”

  “He is,” Elyra tells her firmly. “He was accompanied only by Lord Layton and a single larnatis-type Bonded, yet he was able to pierce the gang’s defences and kill or capture any who stood against him. And when he and I fought, he was confident enough to dismiss even those companions.”

  There is a hint of surprised interest in the corner of Aunt Clarissa’s eyes.

  “You fought him directly? What are your impressions?”

  “Powerful – surprisingly so.” Elyra tugs her overrobe to the side and reveals the blood-stained hole through her assassin’s outfit on her shoulder. The actual injury has long been healed by potions, but the hole remains.

  Aunt Clarissa hums. Elyra returns her overrobe to its place, pushing away the faintest curl of disappointment that makes itself known. She castigates herself for it – hoping for sympathy is foolish, especially when the injury is a demonstration of her own failure. At least she needs not fear that her blood will offer any sort of clue to the Titanbends.

  Returning her thoughts to where it should be, Elyra carefully watches her aunt’s reaction. “He used fire – skillfully too. Did you know he could do that?”

  Those perfectly-shaped eyebrows twitch just the slightest degree upwards.

  “I did not,” the elder Goldmine murmurs. “How curious. Those two magics do not usually play well together – one who is gifted in Earth usually finds Fire difficult to control…. Perhaps one or both are borrowed abilities – Titanbends in the past have leaned on the abilities of their Bonded instead of their own Skills.”

  Elyra tilts her head to one side.

  “If it was borrowed, he has practised extensively with it. He also had access to water magic, though that is likely borrowed – his use was clumsy. However, his healing ability is more powerful than we thought – he took one of my poisoned daggers to the side and it barely slowed him down.”

  “A multi-purpose healing Skill indeed,” Aunt Clarissa muses. Then she turns her head to gaze directly at Elyra. “Could you defeat him?”

  Elyra hesitates.

  “I am uncertain,” she replies slowly. “I was not trying to do so – preferring escape over a true fight. Yet, I believe Markus was fighting at a disadvantage too – he didn’t have his Bonded with him. If I struck at him from the shadows, with him and those around him unaware, I think I could kill him. But if it came to an outright battle, I am not nearly as confident.”

  Aunt Clarissa nods and turns back to the city.

  “Of course our House’s strengths lie forever in the shadows. But that he could stand toe-to-toe with you without the use of his companions is…curious.” The silence stretches for a moment. “I take it that Lord Heatwave took the opportunity to clean up some of the criminal elements in his city.”

  “Dexil’s gang are either dead or in chains,” Elyra agrees. “From reports I heard before leaving, the city guard managed to make further arrests by following escapees to their safehouses.”

  “Panicked rous running for their boltholes.” Aunt Clarissa tsks. “I will make a note.”

  The silence stretches for a long moment. Elyra clenches one fist behind her back, the only expression of her nerves that she will allow herself.

  “Aunt Clarissa…you do not seem as aggrieved as I thought you might be,” she ventures. Part of her screams that baiting her aunt is a bad idea; the other part reminds her that if her aunt is truly angered by her heir’s failure, there is little Elyra can say that will change it. But there are too many things about this situation that don’t add up for Elyra to be content to remain silent.

  “Oh?” Aunt Clarissa asks calmly, losing none of her poise and revealing nothing by her perfectly arched brows. “And why do you think that might be?”

  Elyra hesitates for a long moment, her thoughts rushing as they match together little puzzle pieces that she had noted, but that had not formed picture – until now.

  “The location – within our territory and in the city of a lord who is contemplating alliance with Titanbend, far too easily connected with us and accessible to the Titanbends. Why not somewhere in Flameform or Crownseat, a noble whose antagonism to the Titanbends would have delayed entry even if they discovered the location of the Bonded? The choice of Dexil – of all the gangs we deal with, why choose one who had roots in Azaarde? The warding…clearly there were gaps that allowed the Titanbends to have a good idea of where the Bonded were located….”

  Aunt Clarissa’s face doesn’t shift in the slightest, but something about her posture indicates she’s waiting for Elyra to make the connections. Like they’re once again in the schoolroom, studying the books of merchants to find the leverage points their family can use to bring them under Goldmine’s control.

  “Lord Torrent has proven a…poor ally,” Elyra judges slowly, fixing her eyes on her aunt’s so as to catch every minute flicker. There it is – I’m right! “Yet he is the only one we have.” Another infinitesimally small twitch. Elyra only just prevents herself from nodding. She thinks she understands it now. “But that will not always be the case. You wanted this to fail – but not in a way that made Lord Torrent doubt your loyalty to him.”

  Finally, Aunt Clarissa breaks her statuesque stillness. She lets out a quiet breath and turns her gaze out onto Goldroute again. Her expression is hard.

  “Nicholas will not ally with me. There is too much history between us. But Torrent’s ambitions court disaster. I would not truly see the Titanbends fall – or be controlled by him.” Then the lines of her mouth soften a little and she turns to look at Elyra again. “But, just because Nicholas will not ally with me does not mean the Titanbends will not ally with us,” she murmurs.

  Elyra’s mind races. The implications are clear. Her aunt plans to drain Torrent of the resources they need for as long as she can convince him they’re on his side. But in true Goldmine fashion of playing both sides, she wishes her heir to get closer to the Heir of Titanbend. To Markus. There’s an odd flutter in her stomach at the thought. But the Titanbend heir will be leaving Moriax in the near future….

  Elyra licks her lips.

  “Aunt Clarissa, I wish to join the competition.”

  She sees the answer in her aunt’s expression long before the lips form the words of refusal.

  “Elyra, we have discussed this before – it is not the sort of arena in which you should fight. Too much can be exposed if you do.”

  “But it’s the arena where Markus will be,” Elyra points out, hope springing anew in her chest despite her attempts to press it down. She’s heard and acknowledged her aunt’s arguments before, but there’s still a stubborn part of herself that wishes to prove herself more than just another Goldmine – a glorified merchant whose loyalty is available to the highest bidder. She dares to press further this time. “How can I win Markus’ respect and willingness to ally with us if we don’t spend any time together? Auntie, time is of the essence – you’ve told me that. We can’t wait to make moves until after the competition is done.”

  “Stop calling me ‘auntie’ – you’re not a child anymore, Elyra,” Aunt Clarissa disdains, but Elyra can see it’s had the effect she wanted – her aunt’s expression has softened infinitesimally at the reminder of times before their every interaction was between a lady and her heir. She waits, knowing that speaking now will be counter-productive.

  Finally, her aunt eyes her with a thoughtful expression.

  “You will not take the throne even if it is offered to you?”

  “I will not,” Elyra promises, her stomach a bundle of nerves that she doesn’t allow into her voice. “I know my duty to my House and my family.”

  There’s a moment more of silence and then Aunt Clarissa nods slowly.

  “Very well, my heir. I will allow you to enter the competition. Make sure that your participation proves to be worth the investment.”

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