The performers were still going behind him, as the last of the script faded away. The mob of spectators were still cheering, their applause scattered, the crowd calling for more… a part of him that wanted to turn around and go back so he could finish watching their performance. The light show had been beautiful.

  He kept walking. The girl's voice echoed in his skull. Cryptic bullshit.

  He glanced around the square. Merchants. Laborers and people who were simply enjoying their day. Nobody who looked particularly royal… Nobody seemed likely to make a sacred flower start glowing.

  The flower was probably broken. Hell, maybe the blind girl had planted it on him as some kind of joke, though that seemed like a lot of effort. He started to pack away the flower once more when it began to flicker with light… Ivan went still. And then the orchid lifted from his hands and floated on its own.

  Ivan's first instinct was to grab it. Snatch it back. The flower drifted away from him across the square, moving toward a narrow gap between two buildings on the other side of the market. It moved into the dark alleyway even in. Ivan followed the flower keeping his pace casual.

  The alley swallowed the flower. The golden glow painted the walls on either side, throwing long shadows that stretched and shortened as the flower continued deeper in. Ivan stopped at the mouth of the alley. He checked behind him. The square stretched back the way he'd come.

  Something else was in there too. He heard voices. Low and rough. One of them seemed to be angry, spitting words Ivan couldn't quite make out. The other—

  The other sounded like they were choking. Ivan's hand tightened on the dagger. A joke tried to surface in his throat, something about being the protagonist of some stupid web novel and how this was clearly the part where he was supposed to rush in and save the day.

  He stepped into the alley. The air was cooler and damp, and carried the smell of piss. The flower drifted ahead of him.

  He could hear the voices more clearly now. "—told you what would happen." A man's voice. It was thick and had a strange accent… he was also, very, very pissed off. "Told ye what I'd do if ye didn't have me money."

  The only response he heard was a wet gurgle, and short exaggerated attempts ate breath.

  Ivan stopped as the flower hung in the air. There was a broad-shouldered douchebag with a long hooked nose, who had a girl pinned against the wall. His hand was wrapped around her throat, lifting her up onto her toes, her feet kicking and scraping.

  The girl was about his age, she had strange rose-colored hair that caught the flower's golden light… her skin was clear and pale. And beautiful golden eyes that were wide with fear, darting around the alley, looking for anyone that could help her.

  "Where's my fuck’n money ye bitch?" The man squeezed her throat tighter. The girl made that choking sound again. "Ye said ye'd have it. Ye promised me ye'd have it… now look what ye’r make’n me do!"

  The alley behind him was empty. No civilians who might get hurt, but also no witnesses if this went wrong... there weren't many options. Only one exit back toward the square. The man was bigger than him by at least fifty pounds and two heads, he had arms like ham hocks, but there was no sign of backup. It was just him and the girl.

  The girl and the glowing flower spinning directly above her head.

  Ivan's mouth went dry. His heart was hammering in his chest, it was way too fast and too loud… he could feel it in his temples. He was scared, , .

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He was too far now… he couldn’t feasibly turn back without them noticing him. So he stepped forward, his boots scraping against the cobblestones. The man's head snapped toward him, his small eyes narrowing to slits, his hand still squeezing the girl's throat.

  Ivan stopped about ten feet back, it was a respectful distance… just out of reach. "What'd she do?" His voice came out steadier than he expected. Calm, even though he was shaking on the inside.

  Both the man and the girl stared at him, her beautiful gold eyes finding his face, measuring him. Looking at his posture. His hands. The way he was standing. She wasn't panicking. Even with a hand around her throat, even with her feet barely touching the ground, there was something in those eyes that was focused.

  "The fuck do ye care?" The man's grip loosened slightly. Not enough to let her go. But just enough to turn more of his attention toward his new problem. "This ain't yer fuck’n business, lad. Get."

  Ivan raised his hands in front of him, the motion making himself look even more defenseless. He kept his voice low and leveled. "I'm not looking for trouble, sir. Just wondering if there's something I can help with."

  The girl's eyes flickered at that, something shifted in her expression. Ivan couldn't tell if it was hope or suspicion or something else entirely.

  The man spat. A thick glob of phlegm that landed near Ivan's boot. "Unless ye’re paying for her services, you can fuck off. This is between me and her."

  Ivan blinked. "Her services?"

  "Are ye deaf? Or dumb lad." The man's face twisted. "She owes me money. Has for weeks. And I'm done waiting for it."

  "Right." Ivan held up his hands higher, palms out and waved them back and forth. "I understand. Debts are important. Sacred, even, depending on who you ask. I just thought maybe we could—"

  "Ye thought wrong."

  "—talk about this like reasonable adults who don't want anyone to—"

  The man threw the girl to the floor, she hit the ground hard, landing on her hands and knees, gasping for air. The man didn't look at her. He was already moving toward Ivan, his face red, his hands curling into fists.

  "Reasonable?" He laughed. An ugly sound. "Ye want to be fuck’n reasonable?"

  "I mean, ideally—"

  "Shut yer fuck’n mouth."

  The man stopped two feet in front of Ivan, close enough that he could smell the man's breath. Onions and cheap beer. "Ye know what? Maybe this is me lucky day. Ye ain't half bad looking. Bit of a weak chin, but some nobles like that. They’d pay good money for a pretty mouth like yers."

  Ivan's stomach dropped. "I'm sorry, what?"

  The man's hand moved faster than Ivan expected. Metal caught the flower's golden light; the blade was short and sharp.

  The tip pressed against the underside of his chin. Ivan felt his skin part just slightly, felt a thin line of blood begin to trickle down his throat and soak into his collar.

  "What do ye think?" The man grinned and licked his lips. His teeth were stained yellow. "Want to renegotiate?"

  Ivan didn't move as the man's blade dug in just a little deeper.

  "Look man," Ivan said, and his voice came out thin, squeezed by the angle of his chin. "I think we got off on the wrong foot here... I'm not trying to—"

  "Shut yer damn mouth, unless yer ready to work."

  "—cause any problems, I just thought maybe there was a way we could all walk away from this without anyone getting—"

  The man's free hand came up fast. his fist buried deep into his gut.

  The air rushed out of him and his knees buckled. The blade scraped along his jaw as he went down, opening a shallow cut that burned like fire. He was on his hands and knees on the wet cobblestones, gagging, trying to pull air into lungs that wouldn't cooperate.

  "Can't bruise that pretty face of yers." The man's voice came from above him "Nobles don't pay for damaged goods."

  Ivan tried to say something. A joke, maybe. Something clever about customer satisfaction or return policies. What came out was a wet cough and a string of spit that dangled from his lip before dropping to the stones.

  The man kicked him in the ribs, then in his belly and then he hit him in the chest. The pain was so sharp and sudden that his vision blurred with pain. He curled into himself, arms wrapped around his midsection, and the next kick landed on his back, and he heard himself make a sound he didn't recognize. High and thin and pathetic.

  "Thought ye were clever, did ye?" Another kick. This one glanced off his shoulder. "Thought ye could play the hero eh?" Another. His elbow this time, his arm going numb from the impact. "Ye ain't shit, lad. Ye hear me? Ye ain't fuck'n shit."

  Ivan’s fingers closed around the grip of his dagger, the leather rough against his palm, and he started to pull it free. He could see the man's legs, he couldn’t decide where he should cut exactly, the back of the knee, the inside of the thigh, anywhere that would drop him and give Ivan time to—

  The man's boot caught him in the stomach again, and the dagger slipped from his grip, clattering away across the cobblestones. Ivan retched, tasting bile at the back of his throat, his whole body curling tighter as he tried to protect parts of his body that hadn't already been kicked.

  There was a loud crack. Then he felt a weight was crushing him, a dead mass of flesh pinning Ivan into the ground, he could feel wetness spreading across his back that was warm.

  He managed to turn his head. Just enough to see the girl standing over both of them, her chest heaving, her rose-colored hair wild around her face. She was holding a rock in her hands. It was pointed at one end, about the size of a brick, and it was covered in—

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