I hate that I still love this city, if only because there's so much joy despite everything. The people are out and about, smiling at us despite our current dark wardrobe and the disemboweling stench. They offer us painted seashells and small pouches of different colored sea salt for good fortune or preserved health – and we don't have to pay for any of it. We don't take the offerings, though I'm very tempted to.

It's hard to walk around trying to find someone with no soul when there are hundreds crowding all over the streets. You'd think that since we're nearing mid-winter it would have people staying in their cozy houses, but no. They're just as lively as those in Fredal, even more so with all the musicians around every corner.

As the five of us – Darius, Vlad, Garrison, Winston, and I – weave our way through the crowds, we keep our eyes and ears peeled for anything unusual. Nothing of use has found us in the past five hours, but I can't help but feel as if there's something here.

Darius looks like he wants to scream at everyone to shut up. He's been fidgety ever since we stepped into the city, and I don't want to ask him why until we find somewhere less populated. His moods can go from the smallest of rippled waves to a whole tsunami in a matter of seconds. He's become unpredictable at certain times when it comes to certain things, but he has control the rest of the time. Doesn't really ease the nerves, but it helps.

We started in the center square of the city, splitting up into our quarters and made our way here to the edge of the city that goes all the way from the castle to Declan Cove's rocky shores. Dozens of docks filled with ships and smaller boats rock the entirety of the cove's edge. According to Darius who I got to talk about the city to distract him, kids and adults alike will all be jumping from the docs or a ship's edge during the summer. No one's swimming in the chilled ocean water now, but they all still take up what space there is.

Sailors filled the taverns nearby, so we sent Mal, Ozzie, Henry, and Alex into them to see if they could get anything from there. The other five went north, and we headed east. It's the busiest part of the capital, and the wealthiest when it comes to information due to the constant incoming trade that happens. Everyone stops in Declan Cove for one reason or another. Business, pleasure, travel - you name it. Thinking about it now and looking around at the vast variety of people here on one street alone or the ships docked, their flags stating proudly who it carries and where it originated from, this should've been the first place we came to. 

Declan Cove was always Fauna's favorite, and I've kept the little fact to myself, that way the others wouldn't be as distracted as I am. I keep having to scan everything twice because I drift off. She loved the fried fish and the music and the dancing in the streets that she'd jump right into and join if she wasn't in her Ebony attire. With Declan Cove being so rich with gossip and rumors and information, we could never walk these streets without people instantly whispering and being more careful of their volumes as we passed.

It happens here and there now when someone's eyes drop to the blades on my hips. Kind of hard to mistake them for anything else, which is why I ended up tucking them further back on my hips, concealing them within the cloak that I also drew forward to hide the distinct suit as well. 

We left our last camp spot last night while the moon was still out, figuring that we'd need more time to search the entirety of the capital than time to sleep. It's gigantic. The grand marble castle sits atop a hill, the town's borders going from the coast right up to the gray sandstone outer castle walls that look white in the reflecting sunlight off the water. The town circles all the way around to the wildflower fields. Some people even have homes within the massive garden, trading the bustling city life for something more rural, but still close.

The buildings closest to the castle belong to the wealthy. They build their hoses as wide as they can, as it's considered rude of them to build upward and block the magnificence of the castle. The sailors and merchants who own or work on ships live in the southern quarter closest to the cove, and the eastern and western quarters mainly hold the proletariat people. The further north you go, the less housing you see while cobblestone gets traded for dirt. Nice as it is to have traders constantly bringing in goods from all of Ker, Cadorelin relies mainly on its farmers in the northern quarter to supply the marginal mass of supplies for its residents. The quarter is still bright and full of rather happy people, but there's no missing the dirt under their nails from them trying to keep coins in their pockets.

The castle itself is marvelous. A grand statement and a giant that watches over its territory. Marble walls, golden gates and windowsills, and mythical sea folk statues at every tower peak and along the walls to guard the royal family against threats both friendly and foe. From what I've seen, the entirety of the castle grounds is made up of towers. Darius said that there's a huge water courtyard behind the first three with two miniature islands within the shallow pool that have cherry blossom trees on them and glass benches for seating. A wooden bridge lined with small white lights leads you from one end of the pool and into the grand foyer.

Just thinking about what it looks like had me wishing we could go see it, but we're not here for that.

It's lunchtime. I can tell because my stomach is beginning to give me hints, and it's not the only one. Having to smell all the tempting food while we try and find where Mal and the other four are, is not helping. I haven't eaten much in the two days that we've been traveling. The others eat sufficiently enough, and I always take the smaller pieces knowing that I can last longer on a quarter filled energy supply. I don't doubt that they could too, it's only that they've been living in luxury for years. They've had full plates for three meals a day, which means their bodies are used to being able to function with that appetite.

My father kept our meals to a big breakfast, and then adequate enough sharings for the other two meals. No snacking. We can function perfectly fine on empty stomachs, but the men walking alongside me have visible signs of their sudden change in diet. Thinner cheeks, paler skin, and discolored nails. They've been getting slower as well, which means I'm going to have to find somewhere that packs our plates like mountaintops. We'll need it.

"There they are." I follow Winston's pointed finger, finding our companions sitting at a table outside of a tavern called The High Eagle. Based on the red-eyed and very crocked people filing the pub, I'd say the eagle is indeed high.

Henry spots us, standing from the table and heading for us. The others follow and I can't help but suddenly realize that they all have the same gait. My gait.
Gods Fauna is going to laugh herself hoarse when she finds out.

I don't even want to know if the four men behind me have unknowingly stepped into the same habit. It's better if I don't, that way I don't cringe whenever I see them take a step.

I open my mouth to ask them if they found anything when the sound of people cursing and screaming catches my ear. We all turn, instantly putting our hands on a blade as we all instinctively surround Darius in a tight circle.

"You have got to be kidding me," Garrison sighs as we all spot where the commotion is coming from.

Running through the crowd, a frantic group of five black-cloaked men pushes through people, another group of ten or so impressively built group chasing after them. I stand from my prepared defensive crouch as Benny spots us and changes directions. People quickly move out of their way, several of the drunkards in the taverns yelling at our idiot friends to "run faster!"

"What in heathens did you do-"

"It was an accident!" Ethan yells, running past him and swinging around me so that he's hiding behind my shoulder. Gabe hides behind him and I roll my eyes as the ten mammoths of men stop in front of us. At least Amel, Benny, and Al take their respective spots around Darius.
These two love birds clearly did it.

Garrison steps back so that he's at Darius's shoulder, and I take his spot next to Vladimir. I'm tempted to turn around and slap the two dimwits who both stay pointedly glued to my back. I'm fairly sure Ethan has one hand on my shoulder as if to ensure that I'll stay in between him and the other man's fist.

"Is there a problem gents?" I ask them. The crowd gives us a wide berth, but they stay put, all with expectant eyes as they wait for the fight to break out.

"That fucker spilled ale all over me," the blonde-haired one claims, pointing an accusing finger at Ethan who's peeking over my shoulder. Based on the way the others stand, I'd say he's the one in charge.

"He did, did he?" I turn my head to look at Ethan. He shrinks away from the harsh glare, opening his mouth to likely spit out a useless explanation, but I turn away before he can.

"Yes. He did. Now my shirt smells like rotten ale."

"Are you sure that it didn't smell like that beforehand?" Vlad asks calmly.

"Watch it," another blonde warns from beside his red-faced leader.

"Or what?" I challenge. My hands have been itching for a fight since Serac. It'd be nice to beat these shitholes of men to a pulp, even if they're in the rights for Ethan's idiotic actions.

"Or we'll just go through you too," another one says, taking a step towards us.

"Is that right?"

The tension is palpable in the air. I can feel The Bhaltayr straighten as they prepare to use what skills I've been teaching them. It seems I'm not the only one who needs to blow off a little steam. Everyone around us is quiet as well, even the musicians inside the nearby taverns have stopped their playing to peer through the windows. It seems we're going to have an audience to witness the ass whooping of a few big-headed individuals.

"Pardon me." Keeping one eye on the head mammoth, I watch as a thin, dark-haired man no older than thirty, steps from the crowd, dressed in some kind of formal suit. His voice bears a slight accent marking him as a traveler from the eastern continent. He walks right up to my opponent, looking up at him with his hands folded before him. "Pardon me, sir, but I wouldn't go picking a fight with this lot."

The leader gives the man a look like he's considering earring him for dinner. "And why's that?"

"Well if I'm not mistaken, that lad there is the Sinister Fox, and if he's the Sinister Fox, then that makes the lot of them the Jade Assassins." I roll my eyes, already knowing that his theory will have a few of the Bhaltayr's egos inflaming. "Last I heard, they don't take kindly to rather rude bores such as yourself."

He nods at me, not seeming to be at all intimidated by the looks they're all giving him.

"Him?" The mammoth questions skeptically in a rather annoying tone. "This veslingr is the Sinister Fox?"

Hey, listen bucko. I may be the size of a shrub compared to you and your giant fat ass, but I'm the damn angriest shrub you'll ever meet. Capiche.

"Yes, and despite your...physique, I highly doubt you and your rather large friends will be the ones to walk away in the end." I'm beginning to like this man. Proper, yet harsh. "Just thought you should know who you're up against before you go digging your graves. Nice to have known you, lads."
He walks away without another word, his hands now folded behind his back.

"That was odd," Mal murmurs behind me.

I look back to the mammoth, already finding him and his friends with closed fists. "Now, where were we?"

"I believe they were about to lose a fight," Vlad responds.

"We never lose," retorts the other blonde.

"Well," I say, letting Gabe and Ethan take their spots at either of Darius's sides, the rest of them stepping forward. "There's always a first time for everything, and you never really stood a chance."

They take all of one step before they find themselves with a knife in their skin. All ten of them fall to the ground, blood staining their clothing. I would've liked a fight, but this will keep them off our asses for however long we're here. Not to mention that I wanted to see how accurate each of The Bhaltayr's aim was. Skimming over their hit targets, I'd say their training is paying off. They aimed for the places that would hurt the most and do a decent enough amount of damage, but nothing life-threatening. None of my blades flew, but I keep them close.

The mammoth and his friends shake the wound off rather impressively, standing and looking at us with pure rage. They pull our blades from their skin, grip the handles tightly, and take another step. Another second later and they're all crying in pain as they each find another knife lodged in their thighs. The matching scars will serve as a reminder of where their angered impulses will get them.

"You fucking bacraut!" the mammoth yells, attempting and failing to rise. I smirk at his insult, understanding enough of his language to know that he just called me a dickface.

"You should've listened to the man's warning," Vlad responds.

I walk over to the kneeling mammoth leader and squat down so that I'm now at his eye level. He could very well grab my throat and strangle me. That is, of course, if I didn't already have another long knife in my hand aimed to plunge into his heart, hidden beneath the cloak so that only he can see it.

"Go to hell, blót," he growls between his teeth.

Heathen...his insults are getting worse.

I level a stare at him, kind of enjoying the cat-and-mouse game that's started. "I was born from the flames of the underworld, smár mús. I've lived with demons and devilish Gods alike. Would you like to see what they taught me?"

"Go. To. Hel."

"The truth is," I continue, eyeing his wounds to see how long I have before he faints from blood loss. He's a big guy, and buy guys have a lot of blood and their heart has to work double to pump it all everywhere. "I'm already living the Hel of my life. The underworld would be a luxury to this bullshit, but if I'm at Helias's side, then I can't do what it is I'm here in search of. Speaking of which, you're going to help me find it, smár mús."

He writhes at my own nickname for him.

"Like hell – motherfucker!" He curses when I yank my knife from his thigh. I may or may not have brought it out at an angle so that it makes a longer cut. His friends move to tackle me, but The Bhaltayr are quicker and grab them before they can.
I better make this quick. I'm not sure how long they'll be able to hold the boulders in place.

"You are going to help me, or I'll lock you up and find that pretty wife of yours." His eyes go wide, his whole body still as ice. I needed his attention, and now I have it.

It was hard to miss the thick metal band around his finger with the Asturian language engraved in it. Asturians only ever pledge their love, life, and loyalty to one significant other in their entire lives. They're proud and strong and love so fiercely for their family that one may consider it dangerous to threaten their family. Asturian men are known to kill other men for simply telling them that he has a beautiful woman as a wife with nothing more than appreciation and not with a single drop of yearning or attraction to the woman.

It's their custom to burn their marriage rings when one of the two dies, and then meld it into a rose painted white. If he still has the ring, then his wife lives, and an Asturian married couple never leaves their partner behind unless death claims one. Even then some have been known to take their own lives to go to the next life with their husbands and wives.

His ring has three engravings on it. One for him, the other for his wife, and the third carefully carved with a single jagged line running through it.

"Tell me, what would you do if someone stole away your daughter and tortured her until she died, all because she was prophesied to be stronger than anyone else in the world? What unspeakable things would you commit to getting her back? What. Would. You. Do. For. Her."

His eyes move side to side, face slackened as he reads in between the lines about why I need his help. I don't have a daughter who needs my help, but I only need him to understand the love and devotion I have to Fauna. The gender of his child was a wild guess, and that jagged line tells me nothing aside from her not being blood-related to him at all. His wife, it seems, wasn't all too faithful, but her engraving doesn't have the black mark in its center, which means that she was likely pregnant with her child beforehand.

Love, life, and loyalty. The third is a bit questionable in any circumstance.

I see the moment that he puts it together. He glances over my shoulder to Darius, then his eyes drift to other bodies, counting how many of us there are. News travels fast when a castle is taken, and I have no doubt that the words also carry rumors of who it was that fought Xaxias.

"Anything," he answers swiftly. When his eyes meet my own, they're as clear as an untouched sky. "I'd do anything."

He flips the knife still clutched in his hand so that the handle faces me. I take it and wipe off the blood on my pants. Giving a nod to Garrison, I stand and offer my hand down to the little mouse. It's not a size accurate name, but that's exactly why I said it. That and the fact that Fauna would've liked it.

The Bhaltayr help the others up, offering their left hand so that they can catch a glance at the silver rings on their fingers. They're all married, which means they'll all understand the lengths to which we're willing to go to get Fauna back. Who knows, we may even get an unlikely alliance out of it.
Putting the little mouse's arm over my shoulder, I help him walk on his injured leg.

"The Mace Tavern in the western quarter," he tells me.

I nod to Darius, and he turns and starts heading west to the quieter quarter.

We reach the Mace Tavern two hours later. It took us longer than it should've with us having to partially carry the huge men all the way. If training almost every night doesn't get my muscles aching, then this is sure to do the trick. It makes me feel like I'm forty with back pain.
We've kept Ethan and Gabe at Darius's side a few good steps ahead of us in hopes that the mammoths won't bash their heads in. I can certainly understand the difficulty of restraint.

The Mace Tavern isn't a very well-known inn, but it's definitely one of the nicer ones. Only the innkeeper stands behind his desk in the lobby when we walk in. He takes one look at the blood and opens his mouth to say who knows what. We just walk through the doorway leading to the stairs, and I swear to the Gods and their Saints that I'm going to kill the little mouse for getting a room on the fifth floor.

It's one of the larger and nicer rooms in the building. The couch, small table, and two chairs are in well-kept condition, the windows both scratch and smudge-free, the stone floors look freshly scrubbed, and there are paintings and small plants placed carefully so as to please the eye. The double doors to my left are open to reveal a long table set for eight, and the doors on my right are mostly closed, but I peek at the white-sheeted bed through the small crack.

"Fatima!" Little mouse calls. I set him down on the couch, the others sitting down on the