Chapter 83: A Necessary Poison
The aftermath of the attack was a quiet, costly victory. The City Watch, thoroughly cowed by Evander's name and the display of a Greater Healing Potion, had taken the thugs away. The physical damage was being cleaned up, but the spiritual toll was just settling in.
Back in our rooms at The Grumbling Gryphon, the atmosphere was funereal. Laron was a nervous wreck, jumping at every sound. Briza was the real concern. The potion had mended her bones, but the side effects were brutal. She was laid out on her bed, drenched in a cold sweat, her body wracked with violent, full-body tremors, utterly incapacitated.
I stood by the window, looking down at the courtyard. My shoulder ached. The hollow, scraped-out feeling from using the Ki Blast was a deep, spiritual nausea. And the loss of the potion was a phantom limb. I was down to nine.
We were vulnerable. Briza was out. I was running on fumes. Laron was a liability. And whoever had sent those men now knew we could hit back, but also that we could be hurt.
The door to the room clicked open.
I spun, my hand going to the hilt of one of my daggers, Ki flaring weakly.
A man stood in the doorway. He was young, with unruly chestnut curls and a grin that seemed too easy for the situation. He wore a garish, embroidered waistcoat of deep purple over a fine linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and faint scars. He looked like a successful pirate who had just won a tavern in a dice game.
"Looks like you folks had a bit of a scuffle," he said, his voice a friendly, booming baritone that felt out of place. His eyes, a bright, calculating blue, scanned the room, taking in Laron's panic, Briza's shivering form, and my own battered posture with unnerving speed.
"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice a low growl. I didn't recognize him at all.
"The name's Silas," he said, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him as if he owned the place. "Silas Vane. I run a few establishments around here. The Serpent's Coil, you might have heard of it?"
My blood went cold. Silas Vane. The rival. The man Evander had warned us about. And he was standing in our room, unarmed and smiling. This wasn't an attack. It was something else.
Laron made a small, terrified sound and shrank back.
"I'm here to offer my condolences," Silas continued, his smile not faltering. "And my services. Nasty business, what happened to your friend there." He nodded toward Briza. "The streets can be so… unpredictable."
"What do you want?" I repeated, every muscle tense.
"Like I said, to help." He spread his hands, the picture of openness. "I heard about the trouble. A real shame. See, this is my city. When something disruptive happens, it's bad for business. And when it happens to new business partners of my… friendly competitor, Evander… well, that's a special kind of bad." His eyes locked on mine. "I can offer you protection. My men on your doors. Safe passage. For a modest fee, of course. Call it a neighborhood tax."
He was brazen. He was either the one who sent the thugs and was now offering to protect us from himself, or he saw an opportunity to muscle in on Evander's new venture by making us dependent on him.
"I think we'll manage," I said, my voice flat.
"Will you?" Silas's smile finally faded, replaced by a look of genuine, cold curiosity. He looked at the cracked plaster on the wall from where the fight had shaken the room, then back at my hands. "The boys I talked to said you fought like a demon. One of them had a broken sternum. The other's wrist was pulp. And then there was the… flash. The bang. They said you didn't use magic. Not any kind they recognized." He took a step closer, his voice dropping. "What are you, exactly?"
Before I could answer, another voice cut through the room, smooth as silk and sharp as a razor.
"I believe the gentleman declined your offer, Silas. It's considered poor form to linger after being told to leave."
A different man now stood in the doorway, having slipped in unheard. He was dressed in fine, but not ostentatious, clothes a dark grey tunic and trousers. His hair was a shock of meticulously styled white-blond, and his pale blue eyes held a look of bored amusement. It was the man from the common room days ago. The one who knew about the Shadow-Wurm.
Silas Vane turned, and for the first time, his easy confidence cracked, replaced by a flicker of pure, unadulterated annoyance. "You," he spat.
"Me," the blond man agreed. He gave a slight, mocking bow. "Kael, at your service. Though not, it would seem, at yours." He looked past Silas to me. "It appears you're in the market for security. I can provide a more professional, and less… territorially ambitious, service than my friend here."
Silas let out a short, harsh laugh. "You? You're a ghost. A rumor. You don't have men. You don't have territory."
"I have information," Kael said calmly. "And I don't have a vested interest in owning you, Kaizen. I simply wish to be hired. Silas here wants to acquire you. There's a difference."
The dynamic was clear. Kael was the unknown variable, the wild card. Silas was the established, hungry predator.
Silas looked from Kael to me, his jaw tight. The charming rogue was gone, replaced by a frustrated businessman who'd just been outmaneuvered. w he said to me, his voice low and dangerous. "You'll find my offer is the only one that guarantees long-term safety in this city. His?" He jerked a thumb at Kael. "He'll disappear the moment it's no longer profitable. Remember that."
He shoved past Kael and strode out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.
The room was silent again, save for Briza's ragged breathing. Laron looked like he was about to be sick.
Kael brushed an imaginary piece of dust from his sleeve. "Now," he said, his pale eyes settling on me. "Shall we discuss my rates?"
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