The two weeks since Solvere’s inauguration had been blessedly quiet, which worried her more than she liked. She had felt watched nearly every day since, often caught the tail end of stares that vanished the moment she caught their eye, or heard conversations drop to hushed tones while she passed. She told herself she was imagining it.

  But what if you’re not?

  Her ears wilted at the thought and she shook her head. Today would be better, because soon she’d have the comfort of good company.

  That was assuming Taevar ever showed his face.

  She sat alone at a small table set away from the tavern’s main entrance, close enough to watch the door without drawing attention to herself. One elbow rested on the table, her cheek propped in her hand. Her eyes stayed fixed on the entrance, but one ear had pivoted toward a pair of human men seated across the room.

  It was the late morning lull, too late for breakfast and too early for lunch. It made eavesdropping effortless. The men were speaking in low tones, trading stereotypes about Wildkin as if they were innocent observations. Sahvra was amused that ‘keen ears’ hadn’t been brought up yet, but it kept the entertainment rolling. So far, their curiosity had been clumsy, but harmless. Mildly insulting, of course, but that was nothing new.

  “The ones with the tails use ’em like any other animal,” the first man said, his tone playful. “Balance. You idiot.”

  They’d been arguing about this one for several minutes, and they kept going in the same circles. It seemed the second man had enough, as he changed the topic so thoroughly that Sahvra had to double check she was listening to the same pair.

  “I always wondered if they’re slaves to their instincts,” the second said. “Aggression and all that. Makes me wary, honestly.”

  The small smile faded. She shifted in her seat and stared both of them down, her ears turning fully toward them. Her tail gave a sharp, irritated flick.

  The man leaned closer and glanced around as if checking for eavesdroppers before continuing. He wasn’t thorough. “I’ve heard they are. At least about… some things. Seasonally.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Easier to get, uh, frisky with ’em, if y’catch my meaning.”

  “Shut up,” the first snapped, reaching across the table to try to swat his companion upside the head. His eyes had finally landed on Sahvra. “You think she heard us?”

  She smiled sweetly at them. It didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Oh yes,” she said. “Every word.”

  They stared at her, frozen, trying to decide if she was bluffing. Sahvra held the smile, unblinking.

  “Well, d’you wanna confirm or..?” the second began.

  “Shut. Up.” The first cut him off, took a more forceful swat at the side of his head. There was intent behind that one, though the target had been prepared this time and avoided it.

  Sahvra laughed now, soft but genuine. She couldn’t help herself - they were making it too easy.

  “Oi, come on,” the second muttered. “We’ll… talk somewhere else.”

  “Just remember, boys,” Sahvra called after them, voice lilting mockingly, as they hurried for the door, “the ears aren’t just for show!”

  The door swung shut behind them, only to swing back open a heartbeat later as Taevar appeared in their place. His head remained turned to watch the pair storm off, brows furrowed in confusion. Sahvra just smiled wider until he noticed her. He returned her smile with an apologetic one of his own.

  “Was that your doing?” he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder once he reached her table.

  “Yes,” she said cheerfully. “They were discussing Wildkin. Forgot we can hear better than most.” Her ears wiggled happily. “Why are you late?”

  “Couple of reasons,” he replied easily, settling down into the seat across from her with a little grunt. His tone was light, but he looked around the tavern as he spoke. “You know, they’ve got the new checkpoints between the Districts now.”

  “Uh huh,” she said, tone uncertain. She slid one of the menus she’d picked up earlier across the table, though never looked away from his face. He pretended he read the menu as pretext for leaning in closer to her, elbows resting on the table. He dropped his voice considerably as he continued.

  “Also had us updating our citizen registration, plus the student registration with the Academy. Calling the first a part of an upcoming census, and the second specific to magic users. Didn’t say much else.”

  Sahvra remained quiet, plucking at one of her leather bracelets as she turned the news over in her head. Taevar didn’t prompt her, but did study her face from the corner of his eyes. He thought he was being subtle. He wasn’t. When she spoke again, she was careful to keep her tone light.

  “Nothing to worry about, then! Not like we haven’t had to have identification for things in the past, hm?”

  His brows raised at her reaction. She gave him a stern look, brief but obvious, and he nodded.

  “Right. New requirements aren’t uncommon with a regime change,” he hesitated, turning the menu over in his hands once, then back again. “The only other real note I have on it is that Liriel’s forms took nearly an hour longer than mine. I just had to sign a few things, confirm what was already on file.”

  Sahvra recognized the name. An elven woman, older than them in years but somehow younger in temperament. Elves confused her. She was talented in pyromancy, which was rare, and rarer still in an elf.

  “Well,” Sahvra said dryly, “she’s from the city of Moonspire, isn’t she? An outsider. Maybe they have more complex forms.”

  Taevar looked unconvinced. Sahvra shook her head ever-so-slightly at him as warning to say no more - she noticed the waitress on her way over.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” the waitress said, hesitating. She looked like she couldn’t decide between being uncomfortable or apologetic. “... The owner has asked that you leave. He overheard your interaction with the two males before, and -”

  “- and ignored what they were saying before I interrupted them?” Sahvra finished the woman’s sentence, voice rising slightly, ears pinning back.

  The waitress balked and stammered, face flushing red. She cleared her throat, straightened her back, and took a deep breath. All that, only for her voice to be barely more than a squeak when she spoke.

  “He feels you escalated and would like you to leave.”

  “Now hold on,” Taevar began, but stopped when Sahvra put her hand on his forearm.

  “It’s fine,” Sahvra said, smiling gently at him as she stood. “I’ve got errands to run anyway.”

  He stared at her and clenched his jaw before sighing. “I had more to talk about, though.”

  “Then get here on time next time,” Sahvra said back, her smile turning to a grin. “Idiot.”

  She bowed her head politely to the waitress next, “Apologies to you and the owner, yeah? I’ll be sure to let idiots speak freely next time.”

  She slipped past them before the waitress could respond, giving Taevar a thwap with her tail as she passed for good measure. The reason was unfortunate, but the timing was good - she was sure the Elder was already wondering where she had gotten to, and she hadn’t even been to market yet.

  She tried to ignore the couple staring as she left.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  ***

  As she wound her way through the maze of the Residential District’s streets and alleys, Sahvra found comfort in the growing volume of the chaos ahead. Merchants shouted over the softer, constant babble of conversation; music threaded through laughter; bangs and crashes rang out as inventory was moved - or dropped to shatter against the bazaar’s brickwork.

  It felt normal. It nearly made her smile - but then she rounded the final corner. Before she even entered the bazaar, she was met by a makeshift signpost. The words painted on the attached poster brought a rumbling growl to her throat.

  ARE YOUR NEIGHBORS REGISTERED?

  UNREGISTERED MAGES ARE A DANGER TO THEMSELVES AND OTHERS.

  IT IS YOUR CITIZEN’S DUTY TO SAFEGUARD AGAINST THREATS.

  SPEAK WITH A LOCAL ACADEMY OFFICIAL WITH ANY INFORMATION

  She ignored the urge to tear it down, only because she noticed something even more out of place in the market beyond. The natural rhythm of the bazaar was still there, with throngs of people shoulder to shoulder, flowing intuitively past one another in the overcrowded lanes. They navigated without incident, guided by an unspoken understanding as they moved within the living current.

  Yet that flow was now interrupted by small patrols of the Emberwatch, some walking against the current, and others standing as boulders in the middle of it. The presence of guards wasn’t abnormal - but the number of them was.

  She spotted a particularly large knot of people to the left, where two of the guards had pulled aside one of the merchants - an elf, who stood with arms crossed and chin tilted upward in quiet defiance. Above the group she spotted a new banner bearing Emberthain’s insignia. Now that she noticed them, they lined the market walls and balconies. She even spotted a pair of workers removing the last of the charming festival ribbons for replacement.

  Her lip curled and her tail lashed once, twice behind her. It was nearly too much. She closed her eyes, took in a slow breath through her nose, and let it out just as carefully. The sounds were too loud for her sensitive ears, yet reassuring all the same. The smell from the baker’s stall to her right followed, promising fresh bread and sweet pastries. It steadied her, and her tail stilled.

  She was here to place the Shelter’s monthly supply orders. They relied on her visits to keep their stores stocked for those who needed help most. She took one more steadying breath before she stepped into the raging river of movement before her.

  She emerged near the baker’s stall and was greeted by a familiar face - another Wildkin woman near her age. She was pretty, and shy, and so very easy to fluster - traits that made Sahvra smile. She wasn’t above exploiting them, either, because she had learned an important lesson early on: the best way to secure the lowest prices, or score the occasional free extra, was to understand the person she was speaking to.

  Then, it was just a matter of meeting them in the manner that suited them best. Obvious knowledge, perhaps, but not everyone bothered to perfect it.

  “Oi, pretty lady!” Sahvra called out, voice flirty and raised just enough to catch the vendor’s attention - and a few passerby. “Your sweet buns are looking lovely today.”

  Subtle? Absolutely not. Effective? Always.

  The woman turned and offered her a flat look, but Sahvra saw the smile - and blush - she was trying to hide.

  “What do you want, troublemaker?”

  “Aside from knowing your next day off so I can drag you out on a date? I’m here to buy all your bread. Again. Fuckers back home keep eating it,” she fetched a list from down the front of her shirt - the only list she kept tucked there, just to mess with the baker.

  It never failed. That blush deepened.

  “Give it here,” the woman said, stepping up and reaching over the stall’s counter to take the list. Sahvra pulled it back, just out of reach, and the woman huffed.

  “I’m serious about the date.”

  “I’m sure you are, and I’m serious about my bread - and the line of people forming behind you,” she teased in response, reaching for the list again. Sahvra sighed dramatically, but relinquished it, “I’m off three days from today. But, you’ll have to find me.”

  And summoning what must have been all of her courage, she winked at Sahvra. It briefly struck her speechless, though she laughed soon after.

  “Well, it’d be no fun if there wasn’t a challenge involved, now would it? Stay safe. Try not to drown in your work, yeah?” She offered a lazy wave as she stepped out of the line and back into the crowd. The dance was familiar, and part of the charm of the bazaar itself. Do it right, and you walk away with what you asked for. Sometimes more. It probably helped that she paid well.

  From there she moved stall to stall to dance with her other partners. The tailor, who traded discounts for gossip. The blacksmith and carpenter who were clanmates bound by an old feud she never quite understood. The alchemist, an elderly elven woman who simply wanted someone to listen to her stories. Each had different steps to match, a different beat to move to, but it came as second nature to her by now - something comforting, soothing.

  She finalized her last order and turned away. In the next moment, the fragile return to normalcy shattered like glass.

  She heard shouting first. Then, the smell of smoke. The voices rose. Her ears perked toward it all as she froze in place.

  “Oi - grab the little shit!”

  “Fuckin’- outta the way!”

  “The fire’s out, leave him be…!”

  Every instinct screamed to run, though it couldn’t decide which direction. So she ran toward the chaos.

  She ducked and squeezed through bodies moving against her until she stumbled into a small clearing in the crowd. Three Emberwatch guards struggled to contain a Wildkin boy she recognized. He was in his early teens, terrified, and appeared to be burned badly on one arm.

  One guard had him by the sleeve, but not well enough. The boy wrenched free and bolted toward the crowd. He never made it that far. He tripped on an uneven paver, stumbled, and landed hard at Sahvra’s feet with a pained whimper.

  The next moment she found herself standing between the teen and the approaching guards, one hand resting on the dagger she kept strapped to her thigh. It was protection against thieves, though - not armored men. The lead guard lumbered toward her, and she noted the Drakesworn insignia pinned proudly next to the Emberwatch one.

  The fur along Sahvra’s tail stood rigid as it lashed behind her.

  “Out of the way, girl,” he growled, gesturing lazily. As he spoke, she saw he was nearly toothless - and it sounded like it, too. His gaze flicked to her dagger. “That one’s used magic. Ain’t authorized.”

  “Only because you singled him out and bullied him, you brute!” shouted an elderly woman while she inspected her now-smoldering stall.

  “Quiet!” he barked over his shoulder before turning back to Sahvra. “Move.”

  He stepped forward, uncaring, lazy - like so many others who took whatever they wanted. Sahvra couldn’t help the snarl as she tightened her grip and shifted her stance.

  He laughed, deep and mocking.

  “Go on, sweetheart. Give me a reason.”

  For a heartbeat, it was nothing but them. The bazaar had fallen unnaturally quiet, unnaturally still. Sahvra held her ground. The brute sighed theatrically and placed a hand on his sword hilt.

  “THADOR!”

  The shout returned life to the bazaar. The crowd parted - panicked, haphazardly - as another figure approached. Thador’s mocking smile faded back to a scowl, even deeper than before. He turned and offered a lazy salute to the approaching man.

  Sahvra recognized the newcomer as the Captain of the Emberwatch. His uniform mirrored Thador’s but was better cared for - better fitted, gleaming in the light, clearly a point of pride. Every movement was deliberate. He looked at no one but Thador, save for a brief glance to the second insignia pinned beside the Emberwatch badge.

  “What is this?” the captain asked, gesturing at the scene.

  Thador launched into explanation with a thick Lower City drawl, words clumsily oversized. The boy had sparked a fire through magic. Arson. Unlawful casting. Unregistered mage. Resisting arrest. Interference, he added last, with a nod toward Sahvra.

  The captain listened without interruption, expression unchanged - unreadable.

  Sahvra studied him anyway. The way he clasped his hands so tight, the quiet but intense fire behind his eyes - and the way his voice strained with the effort of keeping itself measured when he responded. Each charge was dismantled in turn. The new registration laws weren’t yet in effect. An accident wasn’t arson. There should have been no arrest to resist.

  His language was colorful despite the professional tone.

  Thador shrank beneath the reprimand, though his glare suggested he’d rather strike the captain than endure it. Still, he pushed back - dug in about the registration. After all, even if he wasn’t a mage, he was still a citizen - and should still have identification.

  “Did you ask for his registration?” the captain asked, and Thador paled. The captain’s jaw flexed as he clenched it, and Sahvra was sure he nearly rolled his eyes. The captain turned to her, closing the distance between them.

  “Do you claim responsibility for the boy behind you?”

  She studied him for a beat longer before answering.

  “I do. He is known to me.”

  “Papers.”

  He extended a hand and Sahvra froze. He leaned closer, with an air of intimidation - but lowered his voice, soft enough to be lost in the crowd’s murmuring gossip.

  “Any papers.”

  Her ears shot upright, and she prayed no one was quick enough to guess why.

  She nodded quickly and dug into her pocket, producing a vendor receipt. The captain took it and straightened, scanning it with more scrutiny than it could have ever demanded.

  “Temporary registration for them both,” he said flatly, then shot Thador a look. “You idiot.”

  A lie spoken like fact.

  He returned the receipt and stepped back into the circle.

  “Please disperse,” he announced, voice raised enough to carry, “No further trouble will befall you today.”

  His voice dropped, and Sahvra doubted any but the sharpest ears would hear the quiet anger that followed. He turned from her toward the guards. “You three. With me.”

  The captain herded them away like misbehaving children, following close behind them. The crowd parted eagerly to let them through. She pocketed the receipt with a faint frown. She had no time to dwell on it now.

  She turned to the boy behind her, now standing but still trembling.

  “We’re going home,” she said gently. “Come on.”