Crates of fish with red scales and blue gills were everywhere. It was safe to say that they were in the right place. Linesbrough, home of The Fisherman’s Guild, and possible location of her mother, or trap... Much drearier than the port they’d left, the town might have been beautiful somewhere under the mud and algae built up on the streets and walls. The docks were busy despite the smaller size. Alexos not being much further north, most ships probably kept going to the bigger city, skipping over Linesbrough entirely.

But despite all that, Linesbrough wasn’t completely without charm. The people seemed warm and friendly enough. The buildings reminded her of home— simple and functional, wood and plaster, though they had once been painted bright colors, muted by time and weather.

Mud squished underneath her boots as she walked down the main street. The men spread out around her, scanning the crowd for anything suspicious. Farron followed close behind, a dark cloak masking his features and hiding a multitude of weapons, possibly making him look even more intimidating than he usually did. He’d bought a cloak for her as well from a merchant by the docks, and although it effectively hid her face, the long length trailed on the ground, making her look like a child trying on her mother’s clothes. But she tried her best to deal with it. It was only temporary, and although not perfect, it did offer some sort of disguise in case any Syndicate agents were actively looking for her.

It wasn’t hard to find clues about a woman with fiery hair and a personality to match. And although she’d changed her name, going by Sylvia these days, nearly everyone they’d asked had known almost instantly who she was searching for. Her mother had garnered quite the reputation in this town as well, turning the tavern she worked in, The Dancing Dwarf, into somewhat of an overnight sensation. If she had wanted to remain hidden, well, she didn’t seem to be doing such a good job of it.

In fact, it was almost too easy. Claire thought again how all this could just be a trap set for her. She had her guards, but the Syndicate would stop at nothing to try and get their hands on her. She’d made sure the men knew the risks, but she was determined to see none of them get hurt, or killed, because of her.

The Dancing Dwarf was taller than the name implied. Three stories stretched higher than the surrounding buildings, each level smaller than the last, painted a dull green. The swinging sign out front displayed a jolly, dancing dwarf playing a flute.

But it wasn’t the front door they would be using. If it was a trap, that was what they would expect. Claire and Farron circled around to the back of the tavern, into a dank, dim alley that smelled none-too-pleasant, filled with empty barrels and crates. Graham and Chet came back around the building to keep a look-out, while Alan and Zeriod entered to pose as patrons inside. Farron tried the simple door that probably led into a storeroom or kitchen, but it was locked. Captain Bahadur paced up and down the alleyway.

“This is foolish,” he said, a look of anger clear on his face, though that wasn’t anything new. “This is a trap, and you know it.”

Claire looked up at him, then to Farron. She couldn’t see the elf’s face, but she knew he shared the captain’s reservations. It may have been foolish to come here, but she just had to make sure. With or without their help. “I told you and your men the risks,” she said to the captain. “Walk away now if you want, I won’t stop you. But you will not stop me from going in there.” She pointed toward the tavern.

The captain sighed, but kept pacing, lingering at each corner of the building, most likely to check up on his men.

Claire looked back at the door. The locked one. Now they just had to figure out a way to get in. Farron backed up a few steps and looked up. Was he thinking of climbing? She wasn’t sure how well she could do that. The front door seemed less dangerous to her. But before she could prepare for either, Farron perked up and slinked to the side of the door, motioning her behind him and for the captain to sidle up to the other side. A moment later the handle jiggled, followed by the click of a lock. The door eased open and a short middle-aged man with graying brown hair backed through, trying his best to pull a barrel out after him, cursing under his breath. Farron nodded to the captain, and before the poor man even knew it, he was on the ground with an elf and angry man with an eye patch on top of him, silencing him with the threat of a blade. The man nodded, his eyes wide, and slid up against the wall when he was released. Captain Bahadur kept his sword trained on the man as Farron slipped in through the door, Claire following close behind. She breathed a silent sigh of relief. Well, at least that had been easy. No climbing up the sides of buildings for her today. She just hoped no one would be missing the man too soon and come looking for him.

The room was indeed a storage room, lit by a lone lantern in the corner. Wine casks and barrels of ale were stacked up to the ceiling along the walls and scattered about haphazardly. The disorganization would never have been allowed in her mother’s tavern. If she really was here, how had she let this happen?

Claire shook the thought from her head. She had more important matters at hand. A cacophony of male voices drifted in through the doorway across from them, the door askew.

She eased quietly up to the door and peeked through the thin crack. A dark hallway separated them from the main large room. Her eyes searched frantically through the small opening, unable to take the next step and actually open the door and walk down the hallway to look into the tavern. What if she really wasn’t there? What if it was all just a trap? Her heart beat in her throat so thick she could hardly breathe. She was so close, but still so far away.

Farron gripped her shoulders, making her jump a little. “I’m right behind you,” he whispered close to her ear.

“If she is here,” she said quietly, turning to look up at him. “Please don’t mention about… you know… the mark, what it’s doing to me. I don’t want her to worry.”

He was silent for a moment, his face deep in shadow. “Of course.”

Claire turned and put her hand on the door, ready to ease it open when she was frozen in her tracks by a deep throaty laugh— one she recognized instantly, one she had heard all of her life— moving down the hallway, towards the storage room and to her. But instead of rushing through the door and throwing herself into her mother’s arms, she backed up against the wall. Farron mirrored her stance on the other side of the doorway, almost disappearing completely into the shadows. It was unsettling how he did that so easily.

The door squealed open on its hinges and the woman with the throaty laugh stepped through, her red hair glinting like fire in the lamplight, cursing a man named Carl— their hostage, Claire presumed— for taking so long. Claire stood frozen against the wall as she looked upon her mother for the first time in months. It took her several moments before she could find her voice again.

“Mother,” she managed to croak out.

Marion whirled around, her eyes wide as she finally spotted Claire’s cloaked form. She looked older than Claire remembered but no less beautiful. The bags under her eyes were darker, the lines around her mouth a little deeper, but her hair was the same vibrant shade, only with a few strands of gray throughout. She wore a simple barmaid’s dress in muted browns and white, that showed off more cleavage than she’d ever seen her mother display.

Claire lowered her hood and stepped forward into the light. Marion gasped, a hand going up to her mouth, but before she could utter a single word, Claire was in her arms. She held her mother tight, tears streaming down her cheeks, hardly believing she was real, that she had finally found her. But it was nothing compared to the tightness of her mother’s arms around her. Claire thought she would squeeze the life right out of her.

“Claire,” Marion whispered. “My dear, sweet Claire.”

Farron eased the door closed and stepped out of the shadows. Her mother started and turned Claire away from him as if to protect her.

“Who is he?” she asked, her voice on edge.

“He’s fine, he’s with me,” Claire said, assuring her mother.

Marion’s shoulders relaxed, but she still looked hesitant, not that Claire could blame her. She whirled around to look at Claire, holding her out at arm’s length. “What in the world are you doing here?”

“I came to find you. I had to… ever since you left me that night… I didn’t give up…” Too many thoughts came to her at once and she couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence. “But I finally did.”

For one of the few times in her life, Claire saw tears in her mother’s eyes. She pulled Claire back into her arms. “You’re safe,” she said softly. “I knew they would protect you.” She pulled back again and looked Claire over again, inspecting. “But you shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe here.”

“I know.” She motioned around her. “I wouldn’t have resorted to this if I didn’t.”

Her mother nodded in approval. Conflicting emotions played across her face. Happiness, worry, a hint of anger.

“I had to know…” Claire said softly. “That you were all right.”

Marion pulled her back into her arms, hugging her tight. “I told you this old broad could take care of herself, didn’t I?” She stroked Claire’s hair. “And although I am glad to see that you are safe, I did send you away for a reason that night.” She pulled back and raised Claire’s face up to look at her, a hand on either side. The look in her green eyes was intense. “Did… did they protect you?”

Claire nodded. They had, in a way. It was a long story, and she eventually wanted to tell her mother everything, even about the scar and what the mark was doing to her, but there was no time for that now.

“Sylvia,” sloshed a gruff voice from the hallway. “My dear Sylvia, where have you gone?”

Marion sighed and just shook her head. Claire could feel the corners of her mouth lift into a smile. She wondered how many men serenaded her here, in this small port town, as well.

The man had barely gotten a foot in the door when Farron grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him up against the wall, a blade against his neck. The man’s eyes bulged out of his balding head, his mouth agape, his rather rotund body frozen in shock. Farron kicked the door closed again with his foot.

“You even breathe loudly, I’ll give you a new mouth,” Farron growled.

The man nodded ever so slightly.

Marion raised an eyebrow and grinned. “I like him.” She nodded to the tall cloaked elf. “I’ve been trying to make Walt here be quiet for the past month to no avail.”

Claire just rolled her eyes. If only her mother knew…

“Listen,” her mother said, her voice growing grim. She pulled Claire away from the man so he couldn’t hear. “You can’t stay here. As glad as I am to see you, you shouldn’t have come. They watch me.”

Just as she’d thought. The Syndicate was keeping their eyes on her. Using her as bait. “Come with me then,” she said, taking her mother’s hand. “I can find a place where the Syndicate won’t find you again.”

“You know?” Her mother’s eyes grew wide again, but then she relaxed. “Of course you know. By the looks of it, you probably know more than me. But still, you should leave. They could be watching even now.” She started to pull Claire towards the door leading out to the alley, where she would find yet another surprise waiting for her.

“Sylvie, wa—” The drunk man was cut short and both Claire and Marion spun back around to see him slump down to the floor. Claire gasped. Had Farron really just killed the poor man?

Farron just held a familiar looking little black spine up in front of him, calming her fears instantly. Although it was better than death, the poor man didn’t warrant being poisoned.

Her mother just grunted in a satisfied, amused way. “I could use some of those,” she said matter-of-factly. Then her eyes narrowed, focusing on Farron as if really looking at him for the first time, wondering who accompanied her daughter. “Just who are you, anyway? Have you been protecting my daughter?”

“You could say that.” Claire could hear the smugness in his voice, making her sigh audibly. He dropped his hood then and stepped toward them. “Glad to finally make your acquaintance,” he said, bowing like a gentleman, making a show of it. But Claire knew better. He straightened and gave her a smile. “I have heard—”

“I know you,” her mother said, tensing, her voice surprisingly breathy. She stood in front of Claire again, keeping her close. “I know of you,” she corrected herself. “With hair like that, there is no way that you are not him. The Syndicate has been whispering about you for years…”

Had Claire been the only one that hadn’t heard about him?

“What do you want with my daughter?” The question was almost a threat coming from her mother.

“It’s not what you think,” Claire answered for him. Marion may have an easier time accepting the truth if it came from her. Her mother turned to look at her with worried eyes. “It’s a lot to explain, but I promise you, he is on our side.”

Marion exchanged glances between them, and although she didn’t relax completely, she did ease slightly. Claire couldn’t wait to tell her mother the reality of her relationship with the elf…

But that was an obstacle for another time.

“In any case, you should leave.” She pulled Claire toward the back door once again.

“Are you coming with me?” Claire asked as her mother put her hand on the door to push it open. Her mother paused, her expression falling.

“I don’t think…” Marion said softly.

The door flew open then, and even the dim light in the alley was blinding. A tall shadow of a man stood in their way.

“That would be a very good idea,” the shadowed man said, completing her mother’s sentence. “Now, would it?”

Marion stopped in her tracks, clasping Claire behind her once again.

“Bertrand,” her mother whispered.

“Hello, Marion.” The man’s grin came into focus as Claire’s eyes adjusted. Middle-aged lines decorated an attractive, if rather plain face, his most striking feature being the pair of gray eyes that leered down at her mother. Peppered sandy blonde hair was cropped close to his head. “I do believe you have found something of ours.”

“No!” Marion gasped, pushing Claire back into the room. She slammed the door closed in the man’s face. “Run, Claire!”

Before she could fully process what had just happened, Farron grabbed her right wrist and pulled her toward the door opposite from them, heading into the tavern. But instead of the boisterous crowd she’d heard earlier, a mob of men surrounded the doorway, brandishing weapons varying from swords to maces, trapping them. Farron and Marion surrounded Claire, both at the ready. Claire searched the crowd for Alan or Zeriod, but they were curiously absent. Had they been disposed of already? Claire’s stomach twisted into knots. Had she gotten them all killed?

Farron drew one of his daggers from under his cloak and held it at the ready, his other hand still gripping her wrist hard. Marion held her other wrist, just as tightly. It had been a trap, just as they had all expected. She’d been foolish to think she could come out of this unscathed. She had finally found her mother, but at what price?

Deep laughter sounded from the hall behind them. Bertrand emerged from the storage room, a few men in dark clothing flanking him. “I see that you have received my message,” he said, his eyes settling on Claire, looking her up and down, studying her. “Though I must say, even I didn’t think it would actually work.”

Marion stepped between them, blocking his view of her. “Let her go, Bertrand.”

He laughed again. “Or what?” He motioned to the room around them. “You are outnumbered. Your friends…” He came around so he could look at Claire again, then looked past her to Farron. “Well, let’s just say they were easier to spot than you were.”

“What did you do to them?” Guilt ate away at her insides.

“They’ve been dealt with,” Bertrand said, his voice icy cold. He settled his gray eyes on her once again. “Now, be a good girl and come with me before we do the same to your… mother, here.”

“I won’t let you!” Claire wrenched her wrists free. Anger started to take over. The necklace grew warm around her neck, and the scar along the mark began to itch. Her magic came easier to her now. A blue glowing orb formed in her right hand as she held it up in front of her.

The men surrounding them took a step forward, readying to attack, but Bertrand stopped them with a hand. He grinned. “Even with that, you can’t hope to win against all of us.” More men streamed in from the back room and from the front door, down the stairs from the upper levels.

Claire swallowed. The man had been prepared, that was certain. Their odds weren’t looking good, but she had to try. At least to ensure the safety of Farron and her mother. If anything happened to them… Well, she tried not to think about that.

Archers lined up on the stairs and drew their bows, aiming at Claire and her companions. Farron faced away from her, keeping the majority of the mob in his sight.

Claire tried her best to feign confidence, but sweat had already broken out across her skin. “Apparently you don’t know what me and my friend here are capable of.” She let the blue sphere grow bigger.

“I assure you, that we are well aware, my dear,” Bertrand shot back. “And I guarantee you that we are willing to kill your friend, and your sweet mother, to get what we want. Is that what you want? Are you willing to risk their lives?”

Claire faltered for a moment, her expression surely betraying her. It wasn’t what she wanted at all. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m giving you a choice.” Bertrand stepped forward, his eyes narrowing on her. “Your life in exchange for theirs.”

“You would let them go?” The words spouted from her mouth before she could stop them. The blue ball faded from her hand and she let it drop to her side.

“Don’t listen to him, Claire!” Marion sneered from behind her.

“In exchange for me?” she said softly, her eyes on the floor as she weighed her options. If she went with him, her freedom, that her mother had fought so hard to give her, would be gone, possibly forever, but at least she would know Marion and Farron would be spared, for now. Of course, there was no guarantee that he would even keep his word. If they fought, Claire risked losing both of them, forever. Either way, she would lose. “Do you promise?” She raised her chin, gathering her strength and courage.

“Claire!” Farron shouted.

She took a deep breath and stepped toward Bertrand, her knees shaking. “My life for theirs.”

“Claire, don’t!” Farron shouted again. She heard the stomping of boots on wood and she turned just in time to see a group of men restraining the elf, driving him down to his knees, but not without a struggle.

A few men came forward to take Marion by the arms but didn’t touch her when they saw the glare she shot at them.

“Wise choice, young lady,” Bertrand said, a leering smile on his lips. He motioned to the two dark-clad men that flanked him and they sprang forward to grab her by the arms.

The two men started to pull her to the back room, but Claire dug her heels into the floor. “Wait!”

Bertrand frowned.

“At least, let me say goodbye,” she said, pleading.

He narrowed his eyes at her again, studying her, but nodded. The two men released her and she almost stumbled to the floor.

Claire raced into her mother’s arms, hugging her as if it were the last time she would ever see her, knowing that it could very well be.

“Claire, oh, Claire, no!” her mother whispered into her ear. She squeezed Claire so tight she could hardly breathe. “Don’t do this!”

The decision had been made. She was doing this to save them, to return the favor. She had to pry herself out of her mother’s embrace. She gave Marion’s hands a reassuring squeeze before turning to Farron. She dropped down to her knees to join him on the floor. His expression was hard to read, blank like the mask he used to wear, but with hints of anger and worry showing through. He was seething, she could tell, his shoulders tense under the men’s hands.

“Fare,” she said, framing his face in her hands. He remained silent, almost glaring down at her. He was angry at her and it was understandable. She kissed him then, long and deep, not caring who saw, not even her mother. It took him a few moments to give in to her, to soften up, but soon he was returning her passion with his own, making it hard for her to tear away. When she was finally able to, she hugged him, bringing her mouth close to his ear. In the quietest whisper she could muster, she said, “Find the others.”

The two men grabbed her again and dragged her up to her feet. She looked back at Farron and her mother as she was pulled away to be a prisoner once again. Farron glared back, his eyes showing he understood, however, he didn’t look at all happy about it.

It wasn’t until after she had offered her life for theirs that the thought had occurred to her. She still had a mission, to find the other Star Children. She would be in the Syndicate’s clasp, but she would be that much closer to learning where they kept the others of her kind hidden. At least, that was what she hoped. If that failed, her mother would probably know, or at least have hints to their whereabouts. It wasn’t the best of plans, and she didn’t even know if it would work, but it was the best she was able to come up with given the circumstances.

She just hoped Bertrand would keep his word and that this wasn’t the last time she saw the two people she cared about the most alive.