When Cyrene awoke the next morning, a giant Indres lay at the foot of their beds.

She gasped and jolted to her feet. Then, gleaming golden eyes glanced over at her. Gold eyes. Human eyes. Ahlvie’s eyes.

“I’m okay,” she said, trying to get her heart rate back under control and releasing her magic, all at once.

Ahlvie’s beast form still shocked her. She didn’t know if she would ever get used to seeing the giant wolf-like body and enormous fangs and knowing that it was her friend and not her sworn enemy.

It wasn’t Ahlvie’s fault that he had been shifted into an Indres. Just really bad luck. When his village had been attacked when he was a baby, he’d been bitten. His life had been saved, and the magic was held within him by Ceis’f, no less. When he had been attacked by the Alpha Indres and won, they had claimed him as their own. Now, he had this other form that he was still learning to control. And, Creator, it was terrifying.

“Change out of that. We have work today,” Cyrene instructed him.

He glared at her, and she took another step back. Maybe bossing him around when he was a savage beast wasn’t in her best interest.

But then he began to ripple again, as he had done at Birdie’s place, and then he was lying on the floor, stark naked. She tossed a sheet over him as he panted from the exertion.

“Welcome back,” she said.

“You know I like to make an entrance.” Ahlvie shot her one of his characteristic grins.

“How could I forget?”

“How is she?” His smile faded again. He got to his feet, pulling the sheet tight around his waist.

“The same.”

“Any news from that mystic?”

“About Avoca?” Cyrene chewed on her lip. “No, we’re still working on it.”

She hated lying. But, if she told him right now that there was nothing in this world that could save Avoca, he’d start rippling before her eyes again. And she needed him here, as her Ahlvie.

“But she did give us a tip on a sailor who has been to Alandria.”

Ahlvie’s eyes shot to hers in surprise. “Someone actually has, and we’re not just hoping that this two-thousand-year-old guy isn’t out of his mind?”

“Yep. Someone actually has. And that Mikel,” Cyrene said with an eye roll, “our two-thousand-year-old guy is a Leif from Aonia.”

Ahlvie’s mouth dropped open. “Like Ceis’f?”

“Yeah. He’s not the only Leif from Aonia anymore.”

“I bet he’d just be so excited to hear that,” Ahlvie muttered sarcastically. “The guy whose entire existence is based around being the last of his kind. I’m not sure he’s ready for that identity crisis.”

Cyrene shook her head. “Not that you have any hard feelings for him or anything.”

“None at all,” he said derisively.

“Back to business. I need you to help me find a man with a red feather in his hat at the docks. He’ll be with a woman in men’s clothing, and that’s about as much as we know. Care to put on your mendicant costume and get us some information?”

He seemed to withdraw into himself at the mention of leaving Avoca’s side. “I don’t know, Cyrene…”

“You have a particular skill set that we need right now. We need you. I need you,” she pleaded with him. “I don’t want to leave Avoca either, but if this is our shot to find Alandria, we have to take it.”

It took him a second, but then he finally looked back at Cyrene. “You know I will always be here for you.”

She kept waiting for him to tack on a but to the end of that statement, but he never did. She just nodded her head. She understood beyond words what this was doing to both of them.

“Good. Get dressed, and we’ll head out.”

Ahlvie gestured to the sheet wrapped around his waist. “You don’t think people will talk to me like this?”

Cyrene rolled her eyes. “I think we might attract the wrong crowd.”

Ahlvie winked at her, shot one more forlorn look at Avoca, and then disappeared to change.

She heaved a huge sigh of relief. It seemed like, at least for the time being, she had her Ahlvie back. She doubted it would last, but it seemed that his outburst and shift last night had helped him burn off some of that anger. And it couldn’t have come a day too soon because she really needed him again.

Because her party was fragmenting into pieces.

And she was stuck, trying to hold them all together with her bare hands.

Ahlvie eyed the Biencan docks skeptically. “You know it’s bad when I’m uncertain about whether or not we’re safe here.”

“We’ll have to make do.” Cyrene tightened her grip on his sleeve.

Bienco was infamous for its crime rates, and the docks were some of the poorest parts of town. Vagabonds lay out, nearly naked, on the filthy dirt road. Sailors from all walks of life traveled up and down the boardwalk before the docks where taverns were open day and night, serving large quantities of alcohol and sex. Everyone had at least three visible knives on them, and not a one of them had seen a bath in at least a week.

It was hardly a place where Cyrene could hope to blend in. She looked like a proper lady in these parts, and all it did was draw attention. Ahlvie at least looked like the thief he was, but Cyrene didn’t know if it was enough. It might have been better to stay home, and she said as much to him.

“Maybe, but it’s too late now. Leaving would show weakness.”

So, she held her head high and continued forward into the gloom of the dockyard.

“Excuse me,” Ahlvie said as they approached the first ship with a crew that didn’t look like they would gut them.

“Don’t want any trouble,” the man said. He spit over the side of the dock and into the water.

“No trouble. We’re simply looking for someone. A man with a red feather in his hat. He is usually with a woman in men’s clothing. Ever seen someone like that?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“Nope. Now, move along.”

Ahlvie grinned and then kept moving. They walked up and down the dock, asking around about the red-feathered man. Their eyes were peeled, searching out every hat in sight, but it was clear that, if the red-feathered man was here, he was not on the docks in plain view.

“Taverns?” Cyrene asked. “As long as you don’t try to sell me this time.”

“It was for a good cause.”

She rolled her eyes. Good cause for Ahlvie was a dice game.

“Maybe I should try to gamble. Show them that we’ll spend coin.”

Cyrene laughed. “Likely, they won’t want to tell us anything after they see the way you gamble.”

He shot her a feral grin. “Chance I’m willing to take.”

They walked into the first tavern they could find with a dice game Ahlvie could win—i.e., cheat at—and he sat down at the table. Cyrene ordered a round for the table, and a cheer went up in the hall.

For the next two hours, they wasted away in front of the dice table. Cyrene even forgot for a short while that they were using this distraction to make headway on the docks. It was actually fun to pretend to be someone else. To live a life where her biggest worry was whether or not she won the game in front of her.

But, by the time they left, everyone, save for she and Ahlvie, were thoroughly drunk. She had been tossing out her own drink over the side every chance she got, knowing she had to keep her wits about her. She wrapped an arm around Ahlvie’s pretend drunken form as he scooped up the last of his winnings.

“Thank you. Thank you, kind sir,” Ahlvie said, bowing exaggeratedly. “The woman needs me home. But I shall return!”

A cheer rose up from the crowd surrounding the table, but most of the men playing looked as if they would be glad if Ahlvie never returned. He did have a way of emptying their pockets. She supported him out of the room and down the two stairs, continuing the charade as he started singing some doxy song.

“Okay. All right. That’s enough. Drop the act,” she said three blocks later when she was tiring of holding him up.

“What act?” Ahlvie asked. Then, he pitched forward and nearly fell face-first into the dirt.

“Creator, Ahlvie! Were you truly drinking all that ale?”

“I feel so far away.”

Cyrene wanted to scream. Just wonderful. What was she going to do about getting him back to the inn? Let alone all that time they’d put in, and now, they couldn’t even ask around about the red feather. Curses, Ahlvie!

She was trying to readjust her grip on Ahlvie when she felt gooseflesh erupt on the back of her neck. She swallowed and looked behind her. Several of the men who had been playing at the card table were now following them. Two had knives out, and one had some kind of bat. She could likely take them herself with her magic, but that would certainly draw attention.

“Hey, girlie.” One leered.

“We just want to talk. Why don’t you come talk to us?” a second said.

She chewed on her lip and quickened her pace.

“Oh, this is the worst time for you to be drunk,” she growled at Ahlvie.

Then, she did the only thing she could think. She acted as if she were terrified and ran down the first deserted side street she could find. At least here, she could dump Ahlvie, and there would be no one at her back. Then, she could use her magic without consequence.

She double-checked her surroundings before depositing Ahlvie on the ground where it looked as if he was going to pass out any minute.

“Girlie’s trapped,” one of the men said as they entered the alleyway.

“Nowhere to go.”

Cyrene ignored their taunts and reached for her magic. Without Avoca, it had none of the finesse that she had grown accustomed to. But, alone, she was formidable…in large doses. It was always the smaller bits of magic that she found most difficult. She just couldn’t use so much that she would pass out or kill someone. Because, alone in a dark alley with that much blood, she didn’t trust herself not to harvest the blood magic.

“Why don’t you drop the coin, and we’ll let you walk away?” another one said.

There were five in total. Each one bigger than the next. To most people, this would have been very intimidating.

Fear pricked at her. But not for her. For them. For what she could do to them if she wanted. Make them never intimidate anyone ever again. Make them realize how small and insignificant they truly were.

“I have a better idea,” Cyrene said. “If you leave the alley now, I won’t make you regret ever coming after me.”

Their laugh was a chorus. They didn’t believe her. She was just a small girl.

And, under any other conditions…they’d be right. She was not trained as a warrior. She had no instinctive prowess with a weapon in her hands. She was a lady in a pretty dress and always would be first and foremost. But she could also harness the power of the four elements to bring them to their knees and rip them to shreds with her mind. The duality suited her.

“I did warn you.”

Then, as she was about to call up her powers, a figure exploded from the alley behind her. She was all flying knives, whirling swords, long and powerful limbs, and cascading dark hair. She fought Cyrene’s assailants with a fluidity that was unparalleled. Her movements were like water. Her strike like a snake. Her swords a blur of beautiful, synchronized motion. It was a dance and a song. Choreography that no one else had ever matched.

And Cyrene had watched some incredible fighters. But nothing quite so…striking. There was elegance to it. Grace. She was completely one with herself. Her sword just an extension of her arm.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The men turned tail and fled in the other direction as fast as their feet could carry them. Limbs sliced open and weapons discarded, they ran from this warrior goddess.

She turned around then and brushed her long hair out of her face.

Cyrene’s mouth dropped open. “Gwynora?”

She whipped her blade in the air and pointed it at Cyrene. “What in the Creator’s name are you doing here? You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“I could have handled them.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“We were at a tavern. We won some coin, and the thugs came after us.”

Gwynora sheathed her blade with a sneer. “Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

It was at that point that Ahlvie decided to rouse from whatever drunken stupor he’d fallen into. “Just one more round!”

Gwynora raised her eyebrows. “Is he all right?”

“Actually, he’s quite intoxicated. I have to figure out how to get him back to our inn.”

Gwynora hissed through her teeth. “I know a place nearby that makes a concoction to help sober him up. Then, you and your friends can get out of my city.”

“Thank you,” Cyrene said graciously. Though she had no intention of leaving until they found what they had come here for.

They hoisted Ahlvie up between them and all but carried him the few short blocks to a little herbal apothecary. An old woman cooed over Gwynora and then ushered her to the back.

Cyrene was shocked to find that the back room was actually a massive den. A dozen private rooms formed the perimeter with an area in the center where a group of half-naked men and women smoked from various pipes. Sweet smoke filled the space and made everything look hazy. The woman poured water on a pile of hot coals, and sticky steam wafted up into the closed space.

Sweat dripped down Cyrene’s neck from the intense temperature, but Gwynora seemed unfazed. She gestured to the back private room, and they moved Ahlvie back there.

Cyrene went to pull back the curtain to the room when a man thrust it aside.

“My apologies,” Cyrene said, taking an unsteady step backward.

“No worries, my dear,” the man said with a wink.

Then, Cyrene’s eyes zeroed in on the man. And his hat. With a large red feather in it.