Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor Chapter 93. A Port Named Destiny (Morgana's POV) Part 1

Vethia. Port city and capital of the Marak kingdom. White stone buildings crowded the coast where the Syruval Sea t the Alyrian shores. The docks reeked of salt, fish, and exotic spices. rchants haggled in multiple languages while dock workers hauled crates and barrels from ships that had traveled from every corner of the known world.

Morgana leaned against a stack of crates, watching gulls circle above the busy port where traders shouted prices and sailors hauled cargo.

Ten months had changed her.

The rough cotton of her dress felt natural now, and her once-soft hands had grown calloused from months of crafting – weaving baskets, carving trinkets, and sewing the intricate patterns the Veyshari were known for.

Behind her, the Veyshari were preparing their ship for departure. The Viento Libre had been her ho since that winter night when she'd left Arkhos behind. Now they were leaving, and she was staying.

Mirko approached, his massive fra blocking the morning sun. His beard was tied with colorful threads, and his eyes crinkled at the corners when he spotted her.

"Still making sad face?" he asked, crossing his arms. "Not too late to change mind."

Morgana smiled despite herself. "I've made my decision."

"Bah! Decisions." He waved a aty hand. "I decide to eat fish yesterday. Today, I want bread. Tomorrow?" He shrugged dramatically. "Maybe horse."

She laughed. "I don't think you've ever eaten horse."

"Not important." Mirko leaned closer. "Important is you belong with us now. Ten months! You speak our language, you make coin with us. My sister teach you dicines. Why stay in boring port?"

The question hung in the air. Why indeed? The past ten months had been the freest of her life. With the Veyshari, she'd sailed to ports she'd only read about in books. She'd slept under stars so bright they seed close enough to touch. She'd danced around campfires, learned to haggle in three languages, and for the first ti since childhood, she'd laughed – really laughed – until her sides ached.

"You know why," she said finally.

Mirko's expression grew serious. "Revenge make poor compass, cireaşă mică."

Little cherry. His nickna for her since the ti she'd eaten so many cherries at a market that her lips had stained red for days.

Before she could respond, a group of Veyshari approached, led by Mirela. They ford a half-circle around Morgana.

"We bring gifts," announced an older woman nad Drina, holding out a bundle wrapped in blue cloth. "For new journey."

"I can't accept—" Morgana began.

"You insult us now?" Drina raised an eyebrow. "After we feed you ten months?"

"That's not what I—"

"Good! Then take." She thrust the bundle into Morgana's arms. "Clothes, herbs, charms. Things you need."

One by one, they pressed gifts into her hands. A cooking pot. A knife with a bone handle. A small pouch of tea that "make bad n tell truth" according to old Petru with a sly wink.

Then ca Vano, a boy barely sixteen who'd taught her to weave baskets during long sea crossings. He shuffled forward, holding out a small cloth purse that clinked with coins.

"This is too much," Morgana said, trying to give it back.

"Is money you earn," Vano insisted. "Your share from market sales. We save for you."

"But—"

"Destul!" Mirko bellowed. "Enough argunt. You take gifts because we are family now. Family help family."

Family. The word hit her harder than she expected. In a sense, they had beco her family. Just like Adom and Sam.

It felt... good.

"Thank you," she managed, her throat tight.

The others drifted back to the ship after quick embraces and whispered good wishes. Only Mirela remained, standing quiet beside her uncle.

"Go prepare ship," Mirko told his niece. "I talk with stubborn girl one mont."

Mirela didn't move. "I stay."

He sighed. "Fine, fine. Everyone so stubborn." He fixed Morgana with a serious look. "Listen to now. You good girl with bad plans. World bigger than revenge."

"Not for ," Morgana said.

"Yes, for you too." He tapped her forehead. "You just not see yet. But one day, maybe." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden box. "For when that day co."

Inside was a silver ring with a red stone that seed to glow from within.

"Veyshari blood ring," he explained. "When you need us – real need, not silly need – you break stone. We will know. We will co."

"How?" Morgana asked, slipping the ring onto her finger.

Mirko tapped his nose. "Magic secret. You just rember – break stone, we co."

Behind them, a sailor called sothing in Veyshari. Mirko nodded.

"Ti to go." He grabbed Morgana in a bear hug that lifted her off the ground. "Be smart. Be safe. No dying."

"I'll try," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

He set her down and stomped back toward the ship, leaving her with Mirela.

The sorceress looked different in the daylight – younger sohow, though her eyes still held that ancient wisdom Morgana had co to respect.

"Last chance," Mirela said softly. "Co with us to Southern Isles. Much sun, good food. No emperors to kill."

Morgana smiled sadly. "You know I can't."

"Can. Won't." Mirela reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchnt. "Our route. Next five years. Where to find us, when."

Morgana took the parchnt, touched beyond words. "I don't know what to say."

"Say nothing. Just listen." Mirela took her hands. "Path you choose – darkness waits there. Not just for enemies. For you too."

"I know what I'm doing."

"No. You don't." Mirela's grip tightened. "Rember what I tell you that night on boat? About blood curse?"

"I rember."

"Good. Because curse real. Very real." She leaned closer. "But also rember this – where is darkness, can be light too. Choice always there."

From the ship, a horn blew. Final call.

"I need to go," Mirela said. She hesitated, then pulled Morgana into a quick embrace. "First friend I have who not Veyshari. Strange, yes?"

"Very strange," Morgana agreed, hugging her back.

Mirela stepped away. "If you change mind, use paper. Find us."

"I will."

With a final nod, Mirela turned and hurried back to the ship.

Morgana watched as the Veyshari cast off, their colorful flags fluttering in the morning breeze. Mirko stood at the bow, his great arms crossed. Mirela beside him, a small figure in her bright shawl. Others waved from the deck, calling farewell promises in a mix of languages.

Morgana waved back until the ship turned toward the open sea. Until the figures grew too small to distinguish. Until the sails were just white specks on the horizon.

Then she turned to face the city of Vethia, her new gifts clutched to her chest. Ten months of peace was enough.

She had work to do.

The ring felt like a lifeline. But not one she intended to use. This was her path now. Alone.

The path to power. The path to justice.

The path that would end with her uncle's bl–

"Kantu malla transporta?" a boy asked, gesturing at the pile of gifts at her feet.

Morgana blinked, montarily yanked from thoughts of imperial blood and justice. Rude. "What?"

The boy switched languages. "Transport things? Good price." He patted his cart proudly. The wheels looked like they'd fall off if soone sneezed too hard.

"Oh. No, thank you," Morgana said. She lifted her hand, showing a small copper ring on her index finger. "Dinsional storage."

The boy's eyes widened. "Magic ring! Very fancy." He watched with undisguised fascination as she touched each item, making them vanish one by one into the ring's pocket dinsion. "You from Sundar, yes?"

Morgana paused mid-motion. "Is it that obvious?"

"Accent heavy like stone," he said, mimicking her pronunciation with exaggerated thickness. "I'm Kafi. I know all Vethia. Need guide?"

Morgana looked at him properly for the first ti. Maybe twelve years old, with sun-darkened skin and clothes that had been patched so many tis they were more patch than original fabric. Sharp eyes, though. The kind that missed nothing.

"I don't need—"

"Yes, you need," Kafi interrupted confidently. "New in city? Everyone get lost. Everyone get robbed. Maybe worse."

"I can take care of myself."

Kafi snorted. "Sure, sure. Like other foreigners who end up in harbor with throat cut."

Morgana considered the boy. She did need information, and local knowledge was valuable. "I'm looking for a place called..."

She hesitated, rembering the na Mirela had given her. "The Copper Lantern."

Kafi's expression shifted subtly. "Ah. You need that kind of guide."

"Can you take there or not?"

"Can. Very expensive." He nad a price that made Morgana laugh out loud.

"That's more than a week's lodging at a decent inn."

"Special tax," Kafi said with a shrug.

"What tax?"

"Foreigner tax. Sundar lady tax. Pretty lady tax." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Also danger tax, because Copper Lantern not nice place."

"You're scamming ."

"No scam. Just business." He grinned, showing a missing front tooth. "But for you, special discount."

Kafi nad another price, only marginally less outrageous. Morgana crossed her arms and waited.

"Fine, fine," he grumbled, cutting the price in half.

"Still too much."

They haggled for another minute before settling on a price that Morgana suspected was still too high but couldn't be bothered to argue further about.

"Deal," she said. "But half now, half when we arrive."

"Smart lady." Kafi nodded approvingly. "Follow ."

He led her away from the docks and into the city proper. Vethia was a maze of narrow streets and towering buildings. White listone structures crowded together, connected by arched bridges that spanned the gaps between them. People flowed through the streets like water – rchants in bright silks, sailors with skin tanned dark by the sun, nobles carried in curtained palanquins.

"Watch step," Kafi warned as they passed a creature that looked like the unholy offspring of a crab and a seagull. It was picking through a pile of discarded fish guts with its beak-like mandibles.

"What is that?" Morgana asked, giving it a wide berth.

"Harbor crawler. Eat garbage, sotis cats. Sotis children who not listen to mothers." Kafi grinned at her expression. "Joke. Mostly joke."

They turned down a street lined with stalls selling everything from spices to magical trinkets. A woman with blue-tinged skin was selling vials of glowing liquid. Next to her, a man with three arms juggled knives while calling out prices.

"What do you know about the Copper Lantern?" Morgana asked as they navigated through the crowd.

Kafi glanced at her. "Information house. People go in with coins, co out with secrets." He lowered his voice. "Or sotis, not co out."

"That's reassuring."

"Why you need this place? Maybe I help instead."

"I doubt you have the information I need."

"Try ." Kafi puffed out his chest. "I know everything about Vethia."

"Everything?" Morgana raised an eyebrow.

"Everything important," he anded.

A roar from above made them both look up. A creature with leathery wings circled the highest towers, its long neck stretched forward as it searched for prey.

"Red Wyvern," Kafi said. "City guard use them for patrol."

"They're smaller than I expected," Morgana observed.

"Not so small when they eating your face."

They passed through a square where a man was performing so kind of magic show. He held up a bowl of water, whispered to it, and then tossed the contents into the air. Instead of falling, the water ford itself into the shape of dancing won who twirled above the delighted audience.

"Water mage from Talivar," Kafi explained without being asked. "They make best street magic. Also best assassins." He gave her a sideways look. "Why you need Copper Lantern? Assassin too expensive for most."

"I'm not looking for an assassin."

"Good. Assassins ssy. Information better weapon anyway." He tapped his temple. "My father say this."

"Is your father a guide too?"

"Was rchant. Now dead." Kafi said it matter-of-factly. "Pirates."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "Long ti ago. Now I guide, sotis sell things, sotis..." He made a vague gesture that could have ant anything from "run errands" to "commit petty theft."

They turned down a narrower street where the buildings leaned in so close they almost touched overhead, blocking out most of the sunlight. The sll changed – less salt and spice, more sewage and unwashed bodies.

"Bad area now," Kafi warned. "Keep hand on coin purse. Also maybe knife."

"I think I can handle myself," Morgana said dryly.

"Maybe. But handle ten n with knives?" He shook his head. "Even magic lady need be careful."

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringent.

A group of rough-looking n watched them pass, eyes tracking Morgana with uncomfortable interest. She stared back, unflinching, one hand resting casually on the bone-handled knife the Veyshari had given her. The n eventually looked away.

"Good stare," Kafi whispered approvingly. "Like angry cat."

They passed a tavern where the sounds of a brawl spilled into the street, then a brothel with won and n lounging in windows, calling out offers to passersby. A street vendor was selling what looked like roasted rat on a stick. The sll was surprisingly... appetizing.

A vestige from her cat days, Morgana assud.

"Almost there," Kafi said. "Rember deal – half paynt now."

Morgana handed over the agreed amount. "If you're leading into a trap, I'll find you."

Kafi looked genuinely offended. "I am guide, not thief." They stared at each other. "Well, sotis small thief, but never from custors." He pointed ahead. "There. Copper Lantern."

The building was unassuming – three stories of weathered stone with a single copper lantern hanging by the door. No sign, no indication of what business was conducted inside. If Kafi hadn't pointed it out, she would have walked right past it.

"They have what you need. Maybe." Kafi shifted from foot to foot. "But rember, information has price. Sotis money, sotis..." He drew a finger across his throat.

"Noted." Morgana handed him the rest of his paynt.

Kafi counted it carefully, then nodded, satisfied. "Need guide back to good area?"

"I'll find my way."

"Sure, sure. All foreigners say this." He pocketed the coins. "When you get lost or stabbed, ask anyone for Kafi with broken tooth. I co rescue, only small fee."

Despite herself, Morgana smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."

Kafi gave her a mock salute and lted into the crowd, leaving Morgana alone in front of the Copper Lantern. She took a deep breath, checked that her knife was easy to reach, and stepped toward the door.

She imdiately found herself into a haze of pipe smoke and dim amber light. The place slled of stale beer, unwashed bodies, and sothing faintly tallic that might have been blood. Not an inn, despite appearances – or at least, not just an inn.

Tables dotted the main floor, most occupied by people who looked like they made their living doing things that shouldn't be discussed in polite company. A few card gas were in progress. Money and daggers sat side by side on tabletops.

The room fell into a brief hush as she entered, then resud its murmur of conversation, now punctuated with whispers and sidelong glances. Morgana kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, spine straight, steps asured. The way her father had taught her to walk into a room full of vipers.

"Look what the tide washed in," a man called out as she passed. "Need company, sweetheart?"

She ignored him, hand instinctively rising to touch the necklace beneath her shirt. The intricate gold and silver piece Sam and Adom had given her wasn't just beautiful – Mirela had confird it contained powerful protective enchantnts, capable of deflecting even fairly strong magical attacks. A valuable gift. But not surprising, considering Adom had a hand in it. The boy was the smartest one she'd ever seen.

"Hey, I'm talking to you," the man persisted, grabbing her arm.

Morgana stopped. Didn't turn. "Remove your hand if you want to keep it."

A mont of silence, then laughter from the man's companions. He released her with a muttered curse.

She continued to the counter at the back of the room where a middle-aged woman stood polishing glasses. The woman had steel-gray hair pulled back in a severe bun and arms corded with muscle. Her eyes tracked Morgana's approach with the wariness of soone who'd seen too much to be easily impressed.

"What'll it be?" she asked, setting down the glass.

Morgana leaned in slightly. "I hear the copper moon shines brightest at midnight."

The code phrase Mirela had taught her. The woman's expression didn't change, but her eyes narrowed slightly.

"We don't serve that here," she replied, continuing to polish glasses. "Try the Bull's Horn down the street."

"I was told specifically to co here," Morgana pressed. "By soone who knows the value of accurate information."

The woman set down her cloth and gave Morgana a slow, deliberate once-over, taking in her travel-worn clothes, the way she held herself, the set of her jaw.

"And what sort of information would a pretty young thing like you be after? Lost boyfriend? Cheating husband?" A thin smile. "Or maybe you're selling sothing yourself?"

"I need certain connections. Political ones."

"Political?" The woman snorted. "Honey, do you know where you are? This isn't so noble's salon."

"I know exactly where I am," Morgana said evenly. "And I know what you do here. So we can either stop pretending, or I can find another broker."

At a nearby table, two n suddenly rose, shouting about a marked card. One flipped the table, sending coins scattering across the floor. Several patrons dived for the money. The argunt escalated, a knife appeared, and within seconds the n were grappling, crashing into other tables.

The barwoman didn't even glance their way. Neither did Morgana.

"Bold words for soone standing alone in a den of thieves," the woman said, leaning forward. "Fancy accent, nice posture. Nobility fallen on hard tis, is it? Or just playing at being dangerous?"

"Test if you like," Morgana replied coldly. "But I'm not here to prove myself to a re gatekeeper."

Behind them, the fight had grown to include four n now. Soone crashed into a shelving unit, sending bottles smashing to the floor. Still, the barwoman's eyes never left Morgana's face.

"A re gatekeeper," she repeated, voice dangerously soft. "You know, girl, a tongue like that can lead to all sorts of misadventures. Especially when you don't have the power to back it up."

Morgana leaned closer. "I have more power than you can imagine. And I'm tired of gas. Either take to your master or tell you can't help. But don't waste my ti with these petty intimidations."

The woman stared at her for a long, tense mont – then abruptly threw her head back and laughed, a genuine bark of amusent that montarily rose above the din of the ongoing brawl.

"Oh, I like you," she said, wiping away an imaginary tear. "Stupid as a brick wall, but brave. Like a baby wyvern hissing at a dragon." She jerked her head toward a door behind the counter. "Co on, then. Let's see if Madam Rook thinks you're as entertaining as I do."

She lifted a section of the counter and Morgana passed through. Behind her, soone finally broke up the fight by dumping a bucket of water on the combatants.

"What's your na, fierce one?" the woman asked as she led Morgana down a narrow hallway.

"Lyra," Morgana lied smoothly, using the na she'd decided on during her journey.

"Well, 'Lyra,'" Tabitha said, emphasizing the na with obvious skepticism, "I'm Tabitha. And a word of advice – Madam Rook isn't as amused by bravado as I am. Try that 're gatekeeper' nonsense with her, and you'll leave here in pieces. Small ones."

They passed several closed doors. From behind one ca the sound of soone weeping. From another, laughter that raised the hair on Morgana's arms.

"I ant no disrespect," Morgana said, not entirely truthfully. "I simply don't have ti for gas."

"Everyone has ti for gas here," Tabitha replied. "The only question is whether you're a player or a piece." She stopped at a door near the end of the hall and knocked three tis. "And piece by piece is how they'll find you if you forget that."

A voice from inside called sothing Morgana couldn't make out.

"One more thing," Tabitha said, hand on the doorknob. "Whatever you're after – make sure it's worth dying for. Because in this line of work, that's always on the table."

She opened the door, revealing a lavishly appointed office that stood in stark contrast to the dingy tavern front. Rich carpets covered the floor. Shelves lined with books and curious objects filled one wall. And behind a massive desk of dark wood sat a woman with blood-red hair and the coldest eyes Morgana had ever seen.

"Madam Rook," Tabitha announced, "this is 'Lyra.' She's looking for political connections and has a mouth that writes promissory notes her sword arm can't cash."

The red-haired woman smiled, revealing teeth filed to points. "How interesting. Send her in."

Morgana stepped into the office, heart pounding but face carefully composed. The door closed behind her with a finality that felt like a prison gate shutting.

"So," Madam Rook said, gesturing to a chair across from her desk. "First smart thing you've done today – not giving your real na." She tapped long fingernails against the wood. "Now tell what brings you to my humble establishnt, and why I shouldn't have you thrown into the harbor for wasting my ti."

Morgana sat, back straight, eyes level. She took a deep breath and began to speak.

"I'm looking for a man."

Rook's painted eyebrows rose. "A man? Well, darling, aren't we all?" She let out a throaty laugh. "Though so of us prefer won. Or both. Or neither, depending on the day." She leaned forward, resting her chin on steepled fingers. "You'll need to be more specific. n are rather common in this world, like rats and bad decisions."

Morgana sighed inwardly. She would have to get used to this – the gas, the innuendo, the constant circling before getting to the point. Politics in the shadows was different from the imperial court, but no less tedious.

"I'm looking for a specific man," she clarified. "A forr Star Knight of the Sundarian Empire. Sir Bedivere."

Sothing flickered in Rook's eyes – recognition, wariness, interest.

"Sir Bedivere," she repeated, her voice suddenly neutral. "That's a na I haven't heard in so ti."

"He disappeared shortly after the death of Emperor Rayhan's brother, Prince Soren. My research suggests he may have co to Vethia."

Madam Rook's expression shifted, growing more calculating. She tapped her long fingernails against the desk – a slow, thodical rhythm. "And why would you, a young woman clearly far from ho, be looking for a disgraced imperial knight?"

"My reasons are my own."

"Hmm." Rook sat back. "And who exactly are you? Really?"

"That's not relevant to our business."

"Everything is relevant in my business, girl." Rook's smile didn't reach her eyes. "But very well. Keep your secrets for now. They'll unravel on their own – they always do. You don't strike as soone who stays hidden for long."

She stood and moved to a cabinet behind her desk. "Sir Bedivere. Forr Captain of the Star Knights. Emperor's Champion. Hero of the Crimson Pass." She pulled out a small key. "Quite the fall from grace, wouldn't you say?"

Morgana's heart beat faster. "Then he is here?"

Rook unlocked the cabinet and removed a folder. "Information has a price in the Copper Lantern. Especially information about n like Bedivere."

"How much?"

"Oh, I don't want your coins." Rook laughed softly. "Not for this."

Morgana took a deep breath. "One mont." She twisted the copper ring on her finger, reaching into the pocket dinsion it connected to. After a mont of concentration, she withdrew a small velvet pouch.

Rook watched with undisguised interest. "Dinsional storage. Expensive toy."

Morgana placed the pouch on the desk between them. "This should cover it."

With a raised eyebrow, Rook opened the pouch and tipped its contents onto the desk. A crystal the size of a plum tumbled out, glowing with a soft blue light. Inside, sothing that looked like smoke swirled and eddied.

"A spirit crystal," Rook breathed, surprise evident in her voice. She picked it up carefully, examining it. "Where did a girl like you get sothing like this?"

"Does it matter?"

"I suppose not." Rook held the crystal up to the light. "Do you know what this is? What it contains?"

"A bound spirit. At least three centuries old, based on the color."

"And you know what information brokers use these for?"

Morgana nodded. "The spirit can be released to serve as a spy. Immaterial, invisible to most. Perfect for gathering information. Typically bound to serve three tasks before being freed."

"A rather valuable trade item." Rook placed the crystal back in its pouch with surprising gentleness. "Where did you learn about such things?"

"I read a lot."

That earned an actual laugh from Rook. "I'm sure you do." She slid the folder across the desk. "Sir Bedivere arrived in Vethia approximately eight years ago. He ca on a rchant vessel from the Eastern Shores, traveling under the na Darin Shaw."

Morgana opened the folder. Inside were sketches, docunts, and what appeared to be transcripts of conversations.

"He spent his first few weeks drinking himself into oblivion at various establishnts around the port," Rook continued. "Ran out of money quickly. Tried to find work as a rcenary, but his reputation – or lack thereof – preceded him. No one wanted to hire a disgraced knight with a drinking problem."

Morgana flipped through the pages, scanning quickly. "And then?"

"And then he made the mistake of borrowing money from the wrong people. When he couldn't pay it back, he was sold to cover the debt." Rook's voice was matter-of-fact. "He now belongs to a man nad Cassius Thorne."

Morgana's head snapped up. "Sold? As a slave?"

"Technically, as a gladiator. Thorne runs the fighting pits in the southern quarter. Very popular entertainnt. Very profitable." Rook gestured to a page in the folder. "Bedivere fights under the na 'The Fallen Star.' Quite clever, really. His matches draw substantial crowds."

"This is barbaric," Morgana whispered.

"This is Vethia," Rook corrected her. "Outside the Empire, the rules are different. Sundarian sensibilities don't apply here."

Morgana stared at a sketch of a man in a fighting cage, face obscured by a helt but stance unmistakably military. The Star Knight who had once taught her to hold a sword, reduced to fighting for the entertainnt of criminals and rchants.

"How do I find him?" she asked.

"That's all in the file. Locations, schedules, security arrangents." Rook leaned forward. "But I should warn you – Thorne doesn't part with his property easily. Especially not profitable property like Bedivere."

"I'll handle Thorne."

"Will you?" Rook's smile was razor-sharp. "A girl with a fake na and a dinsional ring, against the man who controls half the criminal enterprises in Vethia? That should be entertaining."

Morgana closed the folder. "Thank you for the information."

"A word of advice." Rook's voice stopped her as she stood to leave. "Whatever ga you're playing – and yes, it's obvious you're playing one – rember that Vethia has its own rules. Break them at your peril."

"I'm not afraid."

"That's your first mistake." Rook's eyes were cold. "In this city, the fearless die young and the cautious grow rich and old."

Morgana tucked the folder into her belt. "I'll take my chances."

"Before you go..." Rook's voice stopped her again. She was studying Morgana intently now, head tilted. "Those blue eyes. That face. I knew I recognized you."

Morgana tensed.

"I t you once, at the Imperial Harvest Festival. You were just a child then – what, eight? Nine? Standing beside your father, General Soren. You've grown well, Lady Morgana."

The blood drained from Morgana's face. "You're mistaken."

"We both know I'm not." Rook smiled thinly. "The Emperor's niece, daughter of the general he had executed for 'treason.' Tell , does your uncle know you're alive? I was under the impression he'd been quite... thorough... in eliminating your father's line."

Morgana's hand drifted to her knife. "If you tell anyone—"

"Put that away," Rook said dismissively. "Your secret is safe with – for now. That crystal bought you that much."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because dead girls don't pay for information, and I suspect you'll need more of my services before your business in Vethia is concluded." Rook tapped the spirit crystal. "Besides, your uncle and I have our own... history. I have no love for Emperor Rayhan."

Morgana slowly lowered her hand.

"So advice, though." Rook opened a drawer and pulled out a small object. "If you're planning to move around this city – especially near the fighting pits – you'll need better disguise than a false na." She slid a half-mask across the desk. It was made of dark leather, simple but well-crafted. "Blue eyes like yours are uncommon in Vethia. Hide them."

Morgana picked up the mask. "Why help ?"

"Call it an investnt in an interesting future." Rook shrugged. "Or perhaps I simply enjoy watching players who change the ga."

"I'm not playing a ga."

"Everyone's playing a ga, Lady Morgana. The only question is whether you know the rules." Rook's voice grew serious. "Bedivere fights tomorrow night. If you plan to reach him, you'll need to move quickly. His last opponent nearly took his head off. I doubt he'll survive many more matches."

Morgana slipped the mask into her belt alongside the folder. "Thank you."

"Don't thank yet. Finding Bedivere was the easy part. Getting him away from Thorne..." Rook made a cutting motion across her throat. "That's where most people end up dead."

The door closed behind Morgana with a soft click that sohow felt more final than a slam. She stood in the dark hallway, folder clutched to her chest, heart racing.

This was bad. Really bad. She acted like an amateur, and soone already knew her identity.

I need to be more careful. She told herself.

Now she just had to free him from a gladiator pit controlled by one of Vethia's most dangerous n.

Simple.

Morgana nodded to Tabitha as she passed through the main room of the Copper Lantern, the weight of the folder heavy against her hip.

"See you soon, fierce one," Tabitha called after her.

Morgana didn't respond. The less she interacted with these people, the better. She pushed open the door and stepped back into the narrow street, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the daylight.

They were waiting for her.

The man whose arm she'd threatened, flanked by five others. They ford a loose semicircle, blocking her path. Behind them, other pedestrians quickly moved to the opposite side of the street or ducked into doorways. No one wanted to get involved.

"Well, well," the man said, stepping forward. His breath stank of cheap ale. "Wasn't done talking to you."

Morgana glanced past them, calculating escape routes. "I was done talking to you."

"Didn't like how you embarrassed in front of my friends." He gestured to the n behind him. "I was just trying to be friendly. Offer you a drink. See where things might lead."

"Nowhere," Morgana said flatly. "It would have led nowhere. You should be grateful I didn't waste your ti or mine." She took a step forward. "Now, if you'll excuse —"

His hand shot out and gripped her arm again, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "I don't think—"

There was a sound like canvas tearing, followed by a wet thud as his hand hit the street. The man stared at his wrist, now ending in a cleanly severed stump, blood pulsing from the wound.

It took three full seconds before the pain registered. When it did, his scream echoed off the buildings.

"I told you you'd lose it if you touched again," Morgana said calmly, as the man fell to his knees, clutching his spurting wrist. "You should have listened."

Two of his friends rushed to his side, one tearing off his shirt to wrap around the stump. The man's face had gone grey, his screams fading to whimpers as shock set in.

"What the hell?" one of the others demanded, eyes wide. "Are you a mage?"

Morgana smiled. The wind charm Mirela had sewn into her bracelets—what had she called it? A scythe ward—had worked perfectly. Small enough to be hidden, powerful enough to sever flesh with a single activation.

"Maybe I am," she said, letting her smile widen. "Want to find out what else I can do?"

Two of the n imdiately backed away. One turned and ran. The handless man swayed dangerously, close to passing out.

"She's lying," said one who remained, a tall man with a scarred face. "That was an artifact. I saw the flash."

"Definitely an artifact," agreed another. "Mages eyes glow when they use magic."

Morgana kept her face impassive, but inwardly cursed. Of course there would be people in Vethia who could tell the difference.

"Artifact or not," she said, "there are more where that ca from. I suggest you pick up your friend before he bleeds out, and leave."

The scarred man drew a knife. "Or we take what you have. Artifacts like that fetch a pretty price."

The other two still standing produced weapons of their own. Morgana reached for her knife, calculating her odds. Three ard n, possibly experienced fighters. With the artifacts she had, she could definitely take them, would she have to kill them? It would be bad to have to run from the local authorities for murder....

They were approaching.

Closing in three...

Morgana pushed the trigger of the bracelet.

Two...

The necklace started to glow.

One...

The first man dropped before she could move. One mont he was advancing, the next he was face-down on the cobblestones, a boot on the back of his neck.

The newcor moved so fast he seed to blur. He caught the second man's knife hand, twisted until sothing snapped, then drove an elbow into his throat. The man went down gagging and retching.

The scarred man managed to get a swing in, but the newcor sidestepped it easily. What followed wasn't so much a fight as it was a thodical dismantling. The newcor blocked, dodged, and countered with precise, economical movents. Each strike landed with the wet sound of breaking bones or tearing flesh.

Through it all, Kafi stood to the side, bouncing excitedly. "Get him, Raz! Break his stupid face!"

The scarred man tried to run. The newcor—Raz, apparently—hooked a foot around his ankle and sent him sprawling. A quick kick to the ribs flipped him onto his back, then Raz planted a boot on his throat.

"Apologize to the lady," Raz said pleasantly, as if discussing the weather.

The scarred man gargled sothing unintelligible.

"Louder. And with feeling."

"S-sorry," the man wheezed. "Won't happen again."

"Good." Raz removed his boot. "Take your friends and get lost. And leave the hand." He pointed to the severed appendage still lying in the street. "Think of it as a lesson in manners."

The remaining conscious n scrambled to help their fallen comrades. The one who'd lost his hand was barely conscious, mumbling incoherently as they dragged him away. One paused long enough to grab the severed hand before they disappeared down an alley.

Raz dusted off his hands and turned to Morgana, giving her a slow once-over that ended in an appreciative whistle.

"Well," he said, "the brat wasn't lying. You are sothing to look at."

Morgana's eyes narrowed. She glanced at Kafi, who was grinning broadly. "You know this person?"

"My brother!" Kafi announced proudly. "Best fighter in lower city. Uses Fluid like water."

Now that she looked, Morgana could see the resemblance. The sa sharp features, though Raz's were more defined, his jawline stronger. He was maybe ten years older than Kafi, tall and lean, with the long, corded muscles of soone who fought for a living.

"I was handling it," she said.

"Of course you were." Raz's grin was infuriatingly confident. "That's why they were about to gut you."

"I had a plan."

"Let guess—lose more pieces of them with that fancy artifact in your sleeve?" He shook his head. "That only works until soone's fast enough to get past it. Or until you run out of charges."

Kafi tugged at his brother's sleeve. "Told you she'd need help. Knew there'd be trouble. Could sll it."

"You could sll a profit," Morgana corrected.

Kafi grinned, unashad. "Need help, can pay for help. Fair, yes?"

Raz laughed. "The boy's a capitalist to his bones. I've tried to beat it out of him, but..." He shrugged. "So things are just in the blood."

Morgana looked between them. Raz had killed at least one of those n, she was certain of it. The one who'd caught an elbow to the throat hadn't been breathing when they dragged him off. Yet here he was, chatting casually as if they'd just stopped for tea.

The casual violence of it was... unsettling. Even in a place like Vethia.

"I had it under control," Morgana said firmly. She wasn't about to explain that the protective necklace she wore would have repelled their weapons. Let them think what they wanted.

Raz studied her for a mont, then shrugged. "If you say so." He nudged his brother. "Put your hand away, brat. The lady doesn't want our services."

Kafi reluctantly lowered his hand, but his expression remained hopeful. "Maybe other services? What you looking for at Copper Lantern? Maybe we help."

"No," Morgana said. "Thank you, but no."

"Sure? We know Vethia very well. Know people, know places."

"I'm sure," Morgana replied, starting to walk past them. "Good day to you both."

"Your choice," Raz called after her. "But Vethia eats foreigners who go alone. Rember that."

Morgana didn't look back.