His gloved hand hung between us, motionless.
For an instant, I considered turning away—pretending I hadn't heard him, gathering what remained of my wares, and losing myself in the crowd. But I didn't.
Some part of me, the same quiet voice that had urged me to channel magic in the market, whispered that this moment mattered. That refusing now would close a door I could never reopen.
I took his hand.
His grip was warm, steady, unhurried.
"I am called Ashel," he said. "No need to offer your name again. I heard it clearly this morning."
"You followed me."
"I observed."
It was not quite the same thing, but I didn't argue.
He released my hand and gestured toward the mouth of the alley. "Walk with me."
---
We slipped into the winding lanes behind the eastern market. Evening had turned the city brittle and cold; frost laced the cobblestones, catching the last light in silver veins.
I kept my gaze fixed ahead, though I could feel Ashel's eyes measuring every hesitation in my step.
"You showed restraint today," he said after a time. "And resourcefulness. Both are rarer than you might think."
"You don't know me."
"Perhaps not," he agreed. "But I know something of what you are."
"And what is that?"
He paused, turning to face me fully. The lamplight caught the silver sigil on his collar—a stylized wheel crossed by a diagonal slash.
"Hungry," he said softly. "And unwilling to remain so."
I swallowed. The words felt too close, as if he'd reached inside me to pluck out a truth I hadn't dared speak aloud.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"Not your obedience," he said. *"Not yet. Only your curiosity."
He gestured to a recessed doorway nearby. A hanging lantern swayed above it, painted with the faded crest of a quill and scales—an old scribes' tavern.
"Sit with me," he said. *"Hear my proposition. You are free to refuse."
"And if I do?"
"Then I'll leave you to your ledger and your coppers," he said mildly. *"No harm done."
The wind coiled between us, cold as a blade.
I found my voice. "All right."
He inclined his head, as though he'd expected nothing else.
---
The tavern smelled of ink and spiced wine. Low shelves lined the walls, each crammed with ledgers abandoned by scribes who'd died or vanished without heirs. A few patrons hunched over tables, quills scratching steadily. None spared us more than a passing glance.
Ashel chose a corner booth, folding his coat neatly before he sat. I slid onto the bench opposite, careful to keep my ledger close.
A server approached, her hair bound in a cloth that might once have been blue. Ashel ordered two cups of warmed cider. He paid in silver without blinking.
When she departed, he steepled his fingers atop the table.
"You have a license now," he said. *"A temporary claim to trade within Orison's walls."
"For a month."
"Yes." He regarded me with that same steady calm. "What will you do with it?"
I hesitated. The question was so blunt it startled me.
"Sell what I can," I said. *"Buy better stock, if there's coin left."
"And after?"
I swallowed. *"Survive."
He nodded slowly, as if confirming something.
"A sound enough ambition," he said. *"But not the only one."
*"Then what do you suggest?"
*"A partnership."
He waited while the server returned with two steaming cups. Only when she withdrew did he continue.
"I represent interests beyond this city," he said. *"Merchants whose names you wouldn't know, though you'll come to hear them. They value initiative—more than breeding, more than training."
*"And they sent you to…recruit?"
He smiled faintly. "I sent myself. They do not all agree that fresh blood is worth the risk."
"So why approach me?"
"Because I watched you sell that coffer today," he said. *"You did not crumble when pressed. You showed a willingness to spend what you could not spare to prove your claim. That is not common."
I tried to read his expression. Whatever I sought—deception, mockery—I didn't find it.
"If I agree," I said cautiously, "what does this partnership entail?"
"At first, nothing you cannot walk away from," he replied. *"I propose you act as my agent in a small transaction. One that will test your discretion and your nerve."
*"What kind of transaction?"
"The collection of a ledger," he said. *"From a debtor who has proven…unreliable."
I frowned. *"You want me to threaten someone."
*"No." His voice remained soft. *"Merely to retrieve what is owed. You will be given the proper documentation—sealed and witnessed."
*"And if they refuse?"
"Then you walk away," he said. *"You are not an enforcer, Ren. Not today."
I studied him. *"Why not do this yourself?"
"Because my face is known," he said simply. *"And because you are not."
A chill prickled down my spine.
"I'm a pawn," I said.
"For now," he agreed. *"But so is every merchant when he begins."
He lifted his cup and drank.
*"If you complete this task, there will be further opportunities. Contracts. Training. Access to credit no guild here would extend to a nameless vendor."
*"And if I fail?"
*"Then you will be paid a modest sum for your time and left to your devices."
I weighed his words carefully. My mind raced with half-formed doubts. What guarantee did I have that this wasn't a trap? That I wouldn't end the night in chains—or worse?
But the memory of the counting house clerk's contempt burned behind my ribs.
I needed more than a rented alcove and a ledger half-filled with desperation.
"Where is this debtor?" I asked.
Ashel set his cup aside. He produced a folded sheet of parchment and slid it across the table.
"A warehouse on the north quay," he said. *"The foreman's name is Moln. He will know why you have come."
*"When?"
*"Tonight."
I swallowed. *"That soon?"
"There is a ship leaving at dawn," he said. *"The debt must be resolved before then."
I hesitated, my thumb tracing the edge of the parchment. The impulse to refuse, to run back to my narrow stall and pretend none of this had found me, was nearly overwhelming.
But I had learned something in the days since I awoke in this borrowed skin.
Survival was never given. Only taken.
"All right," I said. *"I'll go."
Ashel inclined his head. *"I expected no less."
---
He did not follow me when I left. The air outside struck my face like a rebuke, sharp and cold.
I slipped the parchment into my coat and started toward the quay.
The streets of Orison had thinned. Only the last carts trundled past—wagons piled high with grain sacks or crates of preserved fish. A few lanterns still burned in the upper windows, their light catching frost that crept slowly over every sill.
I kept my head down, counting my breaths.
At the riverfront, the wind came harder, carrying the brine of low tide. The warehouse district loomed—long rows of timber structures, each marked with a painted sigil. Some I recognized from my scavenging days: the crossed anchors of the Porters' Guild, the flame-and-vessel of the Alchemists.
The building I sought stood apart, a squat blockhouse with iron shutters bolted tight. A single lantern guttered above the door.
I knocked twice.
The door opened just wide enough for a broad, unshaven face to peer out.
"What?" the man barked.
"I'm here for Moln," I said. My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
*"He's not buying."
*"I'm not selling."
I withdrew the parchment and held it up so he could see the wax seal.
For a moment, I thought he might slam the door. Instead, he grunted and stepped back.
"Inside," he said.
---
The warehouse smelled of damp rope and stale grain. Crates were stacked floor to ceiling, each stenciled with cargo marks. Moln waited near a ledger table, his arms folded across his chest.
His eyes swept over me—my patched tunic, my raw hands—and dismissed me in an instant.
"The collector sends children now?" he sneered.
I ignored the heat rising in my face. *"The debt is called."
"He'll have it when I'm paid."
"You were paid," I said quietly. *"Two months ago."
Moln's lip curled. *"Tell your master I'll not be bullied."
"This is a lawful claim."
He reached for the parchment, tore it from my grip. He held it to the lantern, squinting at the seal.
"Worth less than piss," he growled—and let the paper drift to the floor.
My heart thudded. I should have turned away. Should have left him to his threats and his defiance.
But some reckless thread inside me refused.
"Then I'll witness your refusal," I said. *"And you'll answer to the guild."
Moln's gaze sharpened.
"The guild," he echoed. *"You think they care for a mud-blood peddler with no sponsor?"
I said nothing. I only bent, picked up the discarded parchment, and folded it carefully into my ledger.
Moln laughed—short, humorless.
"Run back to your master, boy," he said. *"Tell him I'll pay when I please."
"I will," I said softly. *"And you'd best be certain you never need credit in this city again."
His expression faltered.
I turned and walked out before my courage failed.
---
Outside, the cold struck deeper than before. My hands shook as I tucked the ledger away.
Ashel's words returned, unbidden:
You have something more valuable than talent.
I didn't feel valuable. I felt like a child playing at games he didn't understand.
But as I started back toward the eastern quarter, something curious settled in my chest—a thin, fierce thread of satisfaction.
I had faced him. I had refused to bow.
Tomorrow would bring consequences. But tonight, I had claimed something no one could take.
A measure of my own worth.