After a brief tidy-up, cups were filled with wine in place of stew. The forest darkness pressed in on the glowing windows of the cottage from all sides. The unfamiliar chirps and quacks of evening wildlife were a consistent reminder of the warped landscape just beyond the cabin door.

  “Why don’t we all just get one of your magical tattoos?” Iskvold asked, seated cross-legged on the floor, her back against the wall.

  Accepting a cup of wine from Segwyn, the druid nodded first in thanks, then in confirmation. “Aye, it all depends on time. We’d have to do them here, away from prying eyes, and each one takes a couple of hours in the chair.”

  Bird crossed the floor to receive a cup of his own. “When’s the next Dominion gathering? Do we know?”

  Turin thought for a moment. “I heard them talking about something in town tomorrow night, in a warehouse down by the river.”

  Shaking a couple of drops of spilled wine from his hand after passing a filled cup to the tabby, Segwyn’s brow wrinkled. “Then time is the problem. We need someone inside that meeting.”

  Wine in hand, Turin threaded his way between his houseguests to an open shelf. “Also, some of us don’t have the luxury of lying about here all day. I have to work in the morning.”

  Taking a tin box from the shelf, he pinned it against his chest before prying off the lid. Holding a vial of clear liquid from the tin up to the light, he passed it to Glynfir, then extracted a second containing sparkling white powder. Giving the second vial a shake, he repeated the observation of its contents before returning the tin to its home on the shelf.

  “I’ve got enough supplies on hand for two. We could do one tonight, and another first thing in the morning before I head into town.”

  “So, who do we send in?” Whydah asked. “Most of the reapers we’ve encountered have been human.”

  “We definitely want to blend in as much as possible,” Bird agreed. “I’m happy to do it, but probably not our best choice from that perspective.”

  Segwyn raised two fingers, gesturing to Iskvold and the tabby. “You two will definitely stick out. I think Mustache and I are the least memorable. Plus, he can get us out of there quickly if things go sideways.”

  “I could always shift into a mouse,” Lunish offered. “I’m sure it won’t be difficult to find a way into a dockside warehouse.”

  Iskvold folded her arms across her chest. “What about the rest of us? If there’s some skull cracking to be done, I want in on it.”

  Soft laughter broke out around the room before the drow’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “That wasn’t a joke. I wasn’t kidding!”

  Bird raised his palms, tipping his head in deference. “We know you weren’t. That’s precisely what made it funny. You’ll be pleased to hear that confrontation is not our goal tonight. We need to learn about the timing and details of the larger ceremonial gathering,” he nodded in Turin’s direction, “that we think is in the Zulm, ideally, without anyone in the Dominion knowing we were ever there.” Iskvold rolled her eyes before Bird raised a finger in her direction. “However…” Her face instantly brightened as Bird took a sip of wine. “If we do get noticed and there is any opportunity to contain or nullify the exposure, the four of us,” he gestured to Whydah and Tsuta before wagging his finger between himself and the seated drow, “will be on ‘skull-cracking’ duty.”

  Her pink eyes narrowed. “Promise?”

  The tabby bowed with a theatrical flourish. “You have my word!”

  Turin placed his supplies on the counter before turning the wooden chair to face the group, rubbing the seat invitingly. “Right then, who’s first?” His gaze shifted from Segwyn to Glynfir. “And what bit of magic are we adding to the mix?”

  The others looked on as Glynfir, straddling the chair’s woven seat, his head draped over the back, flinched with every ink-slicked puncture from Turin’s steady hand. “Hold still, Laddy, or this line is going to look more like a wave! I swear you’re more fidgety than some of the drunkards that get dropped into my chair, in full withdrawal.”

  “I can’t help it, it hurts!” the wizard whined.

  “Oh, stop being such a baby, Glynnie,” Lunish admonished him from her position on the hearth.

  Tsuta didn’t hesitate to pile on the beleaguered wizard. “You didn’t complain nearly as much when that demon dog had you at its mercy, Mustache.”

  “I had other things to worry about at the time—like death!” Glynfir’s tone was defensive. “You don’t expect it seated around a warm hearth, drinking wine.” The wizard held up his empty cup. “And speaking of drunkards, I could do with a refill, if anyone is feeling merciful.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Grabbing the jug, Whydah filled his cup before guiding it gently back into his blindly fumbling hand. Glynfir muttered thanks to his unseen benefactor before sucking in a breath through his teeth with another twitch.

  “At this point, you’re really just embarrassing yourself,” Iskvold chided him.

  Across the room, Lunish snapped to attention when her brain pinged an incoming message. She sat bolt upright, her gaze glued to the floor, but distant. After a moment, her focus returned to the room with a frown. “I think there’s something wrong at the Hub.”

  Whydah’s face mimicked her friend’s concern. “Why? What was the message?”

  The gnome closed her eyes. “The message was: Location and mission status, please. Double bonus for any information about a group of thieves recently acquiring a stone with yellow crystals. Please advise. Sweetheart.”

  Turin’s hand instinctively pulled up from the back of the wizard’s neck as they both turned to face her.

  “I’m confused,” Bird admitted. “Didn’t we already tell her all about that?”

  “We did,” Glynfir confirmed, “But that’s not the biggest problem. Whoever just sent that message isn’t Snuggles.”

  The room fell silent. A drop of ink fell from the tip of the sharpened tattooing bone, the muted plop audible to everyone as it hit the plank floor. “You’re burned!” Turin blurted out, hopping nervously from one foot to the other. “The protocol is clear. You have to go scorched earth and destroy your stone!”

  As the words left his mouth, he paused, his head cocked as if straining to pinpoint a distant sound. “I just received the same message.”

  “Were the protocols correct?” Lunish pressed him.

  Turin nodded. “They were, but the message itself is equally out of context. Snuggles has known where I am and what I’ve been doing for months.”

  “That’s because it isn’t Snuggles,” Glynfir reiterated, his hand reaching for the fresh tattoo on the back of his neck before Turin swatted it away.

  “I’m not done yet!” he reminded the wizard.

  “What protocol did she get wrong?” Whydah asked Lunish.

  The gnome drew a deep breath. “Every message must begin with our code name—Sweetheart. This one had it at the end. We were told that if that ever happened, to ditch our stone and never look back.”

  The frantic edge returned to Turin’s voice. “I’m inclined to ditch mine too, given the circumstances.”

  Segwyn stood, gripping the druid’s shoulders, his eyes seeking the other man’s. “Relax for a minute. Let’s figure this out before doing anything rash.” He nodded toward the seated Glynfir. “Finish up his tattoo while we talk it out.”

  Turin nodded tersely, reaching for his inkwell as Glynfir bowed his head over the chair back, pushing his shoulder-length hair forward to droop around his face.

  “So, what do we think?” the ranger asked the room. “An idle mistake, or a signal of something else?”

  Lunish spoke up first. “Snuggles has never made a mistake before.”

  “Plus, she knew exactly where we were going and all about the stone,” Iskvold added.

  “What would the Radiant Guardians do if something happened to Snuggles? Would they just slide someone new in and not tell you?” Whydah asked.

  Glynfir responded from his prone position, draped over the chairback. “That’s exactly what they’d do. The whole relationship is meant to be entirely anonymous.”

  “So,” Segwyn summarized, “either Snuggles was replaced by someone new who simply made a mistake, or….?”

  Bird spoke softly from the corner of the room. “Or, the Dominion has taken over the Hub and is using it to ferret us out.”

  “Come on, Whiskers, you’re starting to sound as paranoid as Cloudy.” The bald monk tipped his head toward Turin.

  “Cloudy?” Turin repeated.

  “He gives everyone a nickname, that’s his thing,” Segwyn explained.

  “But why Cloudy?” Turin challenged. “Is that meant to be some slight against my disposition? I think of myself as more of a sunny person…”

  Tsuta shot him a look of minor annoyance over his shoulder. “Because of the pipe, obviously.” He gestured in the air with his hands. “The clouds of smoke…I considered ‘Inky’ but that didn’t roll off the tongue. Given your handiwork with the tree charms, Stickman was also in the running.” He nodded toward Bird. “But that would be confusing since he mocks me by calling me Stick, so Cloudy it is.”

  Turin opened his mouth to object before Segwyn caught his arm, offering a silent headshake. “Save your breath, you won’t change his mind.”

  Turin’s shoulders slumped as he muttered under his breath. “Such a stupid name.”

  Iskvold redirected the conversation with an impish smile. “I want to hear more of our feline friend’s paranoid impressions about the Hub and the Dominion.”

  Bird looked down his nose at her, a slightly hurt expression on his face. “I was right about the shadows, wasn’t I?” Pushing himself off the wall, the tabby began counting off points against his clawed fingers. “We know the Dominion is trying to subvert the institutions of our society.” He raised a second finger. “The Radiant Guardians and the Hub are the most established sources of truth on the continent, and they make a fortune from the business of information.” The cat raised a third finger, circling it around the group. “And less than five days ago, we informed them that the Red Queen, the leader of the Crimson Dominion, was a lich.”

  He spread his arm wide, pleading his case. “Now, I’m sure the Hub started selling that juicy detail immediately, which represents a direct and serious threat to her plans and their position.” The cat had everyone’s full attention as he leaned back against the wall, his volume falling to a near whisper. “I know what I’d do in that situation—seize the opportunity to kill the threat of my exposure and take control of Venn’s unimpeachable source of truth among the rich and powerful. When you control the information, you control the narrative. Two birds, one stone. And if I’m right, we know something they don’t know we know, and I know we can exploit it…” His yellow irises twinkled. “You know?”

  When he finished speaking, everyone sat in stunned silence. Finally, Iskvold spoke. Her words were directed at Bird, but her eyes glanced to Whydah. “Sometimes the way your mind works is truly frightening. I’m glad you’re on our side.”

  “So, given the gulf between these two possibilities, how can we tell if you’re right or if it’s just an honest mistake by a new handler?” Segwyn asked.

  The tabby shrugged. “Simple. We cast out a line and see if they take the bait.”

  The Glimmerstone Enigma and The Siremirian Conundrum?

  Join my substack for: