The air in the marketplace was a thick brew of aromas: the yeast and warmth of fresh-baked bread, the damp, earthy scent of cobblestones, and the sharp tang of cut flowers. It was a river of humanity, flowing and churning around stalls laden with everything from glistening fish to bolts of raw silk. Along the perimeter, the painted awnings of permanent shops stood like colorful cliffs over the bustling current. The constant hum of commerce, of haggling and laughter, was the city’s heartbeat.

My gaze snagged on a small boy, his face a mask of intense concentration, attempting to barter a single, polished apple for a whole loaf of bread. A few feet away, a little girl skipped down the lane, her laughter a bright, clear bell as she tugged along a shaggy dog. Her mother watched from a distance, a smile of pure, unadulterated pride on her face. A familiar ache tightened in my chest. This ordinary, beautiful peace was the very thing we were fighting to protect. If we failed, these streets would echo with screams, not laughter. I shoved the thought into the dark corners of my mind, forcing my focus back to the task at hand.

“Where to begin?” I murmured, my voice barely audible over the din.

Cassius’s gaze swept the square, analytical and calm. “There.” He gave a subtle nod toward a stall where a young woman with hair like polished ink was arranging a display of books. Her eyes, warm and impossibly brown, found ours as we approached.

“Good morning!” she chirped, her voice like honeyed tea.

“And to you,” Cassius replied smoothly, his easy charm already at work. I offered a small smile in unison.

“Anything in particular catching your eye today?” she asked, her gaze flicking between us with open curiosity.

My eyes scanned the titles—provincial histories and well-worn farmers’ almanacs. Nothing of use. “I was hoping you might have something on the elves of legend,” I said, trying to sound like a casual scholar.

Her eyes went wide, not with suspicion, but with delight. A brilliant smile bloomed across her face. “Oh, a fellow romantic! You must be a fan of I Ran Away with an Elf!” She ducked below her stall and emerged with a book, its cover depicting a muscular, pointy-eared man swooping a maiden onto a white steed. She placed it before us with a flourish. Beside me, I saw the corner of Cassius’s mouth twitch as he fought, and failed, to suppress a grin.

“I dream of it, sometimes,” the vendor sighed, clasping her hands to her chest and gazing at some unseen horizon. “A dashing stranger sweeping me away from Glens Crossing for a life of adventure.” Her focus snapped back to us. “This is the newest in the series. Simply divine.”

I rested a hand on the book, a convenient prop. “Speaking of strangers,” I began, flipping a page, “have you noticed any… unusual travelers? Perhaps someone who seemed a bit out of place?”

She tapped a thoughtful finger to her lips. “If I saw a real elf, I certainly wouldn’t still be here! I’d be on the back of his horse,” she giggled. Cassius just nodded, his expression placid. “We get mysterious types often enough,” she continued with a vague wave. “But… oh! There are rumors.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “They say Princess Thalia has fallen from the King’s grace. Some terrible mistake.”

My nails dug into my palm, my hand still clenched at my side. I fought to keep my face a neutral mask.

“They’ve named a new crown prince,” she went on, oblivious. “And they say he’s devastatingly handsome! And looking for a bride… now that sounds like a dream come true. Everyone thinks Lord Dolion is the perfect choice…”

The name left a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth. If only she knew. I caught Cassius’s eye. This was a dead end, filled with gossip that cut far too close to home. He understood instantly.

“Thank you for your time,” Cassius said, his voice a balm of polite finality. “And for the local news.”

“Of course! It was a pleasure chatting!” she called after us, already turning to another customer.

We moved on, a frustrating pattern of fruitless inquiries repeating itself from stall to stall. We were about to pass a smithy when a glint of steel caught my eye. The swordsmith. The memory of the elven blade we’d seen in the one town sparked a flicker of hope.

The smith was a mountain of a man, with arms like knotted oak and a jagged scar that pulled one side of his mouth into a permanent sneer. His wares were a mix of practical, unadorned blades and ornate swords etched with intricate, vining patterns. Cassius picked up a simple longsword, testing its weight and balance with an expert’s touch.

“Good steel,” the smith grunted, a forge-fire glint in his green eyes.

“It is,” Cassius agreed, setting it down gently. He met the smith’s gaze. “But have you ever worked with a steel that sings? The kind that can only be forged in secret fires?”

Without waiting for a reply, Cassius unsheathed his own sword. The blade didn’t just shine; it seemed to drink the light. He laid it on the heavy wooden counter.

The smith leaned forward, his professional gruffness dissolving into pure awe. He let out a low, reverent whistle. He didn’t touch it, but his eyes traced the unfamiliar patterns etched into the metal. “By the forge fathers… never seen its like. Could have used this in my years with the city guard.” He let out a low, gravelly chuckle and slid the sword back toward Cassius. “Suppose you’re not in the market for my wares, then. Something else I can do for you?”

“Information,” Cassius said, his voice low. “We’re looking for someone. Or something.”

The smith snorted. “Rumors are for tavern keepers and seamstresses. I deal in what I see.” His voice dropped, the humor gone. “And I’ve seen the Shadowveils. On the main roads, not just stalking the deep woods. Getting bolder.” He fixed us with a deadly serious stare. “Folks around here have short memories and softer heads. They call me a paranoid old fool. You two, though… you best be careful on the road.” His eyes flicked to Cassius’s sheathed sword and he gave a curt nod. “Though I suspect you can handle yourselves.”

“Thank you for the warning,” Cassius said, offering a nod of genuine respect.

We melted back into the crowd.

“Hours,” I finally muttered, the frustration boiling over. “We have nothing.”

“Patience, Thalia,” Cassius murmured, his voice a low anchor. He stopped abruptly, his body going still. His gaze was locked on a stall across the way. “There.” His voice, usually a calm river, had sharpened to a point. “I know that work.”

I followed his line of sight to a jeweler’s display, shimmering with delicate silver and inset gems. The vendor, a young man with a perpetually worried expression, greeted us with a smile that didn’t reach his haunted eyes.

“Good morning! A gift for your… companion?” he asked, his gaze shifting nervously between us.

“Perhaps,” Cassius said, his own smile disarming. He picked up a necklace. A single teardrop amethyst hung from a silver chain wrought into tiny, overlapping leaves, each one set with a minuscule fleck of amethyst that made the whole piece shimmer like captured moonlight. “The artist who made this. Can you tell me about them?”

The man’s eyes darted around the marketplace as if searching for an escape. “I… I don’t know them,” he stammered.

“Please,” I pressed, stepping forward. “Their work is exquisite. We would pay well for a commission.” I slid a gold coin across the counter, its gleam a silent promise.

He swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the coin before his hand shot out and snatched it. “I don’t know much,” he whispered, leaning so close I could smell his fear. “She… she comes by every week or so. I never see her face. Always a deep green cloak, with gold embroidery at the hem. Her voice is a lady’s. The jewelry… it sells itself.”

“When does she come?” Cassius’s voice was insistent, a finely honed tool.

“I don’t know! It’s been nearly a week since the last time.”

“How do we find her?” I asked, my own patience wearing thin.

“You don’t!” he insisted, his gaze flicking nervously past our shoulders. “I’ve told you everything! That’s all I know!”

He was lying. The terror rolling off him was proof of it. “Please,” I began again, “if you could just—”

“No!” he snapped, his voice cracking. “Buy the necklace or move on!”

“We’ll take it,” Cassius said calmly, placing another gold coin on the counter.

The vendor snatched the second coin, hastily wrapped the necklace, and shoved it toward us. “Have a good day,” he muttered, refusing to meet our eyes.

We turned to leave, the vendor’s palpable fear clinging to the air. I took a single step before a flash of color across the square made me freeze.

A figure was emerging from the shadows of an apothecary’s awning. A figure wearing a cloak of deep, forest green.

Even from this distance, I could see the glint of intricate, golden embroidery along the hem.

The hood was pulled low, shadowing the face, but the head was turning, scanning the crowd with quick, furtive motions. The figure moved with a hurried grace, heading not deeper into the market, but toward the main gate. Toward the road.

My breath caught in my throat. “Cassius,” I breathed.

He was already moving, his eyes locked on the cloaked figure. “I see her,” he said, his voice a low and focused.