The meeting place is a tavern on the other side of the city. Swyndale, capital city of Beldale, has at least three taverns that I know of. Of course my contact would choose the one furthest from the information drop.

It’s not a big deal. I can walk there before sunset, the time stated on the paper.

Autumn in Beldale is rather nice, actually. The country known for its major lake and thick forests pays homage to that image by filling its capital with lines of beautiful trees, planted along roadsides and between buildings. This is the perfect time to visit, as the lush foliage has changed to bright oranges and yellows.

It’s also the most popular time to visit. Tradespeople, merchants, businessfolk, and other travelers always fill the streets, inns, and taverns of Swyndale at any time of year, but the tourist crowd is thickest in the autumn. It’s hard enough to find a person in the crowd in the off season; it’s nearly impossible this week.

It’s the perfect environment for an assignment.

I pass by rows of tables, tents, and carts full of baskets, fabric, handicrafts, personal weapons, bags and pouches, bottles, breads, children’s playthings. Anything a civilized person could need can be found in Swyndale, for the right price.

A woven handbag of bright pink and red fabrics catches my eye at one booth. Kanoni would like that. But I keep my gaze forward and continue walking. I don’t have time to shop. I don’t want to draw attention.

The soles of my feet ache. My legs begin to tire. Autumn weather is usually refreshing in Beldale, but in the masses of people crushed within Swyndale’s city walls, the air is hot and heavy. No breeze can squeeze its way between the structures and crowds.

I feel sweat trickling down my neck. I pull a bit of thick string from my bag to gather my hair together and get some airflow on my skin.

It’s nearing sunset when I spot the green and yellow painted sign of The Grand Crown. I don’t bother going inside. The shouting and music heard outside is enough to know I won’t find any bearable standing space, let alone a seat or table. I walk around to the back of the building instead to wait.

I don’t have to wait long. A low voice speaks from a few feet away. “Have three ladies passed this way?” The speaker is standing back, covered in shadows.

I keep my voice low enough not to draw attention to our spot in the alley. “One should not try to change fates.”

“But one may hope to change another’s.”

“Whose fate do you seek to change?”

The figure steps out of the shadows. He stands a few inches taller than me, with broad shoulders. His clean shave and sleek, well-kept clothing speak to the wealth and standing of his master.

He bows. “Moirai.”

I nod. “Gavin de Bolbec.”

“Yes. Thank you for meeting with me. I bring a message—”

I wave his words away with one hand. “I know how this works.”

He clears his throat. “Of course. Forgive me.” He reaches into a small cloth money pouch attached to his leather belt and pulls out a tiny scroll. “This is the mark.”

I take the scroll and unroll it. A small sketch of a face is drawn above three short lines of text. Asher Ephraxa, 19. Family heir. One week. Under the deadline is listed a price. The money is enough to buy a house at the heart of Swyndale — average for my price.

“Why him?” I ask.

Gavin expects my question. He recites a speech most likely written by his master. “The Ephraxa family’s control over the roadways must end. Their tight grip on free travel is fueled by greed, and ruins all who try to pass through Swyndale or the regions beyond. People’s lives and freedoms are at stake. Businesses are failing, families torn apart, much needed aid or supplies stopped before they can arrive. Help me, Lady Moirai, and you help not only Swyndale but all who depend on it.”

The ‘ruined lives’ bit sounds melodramatic and over the top, but I get the point. Getting into Swyndale has been a much bigger pain for me with every trip. Every month the requirements are changing. The tolls are getting ridiculous, and checkpoints are multiplying. I have no trouble paying, but I can easily see how the changes could affect those with a less lucrative career.

Beldale and Swyndale are the most important points on most, if not all, of the major trade routes. This could also explain the shortages and new expenses Kanoni has been dealing with back in Sahil.

“Why the son?”

He frowns. “Excuse me?”

I roll the scroll back up and tuck it in my bag. “Why is the mark the son?”

Gavin clears his throat. “Oh.” He pauses, nods. Another speech to recite. “The heir must be removed first to destabilize control. Should the patriarch be eliminated, the son will inherit and nothing will change. If it pleases Lady Moirai, following this assignment, the head of the family will be next, and the roads will be free once more.”

Makes sense, but I keep my face and posture neutral. My voice is stern. “I did not agree to accept two assignments.”

“My-my master understands that,” Gavin stutters out. “But he hopes that you will consider assisting all of Beldale in this way.”

“It will require a separate fee.”

“Of course. That is understood.”

I nod. “I make no promises of a second arrangement, but I accept the request made tonight. Your master knows where to find me in a week.” I take a deep, slow breath in, centering my energy. I feel the quiet hum of magic gathering in my chest.

“Thank you, Lady Moirai.” Gavin bows low.

As I exhale, I release the charge, focusing in my mind’s eye on the image of the dark brick wall behind me. Unseen.

When Gavin straightens, I am cloaked with invisibility. Surely he must have been warned what to expect, but he still startles with a frightened look on his face. He turns and runs back up the alley to the crowded, well-lit street.

I remove the scroll from my bag to examine the picture. Asher Ephraxa has a sharp jawline and strong, straight nose. His eyes are dark, framed with thick, curved eyebrows. I can’t tell skin tone or trust hair length from a sketch, but his hair is dark as well.

“Asher Ephraxa.” I read his name quietly in the empty alley. “Time to meet your fate.”

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