I rounded the corner onto a familiar street, pausing underneath a wooden board with a hastily scratched street name. My fingers traced over markings beneath the human lettering, Naerithi symbols etched in the wood, an invitation for peace. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

  The afternoon sun beat against my back, the weight of Jacobi’s collar a constant cool pressure against my throat. Marcelo had chosen the meeting place well. The tavern was Naerithi-owned and operated, a sanctuary where our laws held stronger sway than human ones. I couldn’t attack him here without turning my back on my own people’s customs. The clever bastard had tied my hands without even touching me.

  The neighborhood had declined since I’d last visited. What was once a proud Naerithi enclave had deteriorated into something approaching ruins. Abandoned houses with boarded windows lined the cracked streets. A scent of decay mingled with the distant aroma of spices that somehow reminded me of home, even as the bittersweet combination twisted in my stomach.

  As I approached the tavern perched at the top of the hill, my muscles tensed with each step. I patted my thigh, feeling the reassuring outline of a knife beneath my cotton pants, a small comfort though I doubted I’d use it. Not here. Not on sacred ground.

  I stood before the weathered door, my fist raised to knock, when I hesitated. I drew in a deep breath, but before my knuckles could meet wood, the door swung inward. A Naerithi man stood in the doorway, his eyes lighting with recognition.

  “Joy!” A smile stretched across his face, revealing the small tusks that protruded from his lower jaw. “Welcome back. It’s good to see you, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  “Me too, Dario.” My voice sounded hollow even to my own ears.

  He stepped aside, barely giving me enough space to squeeze past him. The scent of him, pine smoke and fermented berries, triggered a cascade of memories that I pushed back immediately. Dario had been a mediator back in Naerith, responsible for settling disputes between families. Now he poured drinks for those who couldn’t return home.

  The door closed behind me with a heavy thud, followed by the unmistakable sound of a latch being dropped into place. I moved automatically to a booth on the left side of the bar, sliding in so my back pressed against the wall. From this position, I could see the entire tavern. The empty tables, the dusty shelves of bottles, the single window who light barely penetrated the gloom.

  Dario moved behind the bar without asking, grabbing a couple of glasses and a brown bottle. His movements were practiced but his shoulders were tight. He brought everything to the table, poured two drinks, and sat down with a heavy sigh that seemed to deflate his entire body.

  "How did you get caught up in all this?" I asked, taking a small sip from my glass. The liquid burned pleasantly down my throat—a familiar Naerithi spirit that tasted of smoke and herbs. "And what's happened to the neighborhood?"

  Dario stretched his arms back over his head until both shoulders made a popping noise. The sound grated on my nerves. He let his arms drop to his sides and fixed me with a gaze that held too much calculation for comfort.

  "You get straight to the point then. That's good, I suppose." He took a long drink, draining half his glass before setting it down with deliberate care. "You noticed it. Things have been rough lately. We were doing alright, had a little carved-out corner of this world for ourselves."

  He laid his large hands on the table, fingers interlocking. The calluses along his knuckles were new, I noted. Back in Naerith, mediators didn't develop fighting hands.

  "What do you know about the human Prince and his activities?" he asked, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

  I shook my head. "Not much. Just rumors that have come across. Stories." The mention of the Prince sent an involuntary chill through me.

  "He's been recruiting Naerithi for his army. He threatens us with being sent back unless we swear ourselves to his employ." Dario's eyes darted to the windows, checking for eavesdroppers even though we were alone. "Have you heard? They're not just watching the portal anymore. They're actively guarding it."

  I tilted my head, curiosity momentarily overriding my urgency to find Ellah. "Are they stopping people from going back, or from coming out?"

  He shrugged. "Couldn't tell you, to be honest. I doubt anyone knows the truth of what's going on there besides the Prince and his men. Nothing official, at any rate."

  I nodded, taking another sip, letting the information settle in my mind. "I don't suppose that warrants looking into?"

  "We won't know anything about it until it's announced, as per usual." Dario's expression softened slightly, revealing a glimpse of the man I'd once known. "How have you been, Joy? Tell me some happy news on this terrible day."

  The request caught me off guard. Happy news? I fell silent, searching through recent memories for something untainted by blood or fear or obligation. Finding nothing, I shook my head. "I just want to get Ellah back."

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Dario winced, scratching the back of his neck—a nervous tic I remembered from years ago. "Alright, alright. I hate this part."

  My eyes narrowed. "How did you ever get caught up in this?"

  He gestured around at the rundown tavern, his arms encompassing not just his establishment but the implication of the entire neighborhood. "I mean, look at this place. Not just my tavern either—the whole neighborhood. I desperately need the money..." His voice dropped even lower. "Nobody's getting hurt."

  The lie tasted sour in the air between us. I leaned forward, the edge of the table pressing into my ribs. "Do you not think this will have serious ramifications? Marcelo kidnapped a Naerithi, a royal." My voice hardened. "I know Ellah is strong-willed, but she is not used to trauma, certainly not being subjected to the behaviors of people such as him. She's also not the sort of person to let things go away quietly."

  Dario nodded quickly, too quickly. "I know, I know." He hung his head, an exaggerated look of sadness crossing his features. The performance was far more transparent than his grimy glasses.

  I lifted my glass and drank deeply, using the motion to hide the rage that threatened to spill out. He may be pathetic, but attacking him wouldn't get me any closer to Ellah. "How do you contact Marcelo and let him know I'm here?"

  His eyes lit up, and he seemed excited for a moment, leaning across the table and hushing his voice despite the empty room. "He's got eyes on the building. Sees everything, he does."

  My claw tapped against the wooden tabletop, a steady rhythm that betrayed none of the calculations running through my mind. "That's impressive. How do you think he managed that? Has he got a place nearby?"

  Dario nodded, a wide grin overtaking his face. His cheeks seemed to move aside for it, sagging around the edges. "You could say that."

  I abandoned pretense, leaning across the table to glare at him. "Where is he, Dario? Where does he have Ellah?"

  Dario recoiled, pushing his chair back and standing quickly. "No. That's not how it works. You have to play along. I'll get you another drink."

  He rushed behind the bar again, grabbing a different bottle—this one containing a viscous green liquid that caught what little light filtered through the dusty windows. He brought it to the table, his grin half-slipping as he poured me a glass, filling it nearly to the brim.

  "Enough... thank you, Dario." I placed my hand over the glass, but he continued pouring, forcing me to withdraw my fingers to avoid the spillage.

  He stepped back from the table, wringing his hands around the bottle as he looked at me with an expectant expression. "Try it, it's good. Special mix."

  I rolled my eyes, exhaustion and frustration wearing down my patience. "Just tell me where to find Marcelo."

  "You can't find him. He finds you." Dario's voice took on a sing-song quality that set my teeth on edge.

  "He's not as strong as you give him credit for, Dario. He's just a man."

  "He's smart."

  "I can snap him like a bower branch." I returned my attention to Dario, letting my voice drop to a dangerous whisper. "You too."

  He shook his head vigorously. "Not here. You can't touch me here. It's not allowed."

  A small smile curled my lips despite myself. "You have to go outside the neighborhood sometime, Dario."

  His expression turned wary, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot like a nervous child. "Aren't you going to try my drink?" He gave me a pout, which looked ridiculous on his Naerithi face, small tusks sticking up over his upper lip.

  I rubbed a hand over my face, fighting the urge to simply flip the table and be done with this charade. "Were you always this annoying back home?"

  Dario ignored the jibe, or perhaps didn't recognize it as one. "You have to be nice to me in here, and you have to do what I say." He set down the bottle, crossing his arms in a petulant gesture. "Marcelo isn't coming here yet. You have time for a drink."

  Something in his insistence sent warning signals through my body. The green liquid in the glass seemed to shimmer unnaturally. I remembered Annabeth's tavern, the drugged drink she'd given Admiral Sinclair. The pieces aligned with sudden, terrifying clarity.

  But I was already trapped. The locked door, Dario's nervousness, the empty tavern that should have had at least a few patrons at this hour. I slammed my hands onto the tabletop, speaking through gritted teeth.

  "Naerith take me, Dario. Is that what it'll take to move this thing along?"

  A decision crystallized in my mind. If they wanted me unconscious, I'd give them what they wanted—on my terms. Whatever was in that drink, I'd experienced worse. I'd fought through the fog of drugs back in the arenas, endured poisons that would kill a human outright.

  I grabbed the glass and brought it to my lips, making a show of grimacing as I gulped down the bitter liquid. The taste was familiar, something that immediately numbed my tongue. I set the now-empty glass back on the table and glared at Dario.

  "There. Are you happy now?"

  He nodded, his hands only half-covering the smile on his face. "I didn't think you'd drink all of it."

  The numbness that started at my tongue crawled up my face like a swarm of insects beneath my skin. I blinked slowly, feeling the world begin to tilt. This was stronger than I'd anticipated.

  What did you do?!

  The words exploded in my mind, but my mouth refused to form them. Only an angry grunt escaped my throat as my muscles began to betray me one by one.

  I pushed myself to a standing position, my legs already trembling beneath me. I managed to take only one step away from the table before they failed entirely. The floor rushed up to meet me, hard and unforgiving against my cheek.

  Lying there, I could only move my eyes, watching as Dario crouched beside me. He patted the side of my head like I was a dog that had performed an amusing trick.

  "Sorry, Joy. I need the money."

  There was genuine regret in his voice. It would not save him when I woke.

  A new voice, smooth and cultured, sliced through the haze descending on my consciousness. A pair of feet appeared silently beside Dario, expensive shoes that I recognized despite my fading vision. I rolled my eyes upward with the last of my control, just in time to see the manically grinning face of Marcelo staring down at me.

  "I was wondering how long that would take."