Lady Drakonum Makanna — Mak, to her mistress, her family, and friends — head of the House Drakonum, proprietress of Her Grace’s Favor, and faithful servant of the great lady Draka, was annoyed.

  She was annoyed by the rain that pounded on her umbrella. It had started early, this year, and it was hard to predict when it would end. But it had been nearly three weeks now. Last year the rain had continued for seventeen days. The year before, eighteen. It was about time for some clear skies, sunshine, and respite from every goddamn thing being damp all the time. And, she wanted her mistress to be able to enjoy their gift to her, the secret way in and out of the inn, before she inevitably outgrew it. She’d thanked her humans, and Mak had felt her genuine gratitude and appreciation through their bond, but it just wasn’t the same as knowing that it came to use. Soon, she prayed. Mercies, let the rain end soon.

  She was annoyed with Herald. Mak’s sister had put herself in danger, leaving everyone else to worry. But their mistress had allowed it. Mak had felt a flash of annoyance at her for that, when Herald told her, but it had vanished like a bad dream come sunrise. And of course, her mistress had been right. She and Herald had been gone for two days now, and the worst Mak had felt through the bond was boredom. They were safe. For now. Boredom meant that they had yet to meet her mistress’ mother, and despite her faith in the strength of her mistress, Mak worried.

  She was annoyed with herself. She was returning to the inn, having failed in what she set out to do, which was to convince the Council to pay what they owed. But she could not find it in her to blame herself. Her mistress would not approve of self-recrimination.

  Finally, she was annoyed with the Council. The blame lay with them. When Herald had told her what their mistress, their sister, had said, Mak had been incredulous. But there were few things Herald would lie about, and something like that was certainly not among them. And if their mistress had said that the Council had dishonored their agreement, and had withheld the payment of the two pounds of gold that she was owed, then it was so.

  Mak had given them two days to reconsider and send a message. When they failed to do so she had taken her copy of the agreement, gone to the Palace, and had waited patiently for an audience with the lady justice Sempralia. She’d been told that another councilor might be able to see her sooner, but Mak needed to speak with the lady justice. Logically the whole Council should know about her House’s connection to her mistress. Her sister. But her mistress desired some perceived distance between herself and her humans, for their safety, and so Mak would not be the one to spread any information about the true, correct state of things.

  When she’d met with the lady justice, Mak had stated her case. She had quoted directly from the text of the agreement, noting that no evidence was ever mentioned. She’d emphasized how ridiculous it was to doubt her mistress’ word, considering the services she had already rendered to the city. She had pointed out that there may be consequences, severe consequences, for breaking faith with someone like her mistress. The lady’s bodyguard had not liked that one bit, but Mak had ignored him. She had a sharktooth in her sash, and a long dagger in a thigh-sheath, and her mistress had blessed her with near invulnerability and the strength of three strong men. Mak did not fear anyone. She served fear itself made flesh. And so she laid out for the lady justice just how foolish the Council had been in betraying her mistress’ trust.

  To Mak’s frustration, the lady justice Sempralia had agreed.

  Mak could not bring herself to be annoyed with the lady justice. Not only did she agree, but Mak could sense no ill intent from her. Sempralia, Mak felt, wanted this resolved as per the agreement. She expressed her own frustration and regret, and asked that Mak convey her apologies. But with the Council having voted four to three against paying, there was nothing she could do. Not yet.

  Mak knew when there was no point in dragging out a fight. She’d thanked the lady justice for her time, and left. And so, now she was annoyed.

  She’d wanted to resolve this. She’d wanted to present her mistress with the gold she was owed on her return. The joy that would have given her mistress, and the joy they all would have felt in turn, would have been a thing of beauty. Now, it was not to be.

  At least her mistress had not asked her to recover the gold. She would not face Lady Draka’s disappointment. Not her anger; not towards her. Not anymore. But her mistress’ disappointment and the knowledge that she had failed when her mistress depended on her would have been enough. Just the thought had her guts in anxious knots that she had rarely felt since the great lady had taken her into her service, and set her free.

  Draka, she reminded herself. She wants me to call her by name. That, or “sister”. I must remember that.

  She hadn’t slipped up yet. Draka. Sister. Friend. None of them felt wrong, and she said them gladly. All were true. All felt right. But none felt as right as “mistress” or “great lady.” Perhaps if she asked, if she explained how she felt, she might be allowed to address her mistress as “Lady Draka” when they had outside company, at least? That was respectful, but still helped preserve the illusion that they did not belong to her. It was worth a try. Her mistress was understanding, after all, and cared for her humans a great deal.

  Mak snapped out of her thoughts, becoming fully aware again of her surroundings. She couldn’t tell what had alerted her, but something was wrong. She was not on the main street that led from the Forum to the Merchants’ Quarter. Her feet had led her astray, taking her in a direction that she’d gone so many times before when the anxiety and her worries got the better of her.

  She was in a dark, dirty backstreet, on her way to a tavern where the wine was sour, but strong and cheap. Her stomach rebelled at the thought of strong wine, but that wasn’t what was wrong. No, that wasn’t it at all. Something had alerted her. Perhaps it was a strange shadow moving where it shouldn’t, though she’d learned to ignore such things months ago. Perhaps she’d heard something: hard breathing, a cough, feet splashing in water. Whatever it was, she knew that she was being followed.

  Mak was annoyed. She was frustrated. And now she was insulted.

  She found a place where two small streets crossed, the walls of the buildings cut to leave extra space for carts to pass each other. There she stopped, put down her umbrella, and waited as the rain soaked into her long, braided hair and her fine body wrap.

  She only had to wait a few heartbeats.

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  Footsteps approached from three directions. The northern street was left open. She could flee that way, if she wished. The fact that she didn’t had nothing to do with her conviction that an ambush waited there.

  She loosened her sash, freeing her legs to move, and tested her footing. There were no cobbles here, and the dirt of the street had long since turned to mud. It was slippery, but it would do.

  “Miss Makanna.” The voice was familiar. It came from the south, and Mak turned to see a man emerge from the shadows there. Mak knew him immediately. “Apologies. Lady Drakonum, I should say. I’m sorry we had to meet again this way.”

  “Captain Vakkal. I’m surprised to see you here.” Mak looked to her left and right. A man approached from either direction, each with the look of a fighter. City guards, perhaps, or adventurers that she didn’t know. Their faces were passive, but it didn't matter. They might as well have been screaming their intentions at her face with how easily she read them. They wanted to subdue her and take her somewhere, and they didn’t care if she was dead or alive. “I knew you were taking money from the Night Blossom, but I didn’t realize how deep the corruption went.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lady Drakonum. I must ask you to come with us. In the name of the city, you are under arrest.”

  “You’re out of uniform, Captain. You have no authority at the moment. And I’d like to point out that I just came from the Palace, where I was surrounded by the Palace guard for hours, and spoke to the lady justice Sempralia. No one accused me of anything, or tried to take me into custody.”

  “And yet, you must come with us.” Vakkal closed in, as did the two men with him.

  “Is this about Lady Draka?” she asked, as though there was any possibility in her mind that it wasn’t. Mak herself wasn’t important enough to rate a corrupt Guard captain and his cronies.

  “You know that it is. Will you come quietly?”

  “No.”

  Mak dropped and turned on the woman who’d been sneaking up on her from behind, the noose she’d been trying to slip around Mak’s neck instead glancing off her hair. Vakkal should have kept his eyes on Mak’s face, instead of glancing at his accomplice.

  Mak screamed and punched, hard. The woman’s knee bent sideways, her agonized shriek drowning out the hammering rain as she collapsed into the mud.

  The three men came at Mak. They were fast, but she was faster. They needed a moment to react, but she was already moving.

  Mak had never been a technical fighter. Against monsters she kept her distance, taking opportunities as they presented themselves. Against humans, Lalia had taught her to fight like a cornered cat. She didn’t know any fancy moves. She knew how to use a spear, a dagger, or a sword, but she relied on speed, grace, and ferocity to put her in the right place to put the basic techniques she knew to work. And now, with the power her mistress and the Nest Heart had granted her, she was strong, quick, agile, and tough enough that a difference in skill didn’t worry her.

  As Mak moved, she drew her sharktooth from where it had been hidden in her broad sash. The wide, triangular punch dagger was a gift from Lalia, custom made, with the grip molded to Mak’s hand. It fit her palm perfectly, and let her put every scrap of strength behind the blade.

  The three men were still drawing their swords — they were so slow — when she passed the man on her right. He was tall, and she was short, making it easy to twist and drive the tooth into his hip. The blade pierced not only skin and muscle but continued through the bone, and then her fist finished the job of shattering the left side of his pelvis, his howl of agony joining the woman’s. As he sagged she reached out and grabbed his half-drawn sword by the blade, abandoning her sharktooth in his hip and smashing a hammerblow into his forearm to loosen his grip.

  Bone snapped, and Mak had a sword. She held it upside down, by the blade, and in the wrong hand, but a sword was a sword.

  Vakkal had his own blade out. He swung, fast and accurate, a cut at her throat that anyone would have trouble parrying. But Mak was fast and agile. She danced back, letting the man with the shattered hip fall between them and stopping Vakkal from pursuing for a second.

  The way behind her was open. The Mak of six months ago would have thanked the gods and ran.

  The Mak of six months ago didn't have the strength of a dragon.

  Mak hiked up her wrap, drew the dagger on her thigh, and used the back of the downed man as a stepping stone to leap forward. But Vakkal wasn’t one to be taken by surprise twice, and he performed a beautiful, textbook stab which should have taken her through the heart. By rights, she was dead.

  Mak twisted, leading with the dagger in her right hand. The point of the blade took her under the breast, sliced through her wrap, then slid harmlessly along her skin until it came out above her left hip.

  For a fraction of a second Vakkal looked stupidly at his blade trapped in her clothes. His left hand slid along her arm, deflecting her dagger almost absentmindedly. Then Mak hit him bodily, anchored herself with one leg around his waist, and slashed the sword in her left hand across his throat.

  Mak had never learned to fight with any true skill. Now, she didn’t need to. She was fast, and strong, and her skin could deflect a sword’s edge. Vakkal’s couldn’t.

  The last man tried to run. He was fast, but Mak was faster. His sandals slipped in the mud, and so did Mak’s, but she could correct each midstep. He couldn’t. He didn’t make it to the end of the street.

  When Mak returned, the screaming had stopped. The woman with the broken knee and the man with the shattered hip and arm were both trying to limp away, but they were slow, and easy to follow in the mud.

  Her mistress had commanded her, though not in so many words, to get comfortable with killing when necessary. Today, Mak decided, it was necessary. And she wanted her sharktooth back.

  Now she needed to hide that four people had died. The rain would take care of the blood and any sign of a struggle, but the bodies were a problem. She couldn’t just leave them lying around, and rain or no someone might come by or step out a door at any time. What the hell did criminals do with bodies? Throw them in the river? She was close, but people moved around the river all the time, and it was still daylight.

  She racked her brain. She knew this area. She’d stumbled around it often enough that something must have stuck. Wasn’t there…?

  The four would-be abductors ended up in an access well for the storm drains, a random assortment of nearby garbage hiding them and the fact that the grate had been broken open. It would have to do for now. She’d pray that no one had seen her, and ask Ardek to help deal with the bodies permanently once night fell.

  When she was done, Mak let the rain wash the blood and mud off her as she caught her breath, before gathering her umbrella. It didn’t do much — her wrap was ruined, permanently stained and cut so that she had to hold it closed to preserve her modesty — but she felt clean all the same. Less annoyed with the rain, too.

  She didn’t bother putting up her umbrella. She was already soaked, and it would only slow her down as she sped stealthily along the streets.

  She had killed a guard captain and three others. She didn't know why exactly she’d been attacked, but she didn't doubt that there could be consequences, and gods only knew if anyone had seen her. Mercies grant no one had run towards the screams instead of away. The longer before the deaths were reported, the more time they had to prepare.

  Vakkal hadn't acted independently. Her gut told her that someone else had commanded him to take her if possible, and kill her if not. What her mistress had worried about was coming to pass. Someone powerful was targeting them.

  …Damn. She’d gotten so caught up in the fight, so furious that someone would attack her mistress through her, that she hadn’t even considered investigating why. Could she have taken Vakkal alive? Could she have gotten some answers out of him? The storm drains were mostly flooded, but…

  But it was too late to worry about that. Mak needed to get back to the inn as fast as possible, to tell the others. Her family was in danger. Her mistress was somewhere to the north, and not there to keep them safe. So, the responsibility for their safety fell to Mak. It was a responsibility she was used to, and it was what her mistress would want. And Mak would never disappoint her mistress.

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