“The world is a theatre, and we are but the actors. Some of us just have better scripts.”

  – Ilgast of Limrod, Deliberations

  Weeks of planning, talking, soothing, smoothing, preparing, and, finally, sailing. It had been a surprisingly smooth journey, given its tumultuous beginnings.

  Lavelle stepped off the ship’s gangplank and inhaled the salty sea air tinged with the sweetness of grapes that could only mean one thing—she had arrived in Limrod.

  She allowed herself a moment to admire Limrod’s scenic beauty before her mind inevitably drifted back to Kel, as it had so often during her voyage. Ravena’s astonished face as she lay there, the light having left her eyes. Her death had been necessary, had been coming for a long time. Qualms were for those not having to uphold a state. Still, unease lingered in her thoughts.

  Ravena’s lust for power had become a liability. Had she not acted, they would now be bringing war to the continent, instead of justice. Not that that particular problem was solved. Something would still need to be done about Loratha. They could not risk another Concordate.

  It always galled her a bit to rely on Leftos for anything. Lavelle did not particularly like the man, but she could work with him. Despite his flamboyant attitude, he was surprisingly loyal to Kel, to the Tetrarchy, to their ideals of stability. And he did get things done. You had to work with what you had available. A truth Lavelle had learned the hard way. Over and over.

  As she did her best to shake off her dark reflections, Lavelle refocused on the task at hand. They had dispatched her to Limrod for an emergency. She would have preferred to stay in Kel, smooth things over a bit more. Yet Feldar had insisted that she should go. Lavelle suspected the Tetrarch was quite keen on distracting his Delegates from the fact that he had been the one to have been swayed by Ravena. She would not forget.

  But she had seen his point, recognized the urgency. So Lavelle had gone to Limrod. Dispatched to eliminate an illegal Elevated in service to a local crime boss. A local crime boss who, their sources insisted, was merely a front for the not-so-dead Duke Embrez.

  Embrez. Lavelle went through some unpleasant memories of the man. Here was someone she did not miss interacting with. They had known, of course. Known, but not cared, that the former Duke of Olban had escaped death. That he had built his little criminal empire in Limrod. There was always organized crime in cities. That in itself did not threaten stability.

  How this repulsive man had acquired an Elevated, however—apparently unnoticed by anyone in the Tetrarchy—was deeply troubling. Troubling and threatening. His pet Elevated needed to be neutralized. Quickly. And not so discreetly. An example needed to be made, yes. Of Embrez, not of the rogue Elevated. Best not to advertise that these things were possible.

  She had left the Suns of Kel that accompanied her back on her ship, not wanting to draw more attention than necessary. At least for the moment.

  Lavelle walked past the thronging markets of Limrod, where the fragrance of exotic spices mingled with the salty sea air, and the vibrant chatter of merchants selling their wares filled the atmosphere. This was not the place to find a crime lord. Instead, she blended into the crowds and made her way toward the seedy taverns and back alleys of Grimward, where underworld dealings would occur. She had done these things before. If she was to locate this man, this was where she needed to start. The hunt was on.

  Even amidst the hustle and bustle of Limrod’s streets, Lavelle felt Ravena’s presence lurk at the edges of her awareness. A persistent shadow she just could not seem to shake. Lavelle remembered training Ravena, not so many years ago. A frightened girl—hardly more than a child—taken by the spotters because her abilities seemed useful. Quickly rising through her assessments when she responded disproportionally well to believers. Until, one day, she was made a Delegate. Only, this particular spotter did not seem to have been the best judge of character. Or maybe Ravena had always been good at manipulating people, even as a child.

  You should have listened, Ravena, Lavelle thought. She took no pleasure in this. But the games of the Tetrarchy left no room for disloyalty.

  For now, Lavelle forced the lingering guilt aside and focused her energy on the mission. She had a rogue Elevated to find, and a delicate peace to protect. Limrod would not like this intervention. Ravena would have to wait—the needs of the Tetrarchy came first. Always.

  On her way to Grimward, she crossed a part of the theater district. At a corner, a musician plucked lilting melodies on some kind of stringed instrument, notes dancing on the sea breeze. Theatrical voices rang out, reciting verses that spoke of love, loss, and longing. And everywhere, the scent of grapes—earthy yet sweet, a tantalizing promise of the exquisite Limrodian wines Lavelle was eager to turn her attention to. After.

  Despite the urgency of her mission, she found herself marveling at the surrounding beauty. This was different from the martial brutality of Loratha, from the thronging masses and caravans of Sariz. Pastel buildings lined the canals that snaked themselves through the city, reflections shimmering on the glittering water. Flowering vines curled around balconies and windowsills, bursts of intensity against the lightly colored stone. The very air seemed to be imbued with creativity, as if inspiration itself was woven into the fabric of the city.

  Or at least that was how the center of Limrod presented itself to her.

  Lavelle quickened her pace as she neared the seedier taverns in Grimward and the outskirts of town, lacking the picturesque charm of the city proper. Presenting a very different Limrod. Grizzled sailors nursed mugs of ale at worn wooden tables. Mercenaries exchanged whispers in shadowed corners. The few women in the room seemed to be here professionally, mercenary or otherwise for hire.

  Lavelle slid onto a rickety barstool, every sense alert. If there were any whispers about rogue Elevated or crime gangs, this would be the place to overhear them.

  “What’ll it be, luv?” the barkeep rasped. Crooked nose, more holes than teeth in his mouth, and only sporting isolated tufts of hair. The man had seen better days. Hopefully. Lavelle ordered mulled wine, more to blend in than out of any real desire for drink. Odd, really. She finally made it to Limrod, after all those years, and she did not rush into one wine tasting orgy after another? She smiled sourly.

  As the barkeep turned away, Lavelle discreetly surveyed the room. Most patrons either openly ogled her or ignored her entirely, attention drawn to their drinks or companions. Whether it was because of her fine clothes or what lay underneath them, Lavelle did not much care. These people were irrelevant. One man, however, caught her eye. He sat by himself at a corner table, sipping from a nearly full mug of ale. His gaze flicked restlessly between the barkeep, the tavern door, and Lavelle. Something about his demeanor struck her as odd—he was too alert, too focused, for someone who was supposedly just enjoying a drink.

  She took another sip of her wine. Damn, this was good. How much had she missed in her life, if even rundown taverns in Limrod had wine this good?

  Lavelle continued to study the man. His clothes were plain but neat, already standing out in the sea of rough, work-worn attire around them. He held himself with an air of restrained caution, only letting his guard down when he thought no one was looking. This man was not just a casual patron—he was watching, waiting. For something.

  Then it clicked. Lavelle had seen enough of his type in her line of work. The way he tried to blend in, the subtle glances toward the entrance, his covert note-taking on a small piece of parchment he kept hidden in a fold of his tunic—this man was an informer, and not a very good one at that, likely reporting to the local magistrates. Without drawing attention, Lavelle casually shifted her position to give her a clearer view of the man.

  A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She could use this to her advantage. An informer would have his finger on the pulse of the local goings-on, including any rumors or maybe even sightings of her target. If she played her cards right, this man might point her in the right direction.

  While she carefully put down her drink, Lavelle quietly observed the informer. She considered approaching him but quickly decided against it. By now, she was sure that the man had recognized her and was observing her in turn. He was getting increasingly agitated and kept glancing toward the door. She feigned to suddenly be very intrigued by a card game at a nearby table, to give him an opportunity to vanish.

  Sure enough, the man quickly got to his feet and left the tavern in a rush, not even bothering to finish his drink. Lavelle smirked, left a few coins on the bar, and slipped out after him, keeping to the shadows. She tracked the man through a winding maze of less than wholesome alleys halfway through Grimward until he finally reached a ramshackle building on the very outskirts of the city. There she watched as he knocked in a peculiar rhythm before being admitted inside.

  Lavelle took a moment to assess the situation, as the door closed behind the man. Rushing in after him would be foolish and would, more likely than not, end in spilled blood. Not hers, but still.

  She decided to find a vantage point instead. The moon was high in the sky now, casting long shadows that she used to her advantage, in case the building had any lookouts. She moved stealthily toward the side of the building, spotting a narrow pipe that ran along the wall. Lavelle used it as a makeshift ladder and silently scaled the building’s exterior. She crept along the ledge outside a second-story window and was soon rewarded by hearing the informant’s voice drift through the cracked pane.

  “...saw her at The Captain’s Keg, clear as day. An Elevated, I’m sure of it. They have this air around them.”

  A second voice, smooth yet commanding. “Did she give any indication of why she’s in Limrod?”

  “Hard to say. But she kept watching the room like she was looking for someone.”

  A pause, then, “Well, that’s not much.” A sigh. “Just keep an eye on her. Discreet. Not like with that poor lad last month. We need to know why she’s here if she’s really Elevated.”

  Lavelle’s pulse quickened. She was on the right track. The corners of her mouth wandered slightly up. Now let’s accelerate this a bit. Moving swiftly, she dropped inside the open window. The informant gasped in shock as he recognized her, while the second man simply raised an eyebrow, unfazed. Though she noticed that his hand rested on his sword, calculating.

  “I believe you’re looking for me,” Lavelle said coolly, eyes directed at the handler. Fine clothes, straight posture. Probably what counted for minor nobility in Limrod. “Perhaps we can help each other. I think you might have information that I’d be interested in.”

  The man stood calmly, head slightly tilted, and regarded Lavelle with veiled curiosity. “I’m Magistrate Alastor. It’s my job to take care of Limrod’s affairs, both lawful and otherwise.” He paused and carefully evaluated her. Had this man emphasized some of those words to make a point? Inwardly, Lavelle smiled at the inevitable posturing on the continent. “May I ask what brings an Elevated to our city unannounced?”

  As if just becoming truly aware of her presence, the informant staggered back, eyes wide with shock and fear. “I... I meant no offense, my lady. I was simply doing my job.”

  “Delegate, actually.” Lavelle did not even bother to glance at the man. Instead, she met Alastor’s gaze evenly. “And I’m here on a matter of Tetrarchic security. An extremely dangerous individual has been located in Limrod. It’s my job to deal with them.”

  “I see,” Alastor’s brows lifted slightly. “I couldn’t really place that accent. Maybe Imra? And does this individual of yours have a name?”

  “None that need concern you,” Lavelle replied smoothly, ignoring his other question. “Suffice it to say they pose a severe threat that requires immediate action. They’re part of Euphemius’ gang. That’s all you need to know.” Lavelle briefly looked at the groveling man standing at Alastor’s side, a flicker of distaste passing her face. “Maybe one of your... informants has some intelligence on them?”

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  Alastor hesitated and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He seemed to think carefully about his next words. After a moment he spoke, “This is my city, Lady Delegate. Any threats here fall under my jurisdiction. Limrod has its ways of handling these matters.” He straightened, face set in determination. “We do recognize Tetrarchic privileges, of course, so I will assist you in locating this criminal. But they’ll face Limrodian justice. I can’t allow external forces to operate unchecked here. I’m sure you understand.”

  Lavelle had to suppress an eyeroll. Of course this pompous administrator wanted to assert his authority. These types were all the same. So desperate to maintain the veneer of independence from the Belt. Outwardly, however, she maintained an impassive fa?ade.

  “A reasonable position, Magistrate,” she pretended to concede. “Very well then, let’s collaborate. I’m sure you’re a reasonable man but know this: I will exercise the authority granted to me by the Tetrarch of Kel, should the need arise. The security of the Tetrarchy outweighs everything else. Understood?”

  Lavelle watched the man, obviously calculating, weighing his options. Not that he had any. Real options, that was.

  After a tense moment, Alastor nodded. Lavelle hid a smile. That had been almost too easy. She did not even have to punch anyone. These local magistrates, all bark and no bite when it came down to it. “Excellent.” She spread her arms. “Then we’re in agreement.”

  Alastor pursed his lips but turned to his informant. The man had put some distance between himself and Lavelle in the meantime but was just now righting himself again. “Tell her everything you’ve recently heard about Euphemius’ group and their activities in Limrod.”

  The informant spoke, hesitantly at first and then slowly becoming more confident, relaying what little information he had gathered so far. The man was clearly new to this game. Lavelle listened with growing impatience. Most of it was useless gossip, but she perked up at the mention of a gathering happening tomorrow night, in a warehouse deep in Limrod’s underbelly.

  “We’ll infiltrate this meeting,” Alastor decided. A sly smile slowly crept onto his angular face. “Normally, my superiors would never authorize that. I’ve been trying to get them to do something about Euphemius for ages. Unsuccessfully, I might add. At least some of them are doubtlessly connected to these criminals. But you’re here now, and I can’t possibly refuse a Tetrarchy Delegate, can I now? If your target is in Limrod and part of Euphemius’ crew, they’ll be at this meeting. Everyone wins.” He gave Lavelle a pointed look. “We’ll capture them together. Understood?”

  Not so dumb after all, this magistrate. Lavelle nodded obligingly. Oh, she understood perfectly well. Alastor would leave this meeting with one fewer Elevated to worry about. Everyone won.

  They made arrangements for the following evening and Alastor went to rally his colleagues for their raid. Lavelle had spent most of the day asleep, trading in a tour of the city for some much-needed rest, with all that had happened recently. When she finally woke, the sun was just beginning to plunge into Limrod’s harbor. She stood in front of the window and stretched. Just enough time left to get herself ready for some action.

  Under the cover of darkness, Lavelle, Alastor, and his soldiers made their way through Limrod’s winding back alleys near the docks. The city had taken on a sinister cast with the fading light, all deep shadows and muffled secrets. Lavelle could practically sense the illegal activities happening behind those closed doors. Just out of the magistrates’ sight. Not hers though. She knew this world—had known it for a very long time now—knew how to navigate its unspoken dangers. If it was not so exciting, she would almost grow weary of it all.

  At last, they reached a rather unassuming warehouse at the waterfront. If she had not known about the place, Lavelle would have walked right past, but it matched the description of Alastor’s man. And there it was. Light crept from beneath the door, raucous laughter escaped through cracked windows. Hooded figures leaned in shadowed niches all around the building. Lavelle’s pulse quickened. This was it.

  According to their informant, this was some kind of all-hands-on-deck meeting. Which of course meant that nobody in any official role in Limrod wanted to burn their hand in this conflagration. All the major players in the city’s underworld were gathering here. Including Embrez. And where Embrez went…

  “Those guys must be guarding the place,” Alastor whispered, crouched at her side. “We can take them out without anyone noticing and then we’ll bar all the entrances, make sure that nobody gets away when we move in.” Without waiting for her response, he furtively signaled to the soldiers that accompanied them. Still thinks he’s in charge here, Lavelle thought. Cute.

  His plan had sounded simple when he laid it down the day before—storm the warehouse and arrest everyone inside, political consequences be damned. This was his chance of actually making a difference in Limrod. Lavelle, of course, had other ideas.

  As Alastor’s soldiers prepared to make their move, she spotted a huge support beam, rising above them. Lavelle subtly accelerated its time flow. Years began to pass in seconds, the wood aging rapidly, becoming weathered and brittle under the onslaught of time, rushing by in a torrent.

  Until, without warning, the now ancient beam groaned under a weight it could no longer support. A loud creak tore through the night. Then the beam gave in with a resounding crash. The ground shook violently as part of the ceiling came down with the beam, causing confusion and panic both outside and inside the warehouse. A huge wave of dust billowed out from the building. Half of the thugs, caught in the chaos, vanished into the dark alleyways, while the rest—driven by loyalty or fear—charged into the crumbling warehouse, facing the unknown.

  For a moment, Alastor seemed to be frozen. Then he shook himself awake and started to gesture frantically, “Go, go, go!”

  Shouts of pain rang out from inside the building, followed by pounding footsteps, as Limrodian soldiers smashed through the doors, weapons drawn. More shouts followed, this time colored by surprise and anger. “Try to take them alive!” Alastor yelled, attempting to make himself heard over the din.

  But Lavelle had already slipped into the shadows. She stretched out the seconds, moving with a speed and precision that made her practically invisible to the naked eye. The seeds of pandemonium were sown. Now, to find her prey amidst the chaos.

  Lavelle prowled through the frenzied warehouse, flashes of steel and cries of the wounded overwhelming her senses. She had to be careful. Being a god did not mean immunity to stray crossbow bolts. Everywhere around the debris people milled about the large room. People smashed by beams, people clashing swords with the incoming soldiers. So many people. Where was he?

  There—like a prickle at the back of her neck. She turned. Across the room—enveloped by a layer of dust and confusion—a grizzled man in a gray cloak locked eyes with her. His hands shook as he held up the enormous support beam that had pinned several men to the long table, some of which looked well beyond help. She could practically feel the strain of his power, warping the very air around him.

  Lavelle narrowed her eyes. A dangerous move that her target was pulling off, considering the delicate balance he held in his palms. One slip up and he might bring down the rest of the building together with the support beam.

  As Lavelle approached, the man—‘Gravell,’ her sources had called him—set down the beam and sent a barrage of debris her way. It felt like she was pulling the rubble toward her. Lavelle did not even break stride. She stretched the seconds, turning the speeding projectiles into motionless obstacles that she deftly sidestepped.

  “You!” Gravell’s shocked expression quickly turned to disgust. “I should’ve known they’d send you, pet of Kel that you are. We’ve had enough of your tyranny.” Almost instantly, a crushing force bore down on Lavelle, threatening to snap her bones. Instinctively, she dodged, moving faster than Gravell’s eyes could follow. To him, it must have seemed like she had teleported out of the path of his power.

  “Impressive trick,” Gravell growled. “But it won’t save you.”

  Undeterred, he swerved his focus, and Lavelle again felt that immense pressure threatening to flatten her, buckling her knees. Around them, the entire warehouse groaned under the strain.

  “An Elevated without any constraints and that’s the best you can do?” she smirked. “Working with a bunch of criminals. You disappoint me. In the end you’re just another slave.”

  With a flick of her wrist, she halted the flow of time, freezing Gravell mid-attack. His outstretched hand still crackled with power, but he was utterly motionless. Utterly helpless. There was not even time for confusion, for terror, to bloom on his face.

  Lavelle drew her dagger—curved edge honed to perfection—and gracefully moved toward the rogue Elevated. No hesitation. With swift precision, she slid the blade into Gravell’s knee, severing tendons. Yanking the blade back, she repeated the motion for the other knee. People did not appreciate what a pain it was to precisely shape time control fields to do things like that. Then, she retreated a safe distance and resumed the flow of time. In an instant, Gravell’s confident sneer collapsed into a howl of agony as he crumpled to the floor, concentration shattered. His power fizzled out.

  She crouched down beside him, studying his face dispassionately. Now she could see some of that terror in his beady eyes. Lavelle nodded to herself. “Embrez should have known better than to harbor a rogue Elevated. You both signed your death warrants the moment you decided to defy the Tetrarchy.” At his stunned look, she shook her head. “Oh yes, we know exactly who you work for. Did you really think your little deception would escape the Tetrarchy’s notice? We rule this world, Gravell.”

  In Lavelle’s experience, this was usually the moment when men broke. When they begged, sobbed, groveled.

  Despite what must have been considerable pain, Gravell instead made a feeble attempt to gather his power once more. “I will... not be... a message... for the Belt,” he snarled through clenched teeth, eyes burning with rage and defiance, as he lay in his pool of blood. Unable to rise.

  “You’re already a message, Gravell,” Lavelle simply chuckled. “But I suppose a little... visual aid wouldn’t hurt.” Kneeling beside the fallen Elevated, she produced a smaller blade from her belt. She had no patience whatsoever for traitors, but she was not needlessly cruel. Most of the time anyway. With practiced efficiency, she plunged the dagger into the man’s heart. Her face was an impassive mask as she twisted the blade.

  Gravell’s gasp of pain and shock echoed through the room, a final desperate cry before life left him. Lavelle paused and offered the man a brief moment of stillness—a silent concession to mercy, in a world devoid of it.

  And then, she drew the blade across his torso, opening a long, brutal gash. Blood welled up, seeping out slowly in distorted time while she worked. Slowly, methodically, she carved the black sun of Kel into his chest. Satisfied with her work, she pulled the dagger out and wiped it on Gravell’s cloak. Then, she stood up and released her hold on time. Eyes glassy, the Elevated slumped back on the dirty floor, unmoving. Beside her, the support beam started to slide again as a tearing sound filled the air.

  Through the haze, Lavelle glimpsed Alastor, still attempting to salvage the situation. She smirked. Let him clean up this mess. Her work here was done. With a final glance at the chaos she had set into motion, Lavelle stepped back into the shadows and vanished, leaving only the sounds of battle and destruction behind.

  Lavelle slipped into the city’s maze of alleyways, shaking off the bloodlust. Her mission was accomplished. Gravell was dead, the Tetrarchy’s justice served. Though a twinge of dissatisfaction remained. It was a shame that Embrez had eluded her grasp. His day would come, she knew, but it would have been so satisfying to conclude it all tonight in one fell swoop.

  As she moved through the winding lanes, her thoughts already turned to the comfort of her quarters. She was contemplating the idea of a hot bath—yes, a nice bath with a mug of the best wine her inn had to offer—when a skittering sound reached her ears. Lavelle perked up, wrested from her daydreams. Were there people around that fled from the warehouse?

  She turned abruptly and glimpsed several figures fleeing down an alley for just a moment before they turned a corner. Perhaps it was just her wishful thinking, but one of them had looked very much like Embrez. She would recognize that stumped lump from a mile away. Lavelle’s eyes narrowed. This was no longer just about duty—it was personal. She would not allow Embrez to escape her clutches again.

  In an instant, she was upon them, time frozen around her. Embrez and his guards stood motionless, their faces locked in naked fear. Like ruthlessness itself, Lavelle dispatched his thugs. Slash, stab, hack—her blade leaving a gruesome tableau across the alley.

  Finally, she turned to Embrez. The man who had eluded justice for so long now stood helpless before her. She considering him for a long time. Then, Lavelle finally sighed and release flooded through her. Around her, time resumed its course. Behind her, bodies toppled to the ground in a series of sickening thuds.

  She watched as Embrez, surrounded by the bodies of his slain guards, scrambled back against the alley wall.

  “Well, well. The elusive Bloody Duke finally within my grasp,” Lavelle purred as she twirled her dagger. “You’ve been a slippery fish.”

  He did not even try to play stupid. He knew her and what that would do. Instead, Embrez’ eyes darted around, searching for an escape. Finding none. He licked his lips. “L-Lady Delegate, surely we can come to an agreement. For old time’s sake. I have information, connections...”

  Lavelle silenced him with a glare. “You have nothing I want, Embrez. Nothing except your life.”

  She moved closer, dagger poised. Embrez shrank back. “Wait, please! I really do have information that you need to hear. There is this amulet, it just passed through Limrod days ago—it’s more important than you realize!”

  For a moment, Lavelle hesitated. A rare moment of doubt. Annoyed at her curiosity, she waved impatiently. “Go on.”

  “This boy. I mean the owner of this amulet... he’s more dangerous than he seems. The stories about it… Believe me, I tried… but he slipped away. You don’t understand. The amulet. If he uses it, it could threaten everything!”

  Lavelle frowned, considering his words. What was the man talking about? She shook her head. Probably just desperate ramblings, trying to save his life. Sad how far the once-mighty could fall.

  “A fanciful tale. Very entertaining, really. But it changes nothing.” She pressed the tip of her blade to his throat.

  Embrez’ eyes bulged. “You’re making a mistake! That amulet cannot reach—” His words died in a gurgle as Lavelle drew the blade across his throat in one smooth motion. Blood sprayed, coating the alley walls. Lavelle watched as the life drained from Embrez’ eyes.

  “Your greed has always been your downfall,” she whispered as the man’s body slumped onto the cobblestones. With a grimace of disgust, she flicked the blood from her blade. Behind her, Embrez’ lifeless eyes stared accusingly, his final words still echoing in her mind. She shook her head, pushing away any lingering thoughts. His desperate tales were meaningless. Like the man himself was now.

  She took in her surroundings one last time and stretched. What people did not realize was that the life of a Delegate was far from simple, Lavelle mused, as she began to navigate her way out of the blood-soaked alley. Hardly any time for oneself.

  “Well,” she muttered to the quiet city around her, “It’s high time I find out where a girl can get a good bath around here.” It was, after all, the least she deserved after a night like this.