- I -

Begging in Glessanmore was useless.

Kirin sat by the side of the road, watching the sailors and shoppers bustle by, waiting for anything to change. He had a hat for alms, but no one touched it. People only scoffed and barked at him to get a job. Like he hadn’t tried for weeks. 

He’d been up and down every dock. 

He’d started at the Nest docks, because they were smaller boats and tended to have smaller crews and stay closer to the city, and that would work best for his needs. His mother was sick with Wasting Malaise and he needed a short turn around on pay so he could buy her medicine. The crews there took one look at him and he couldn’t catch anyone’s eye to start a conversation. 

Then he tried the Dungeon, which was where the fishing vessels tended to land, and the story there was the same. So he tried the Palisade for the guide ships, and people started whispering the moment he stepped foot on it. Three or four ships hastily left the docks as he approached, and then a Port Authority officer started down the dock towards him with purpose in his stride. 

He didn’t know why, but something told him he needed to get out of there, so he quickly turned and left. He felt a shadow at his back the whole day after that. Like someone was behind him, following, watching, waiting. More than once Kirin sent a nervous glance behind him to try and find whoever was following, but no matter how many times he glanced at the busy street he never found the menace at his shoulder. 

He felt like he saw more guards on the docks than there had been before, and the last day he spent looking for work on the docks ended when a sailor jumped up, pointed at him and shouted “There he is!” 

A moment later there were sailors everywhere. He ran, barely lost them, and within ten minutes there were guards in Glessanmore blue moving to canvas the entire dock. 

He’d been forced to hide in the water under the street like a murderer. He’d barely lost them that time, and if he hadn’t found an air bubble under the road he would have probably been drowned. 

He didn’t dare try his luck with the fleet again, but there wasn’t anywhere else he could go. He didn’t have a trade. He tried acting solo, but it never panned out. He was used to playing off of other actors, and at some point the whole act just came undone every time. He could sing, but his singing voice was too husky for an acapella act, and he’d had to sell his instruments ages ago to buy medicine for his mother.

There were other jobs to be had, but he didn’t know the city well enough to be a guide, he couldn’t afford a horse and carriage to deliver goods, he couldn’t get an honest job on the docks, and he didn’t own a sword or a spear so he couldn’t work security or go fight monsters like adventurers do. Probably for the best; he could spar for the stage, but he didn’t have any real training to speak of. He’d probably just die a miserable death being eaten by a gryphon. 

And begging wasn’t easy in Glessanmore either. Like everything else, there was a certain way of being a beggar, which included being in the Beggar’s Guild. 

He’d tried that too. He’d been turned away because he was 'able-bodied'. They said they’d take his mother in, but she’d have to wait for six weeks to demonstrate she wasn’t in the first stage of Wasting Cough. They didn’t have six weeks. In six weeks they’d both be dead of hunger, and even if Kirin found enough trash on the street to avoid dying of starvation, his mother might be dead of illness. 

It seemed like all that was left was theft, contract killing, or prostitution, and he didn’t think he could get in with the prostitutes either. Not that he’d not sold himself since he’d landed on the docks in Glessanmore. 

More than once he’d been told ‘No money for beggars, but a favor will buy you bread.’ There was certainly a market for handsome half-elven bastards with enough hair to pull. But if the beggars had a guild, of course the prostitutes did as well, and you had to pay to be in it. Which meant he couldn’t even get “honest” dishonest work. At least selling his body wasn’t hurting anyone. Except his mother. She said she was fine, but he could feel it eating her alive. 

She’d glimpsed a couple small bruises on his wrist and spent the morning weeping quietly. He left as quickly as he could. Even those had sent her into a spiral of depression and guilt; he couldn’t imagine if she’d seen the two on his neck. 

Her grief was his companion as he’d struck out to beg for bread, or more likely to sell his body for money to buy medicine. 

Elves could feel the emotions of their loved ones across any distance. It was a blessing and a curse. He could always feel his mother’s love, warm like sunlight in his heart, but also her grief and shame, heavy like anchors or millstones. He wondered what his emotions felt like to her. They could shut the other out, but he found that made it all so much worse. It was better to suffer together than alone. 

So there he sat, on the corner of Aethelfred’s Tower like a regular whore, in the cold early autumn morning, with his stomach growling hungrily, watching people bustle by, waiting for someone to take pity on him and offer a copper piece for a bite of bread, or else trade a stirling for an hour of his time. 

Most people ignored him altogether. Those who noticed him either quickly looked away like they felt dirty just looking at him, or else let their eyes linger uncomfortably on his limbs while they decided if they had time to make use of him. 

One man in particular, a big man in a sailor’s jacket, had been standing opposite him for nearly ten minutes, blatantly eye-fucking him the whole time. 

Kirin ignored him as well as he was able. 

If he was going to pay, he’d have come over by now. He’d probably get on with his life in a few minutes and revisit the image of the unfortunate Half-elven bastard languishing on the side of the road later when he was in a private enough location to remember it fondly. 

As he was looking elsewhere, his eye caught an older man who looked very wealthy.

Everything about him was bright and immaculate, from the white of his twirled moustache, to the heels of his yellow leather boots. He wore a linen cravat, a lemon-yellow vest, a sky blue brocade coat, and a velvet shoulder cloak and a cavalier hat that matched, from the yellow trim to the large yellow plume. 

He stood out like a strike of lightning in the night sky. This was a poor area, in the middle of the dock. It was away from the berths, and the offices, and the warehouses, and anywhere else that a man with money would usually be seen. Nonetheless, he strode down the street as if on a mission, and no one dared stop him.

People parted on the road as he approached, some bowing as they did so. He kept a large leather tome under his arm, his eyes sedately surveying the street, nodding occasionally to a man or woman as he passed by, but never pausing.

Then his eyes fell on Kirin. They flicked past him for a breath of a second, blissful and sedate, then snapped back with a look of abject horror. He stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the square, gripping the book under his arm until his knuckles turned white, his mouth agape, moustache quivering.

Kirin’s gut clinched. He could hear his intuition like a voice of someone standing beside him, whispering “Run!” But he couldn’t move. His limbs were frozen, as if stillness could somehow render him invisible.

The rich man fairly tripped across the street to where Kirin was sitting, sending people scattering in every direction. Kirin finally managed to shake his limbs free. He stood, but the rich man was on him.

“It’s you! It is you! Pentirian have mercy! What are you doing here?” He snatched Kirin by his shoulders and shook him, “The state of you! Begging on the ivrenne docks like a vagabond! Drennigor rest your poor parents: they’d die of grief to see you here! Your uncle has been sick with worry! You must come with me at once! Holy king of Hallanex. On the street corner? What are you doing?” 

Everyone in the square had stopped to stare now.

Kirin finally found a voice through his shock, “Sir, I don’t know who you are, or who you think I am—”  

“Oh god of mercy, look at you! Where did you get these bruises?” He pushed Kirin’s collar aside.

Kirin slapped his hand away. “The state of my body is none of your business unless you’d like to pay me for it.”

The blood drained from the rich man’s face, his eyes bulged like he’d been stabbed in the gut. “I beg your pardon, pay you for it?”

Kirin shook himself free and stepped to the side,  “I’m trying to make money so I can feed my dying mother, so if you’re not feeling charitable or otherwise thirsty enough to buy me for an hour, kindly fuck off so I can get on with my day.” 

The big sailor from before appeared at the rich man’s shoulder. “I’ll give a gold ring for your company this afternoon.” 

Kirin’s heart sank. He just wanted them all to go away. Everyone. All the eyes. 

“Pentirian have mercy, you can’t be serious!” The rich man appealed, casting his horrified eyes between Kirin and the sailor.

Kirin wished he could dismiss them both, but a gold ring would buy food for a few days, and he wasn’t likely to get charity or another offer with the scene this rich bastard was making...

“Two rings.” The sailor said. 

“Done.” Kirin responded quickly, pushing past the rich man, whom he left gaping in the street. 

He didn’t like the hungry look in the sailor’s eyes — or whatever appetite demanded he win Kirin’s body for ‘the afternoon’ — but two rings would buy food and medicine. They quickly left the rich man in the road, and ducked into a dirty inn with cheap rooms. 

The next couple hours won Kirin a new collection of bruises, sore muscles, and one good scratch he didn’t feel he deserved. However, when the sailor was finally satisfied, he paid the two gold rings he’d promised and the price of the room. 

Kirin stayed longer than he needed in the darkened room. He needed time to recollect himself, and he wanted to be sure the sailor he’d entertained had left. He didn’t want to look at him again. He felt filthy.

He slowly opened the part of his heart that could feel his mother’s emotions. He’d blocked her out when they stepped into the building. She didn’t need to feel the complicated emotions that came with being at a strangers mercy. She’d begun weeping in his heart again. He sent her what paltry comfort he had available as he laid in the filthy bed, then cleaned up as best he could. 

It was mid-afternoon now, and his stomach was aching with hunger. It had been two days since he’d had a real meal. He and his mother had split the last bit of bread that morning. He hadn’t felt hungry before he’d eaten it, but ever since his stomach had been rolling and angry. It had been a miserable day so far, but now he had money in his pocket.

He wouldn’t be going home empty-handed. He would need to stop at the Apothecary first; the street vendors wouldn’t have enough stirling or halfs to break a gold ring, but the apothecary would, and his mother badly needed the medicine. After that he could get some skewers with meat and grilled vegetables and some bread and cheese and maybe a cheap beer… His mother was waiting for him.

Kirin left the inn without a word to the innkeep, and stepped back into the light of the road. 

Three steps down the road he caught a shadow of something dark over his shoulder. A glance revealed a large man in a long cloak. He had fiery red hair, a stern look on his face, and under the cloak Kirin could just make out the glint of a breastplate, and the hilt of a long sword at his hip. 

This time his intuition screamed run and he did. He made it two steps before a hand clenched around his arm like a vice. 

Kirin stumbled and nearly fell, but the man hoisted him upright. Kirin fought against his grip, clawing at the iron fingers around his arm, pulling with all his strength. 

He almost gained his freedom. He felt the vice slip for just a moment. Then the man wrapped his arms around him and pinned him against his chest and dragged him off the street into an alley. 

Kirin could hear nothing but the crash of the waves, or his blood in his veins, he wasn’t sure which. He kicked, and shouted, and fought with everything he had, but he may as well have been fighting a mountain for all it helped. Kirin was exhausted and starved and at the end of his strength, and his assailant had him beaten in height and weight, and muscle. 

The arms around his chest loosened, but only to slam him into a wall.

Kirin drew his shoulder up to protect his head the moment before he impacted painfully against the stonework. He crumpled to the ground, dazed. All Kirin noticed before the man fell on him again was the glint of a silver signet ring on his finger. A knight. 

His cloak was over his shoulders now, clearly revealing his breastplate and his sword and dagger. Not that this bear of a man would need a weapon to kill him. He could smash him like a bottle against the stone wall, or else just crush his throat in his fist. 

He stood back a couple feet, looking down at Kirin with the same stern expression from the street. “Alright boy—”

Kirin didn’t wait for him to speak. A couple feet was an opening. He shook himself into motion again. 

He’d get onto the street and blend in with the crowd. 

He'd find an alley and hide in the garbage. 

He’d jump in the harbor and pray he could tread water long enough to lose him.

The moment Kirin’s feet were under him again, the knight snatched his shoulders and pressed him into the wall. 

Kirin struggled like a sparrow in the claws of a hawk. It was over. 

He stood in the empty alley, pinned to a wall, with the stranger’s hand clasped over his mouth. 

Suddenly the whole city seemed deserted.

He was going to die. 

“You need to calm the fuck down, boy. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.” The knight had a Lochlain accent, and a sinister tone, and Kirin believed him. 

Kirin stopped struggling and tried to slow his breathing. The stranger’s hand over his mouth was all but suffocating. He could barely draw breath between the weight of the man on his chest and the hand over his mouth. Kirin’s fear pushed harder against his chest than the Knight's bracer. 

“That’s better,” the Knight said, “I’m going to let you breathe a little. You’re not going to shout or make a fuss, or there will be consequences. Am I understood?” 

Kirin nodded minutely.

The knight gave him a final warning glance, and slowly removed his hand from Kirin’s face. 

“I haven’t-”  Kirin’s voice creaked. He swallowed and tried again, “I haven’t got money or anything valuable.”

“I’m not robbing you, boy. I’ve got some questions what need answers, and you being here is causing me problems.” The knight said. 

Questions? What questions? Was this to do with the rich man from earlier? The panic in Kirin’s chest kept building. In their dark room in the tenement he could feel his mother panicking, terrified, and heart-broken. Probably convinced her only son was about to be murdered. He wasn't certain she was wrong.

“I don’t know anything about anything,” His voice shook, “Let me go, I’ve done nothing wrong.” 

 “Selling ass on the street is illegal,” The knight said, “I could arrest you for that.” 

If he didn’t come back, she’d starve, or worse. If she ended up on the street like he was, she’d be dead in a week.

“Sir, my mother is dying of Wasting Cough. She needs medicine. Please, for pity sake, let me go.” Kirin begged, tears welling in his eyes. 

“I can’t do that right now. I need you to come with me. Quietly, if you would. I can explain more when we get where we’re going.” 

To some other location? Where he could kill him or worse and do it without witnesses? “...And if I refuse?” Kirin asked, knowing full-well he couldn’t.

“I’ll cart you to jail for illegal prostitution, and have you extradited to a location where I can ask you my questions in private.”

“And if I run?” 

The Knight took a step back, his hand resting lightly on his sword hilt, and smirked at him. “Go ahead. Let’s see how far you get.” 

Kirin fought the tears, but they rolled down his face nonetheless. “Sir, please, let me go. I don’t know anything, and I don’t have money, what little I have I need to buy food and medicine. My mother is dying, she’s not eaten in two days. I wouldn’t be selling my body on the docks if I had other choices!”

“Come quietly, don’t cause me any more trouble, and I promise you, you’ll be back to your dying mother before sundown. I swear on my sword.” The knight tapped the hilt of his longsword, watching Kirin with unnervingly neutral eyes. Entirely calm. 

Kirin’s heart thundered in his ears.

He’d never outrun him, he was too tired. 

He couldn’t fight him. 

If he was arrested he’d never pay his fine. She’d die. His mother was all he had left, and she’d die. 

“I guess I don’t have a choice then, do I?” Kirin asked miserably.

“Fighting’s a choice. It ain’t a good one, but it’s all a matter of perspective.” 

Kirin wiped the tears off his face with his filthy sleeve. The Knight offered him a handkerchief. It had the initials H.C.G. embroidered on the corner. “Clean your face.” 

Kirin hesitated. He didn’t want to take the handkerchief, but from the look on H.C.G.’s face, it wasn’t an offer, it was an order. 

Kirin took it spitefully and wiped his face. 

“What’s your name, lad?” The Knight asked.

“Kirin.”

“Here’s how the next hour is gonna go, Kirin. I can’t ask my questions out here, so you and I are gonna take a walk, have a short chat, and then you can go on your way.” He unclasped the cloak at his throat. 

“You’re gonna wear this,” He draped the cloak over Kirin’s shoulders, and pinned it at the front. It was thick, soft, and warm. Kirin hated it.

“You can look as angry, vengeful, sullen, perturbed, or dead inside as you like, but you’re gonna keep your mouth shut, and you’re gonna stay beside me. If you do that, I swear by Pentirian no one is gonna hurt you, and you’ll be back with your dying mother by sundown with good money for your trouble.” 

Kirin sincerely doubted that. He knew how evil men could be, and he’d been at the mercy of one too many of them to believe that he was going to go with this knight, answer a few questions, and go about his business. But at least if he died elsewhere, his mother would be spared the image of her only son’s mangled body left in a trash heap. 

The Knight stepped back and looked over Kirin, his hand rested on his sword hilt. He frowned and stepped behind him.

Kirin felt his muscles tense unbidden. He half-expected the sting of the knight’s sword pushed through his chest. 

Instead, the knight gathered his hair and started combing through it with his fingers. 

Kirin braced for the beginning of whatever kinky fantasy this knight planned to indulge in before he killed him; either strands tearing free from his skull as the knight pulled his head back, or a slow lingering draw so he could enjoy the texture. Kirin was surprised, almost shocked, when neither of those happened. The Knight just matter-of-factly combed through Kirin’s hair for a moment. Somehow that was even worse.

“And I know you don’t need a warning—because you’re not going to try any shit, because you don’t want your mother to die in squalor—But for the sake of understanding...” The Knight gathered his hair and tied it at the back of his neck, then stepped back around to face him. “...If you try anything, I will chase you to ground like Loftwyne hunting The Glaisch. I will break both your legs, and I will throw you into Feymere, and I will not lose any sleep over you or your mother. Do you understand?” 

Kirin nodded, but a new anger simmered inside him. He was probably going to die, but this bastard didn’t have to talk about his mother. 

H.C.G. stepped back again, looking over Kirin once more. “Well, that’ll do. You still look a bloody fucking mess, but I guess that’s alright what with Lord Hawtrey’s display earlier. I can’t do shit about your hair... I doubt you have a comb?” 

Kirin glared at him, “No. I don’t.” 

“Figures.” 

This time Kirin didn’t try to hold his anger down. “I’ll go with you to whatever hellhole you’re dragging me off to, and I’ll do it quietly because you haven’t left me another choice, but you can fuck yourself with your opinions about my hair, you cocksucking Lochlain bastard.” 

He was going to die anyway, he could at least go to Ealrahir like a man. Besides, if he got him angry enough, perhaps the bastard would just kill him instead of toying with him first.

The knight’s demeanor changed in a flash. The stern look on his face melted suddenly and, surprisingly, he laughed. A loud amused guffaw that made Kirin wish to stab him.

His laugh turned to a chuckle, and he patted Kirin’s shoulder in a sudden shockingly affectionate gesture, “Oh Gods above, you sound like him too now? Oh Scald save us all.” The knight wiped a tear from his eye, though he was still smiling. “Alright son,” he pulled the hood up to cover Kirin’s hair, “A short walk, a few questions, and you’ll be on your way.” 

With this, the knight looked out onto the street briefly, still chuckling, then gestured for Kirin to follow. They stepped onto the street together. Kirin had expected him to walk him to wherever they were going with a hand on his shoulder or clenched around his arm, but he didn’t. 

The knight walked beside Kirin, still well within arm’s reach, but he walked casually, with one hand hooked in his belt and the other draped across the guard of his longsword at his hip. 

Kirin kept his eyes forward, uncertain what behavior would change the knight’s demeanor from whatever psychopathic charade they were performing to a murderous rage. 

Kirin’s skin crawled. The rich man from earlier had mistaken him for someone else, and now this man was here taking him gods only know where. 

The people on the dock parted for the Knight as they had for the rich man earlier. They walked for a distance, and even passed the dirty tenement where his mother was still horrified and anxious over him. He ached for her, and wished he could go to her and tell her it would be alright. He didn’t dare. If the knight would threaten him, he’d threaten her. She was safer if he didn’t know where she was. Kirin thanked the gods their tiny room didn’t have a window. There was no chance of her seeing them walk by. 

After only a minute more it became obvious the knight was walking him off the docks.

They wound their way through the upper market, through city streets and squares until they came to the King’s Road, and continued into the very heart of the city. 

Here the buildings were tall and lavish, with gleaming copper roofs and white stone sides. 

Statues stood in every square, with trees planted in containers, and trailing vines groping the walls of fine villas. The people here were well dressed and never wanted for a meal or any small diversion. This was the kind of place the rich man from the docks would be most suited to.

Kirin guessed they’d arrive at one of the noble family’s villas soon, but the Knight passed them all by. Eventually he came to the great circle, which connected the main roads of Glessanmore. The city municipal buildings stood proudly around the edges, and just to the north, across the great bridge, stood the Glessankeep Castle itself. 

He and his mother had paused here when they first arrived, to gaze at the glittering castle with its copper roofs and immaculate white stonework, towering over the city and the sea. In the afternoon sun it glittered all the brighter. The great circle opened to the bridge that led to the castle, and that was where The Knight turned. 

Kirin suddenly felt extremely sick. His step faltered. His head spun. A noble family was bad enough, but anyone who had ties to Glessankeep had ties to the Merchant Lord— Perhaps that was why the captains wouldn’t touch him? Was the man he looked like a competitor? Was he a traitor? Was he a thief or spy or saboteur? 

Anything relating to a major family like the Dulaiths would be hundreds of thousands of rings of trouble. And if money like that was on the line, there wouldn’t be a quick interview and a 'thank you for your time'. This was the kind of situation that got men put to the rack. And he didn’t know anything. He didn’t even know enough to know how to lie about it.

The knight stopped beside him as Kirin’s stomach churned. His mouth watered, and his throat clenched like he was going to vomit. 

A heavy hand rested on his shoulder. “Steady son,” 

Kirin swallowed and tugged the cloak away from his throat. “I don’t know anything, I swear!”

“Don’t buck on me now, lad. I just need answers to a few questions and then you can go on your way.” the knight said quietly.

“I don’t know anything about the Merchant Fleet, or the Dulaiths, or anyone associated with them, I swear on Ealrahir!” Kirin looked up at him, hoping his eyes would sell his earnestness.

“No talking. Twenty-Five rings to walk across the bridge and into the castle. Twenty-five for an hour of your time, and twenty-five when my questions are answered.” 

“If I go in there, I’m never coming out.” Kirin said in a thin voice.

A couple guards on patrol drew closer to them. The knight glanced at them then focused on Kirin again, a new look, a hard look, in his eyes.

“No talking.” He whispered firmly, “If you answer my questions you’ll be free to go on your way with money enough to take your mother wherever you like and set up comfortably.” 

Kirin was frozen. He wouldn’t be able to out-run the knight. He couldn’t afford to leave Glessanmore, and even if he could, his mother couldn’t travel; she’d die. Was it better to accept certain death than risk torture? But if the knight was telling the truth, he couldn’t afford to turn down that offer. 

The guards drew closer. They were almost in ear shot.

“Son, this is your last warning.” The knight said in a low, sinister tone, “I know you didn’t do anything to put yourself in this situation, and I hate that for you. But you have an opportunity to make out like a thief, and I suggest you take it. If you buck on me right now I’m going to have to do something extreme. This is a Peerage game we’re playing: it’s a lot harder to excuse a scandal than it is to cover a killing, and you are a street urchin. I will kill you. I will not blink.” 

Kirin swallowed, blinking back tears again. “Swear by your gods I will be free before night-fall.” Kirin said in a thin voice. 

The Knight adjusted the hood over Kirin’s face, “I’ll swear by anything you like: my gods, your gods, Sinthiri’s ass, the king’s balls, your mom, whatever’ll make you feel better. Now: across the bridge, into the castle. Twenty-five rings. Go.” 

Kirin took a breath, and took a step. 

The Knight still had his hand hung over the hilt of his sword. All Kirin could do was continue. It knotted his stomach with every step. 

They passed the guards, who nodded to him. "Sir Garris. Welcome back." One said. 

The other squinted at Kirin suspiciously. 

The Knight, Sir Garris, kept Kirin moving with a look. 

The guards let them pass.

The castle loomed closer and closer, like a headstone. Once he got in there, no one would ever know what happened to him. 

Kirin found himself praying to gods he didn’t even believe in for mercy.

His mother’s fear had turned cold and numb. Acceptance. She sent him a warm wave of love, as if she expected this was the moment before death. He sent a wave back to her, and tried to keep it free of dread.

The walk across the bridge was agonizing. It took maybe a minute, but it felt like eternity. They passed more guardsmen standing at attention along the way. They passed under the massive gate, and into the castle grounds. 

The bailey was a garden. There were trees lining the bright stone-paved avenue that led to the Castle keep. There were hedges and roses and flowering trees. Statues, and fountains, and banners hung in the wind. 

More guardsmen patrolled or stood watch, or sparred in the idyllic lawns. One fellow, another knight with a bald head and a barrel chest, followed them along the walk with his eyes, squinting at Kirin suspiciously. 

A couple servants pushed the castle door open as Sir Garris and Kirin approached. 

The grand entry was breathtaking. It was cavernous, with a painted ceiling depicting the canopy of lush green oak trees, with light somehow shining through the branches. The giant marble pillars were shaped like impossibly tall oak trees. A green carpet ran the length of the room, covering a mosaic that echoed the ceiling and looked almost like a carpet of green leaves. At the back of the room stood a grand staircase, which led to a second level which had several more doors and a catwalk that circled the room. 

Sir Garris gestured to the stairs, “Up, and to the right.”

Kirin began to climb the stairs, his legs weary, with his stomach still knotted and his throat feeling dry and painful. Before he made it three steps up the knight’s hand clinched his bicep. 

“Lord Dulaith,” Sir Garris said brightly, his accent suddenly much cleaner than before, “My apologies, I thought you were in meetings all afternoon.”

Kirin’s eyes snapped up to the top of the stairs, where there stood a man who could only be described as a tempest.

His eyes were grey and stormy, and his hair was black and shot through with silver like lightning in the night sky. He wore a black velvet coat, and a silver silk vest, and a golden glittering chain of authority like a fire after a lightning strike. 

He looked over Kirin with a stern face and piercing eyes, but Kirin felt certain he wasn’t actually angry. No, that would surely cause tidal waves and earthquakes... 

He began walking down the stairs, and Kirin instinctively stepped back down the three or four he’d climbed as if the Mairch of Eldefrey needed the entire width of the fifteen-foot-wide stairwell. 

Sir Garris joined Kirin at the side of the stairs as the Mairch descended, apparently to join them.

“You must be the young man that Lord Hawtrey came calling about this morning.” The Mairch said, and stopped an arm’s reach away. 

Kirin froze. He didn’t have the first idea how he should respond to being addressed by the most powerful man in the north of Ethelfell. He wasn’t in any condition to be standing before the Merchant Lord. He was filthy. He was a wretched, starving disaster. He would have been ashamed even if the Merchant Lord wasn’t looking directly at him, but under his gaze he felt entirely naked. 

He didn’t know if he should get on his knees and beg for mercy for standing on the carpet, or try to explain himself. He didn’t know if that would even be acceptable. Could he even speak to a Mairch? 

“He is.” Sir Garris said, “After Hawtrey came through earlier I thought I'd see if I could locate the boy and get some answers about what's been going on at the docks.” As he was talking Sir Garris bumped Kirin lightly with a fist to prompt a bow that was long-overdue. 

When Kirin rose, the Merchant Lord had a smile that was dangerously close to a smirk. “May I ask your name?”

Kirin swallowed, and cleared his throat, “Kirin Hare, your… Lordship...?”

“Grace.” Sir Garris coughed from the corner of his mouth.

“—Your grace.” Kirin quickly corrected himself.

The Mairch nodded, and looked over Kirin again. “You seem to have fallen on hard times, Mr. Hare.” 

Kirin looked at the flooring for a moment, and found he couldn’t raise his eyes again, “I’m... between jobs at the moment.” 

“What was your occupation?”

Kirin cleared his throat. “I’m an actor, your grace.” 

There was a pause that told Kirin without looking up that the Lord was surprised, “Have you not been able to find work in the theatre anywhere in the city?” 

“No, your grace.” Kirin said. 

“Why is that?” 

Kirin took a breath, “I’ve auditioned, but the last troupe I was with had a bad manager. He figured if fame wasn’t within his reach, infamy was. I left the troupe, but I can’t seem to shake the association.” 

“What manner of ‘infamy’?” The Lord’s voice was curious, but not stern.

Kirin looked at his toes. “Well, the plays were raunchy... And the encores were raunchier... and then the manager figured he could just start auctioning the actors to the audience for ‘private performances’. If you wanted to get paid, you had to go along with it, and he knew most of us needed the work.” 

Sir Garris hummed, “So you just went freelance on the street corner then, eh?” 

Kirin kept his eyes down. 

Something happened above Kirin’s vision that made Sir Garris clear his throat and adjust his stance. 

“I don’t have a choice.” Kirin appealed as loudly as he dared — It was barely more than a whisper — “I’ve tried to find honest work, truly I have. I don’t have another trade. I’m not presentable enough for the fine districts. The fleet won’t touch me. And my mother is dying, sir.” He tried to raise his eyes, but couldn’t. “She’s sick with Wasting Malaise. I can eat garbage left on the street, but it takes money to buy medicine, and I swear I’ve tried every honest way I can think of to come by it.” 

“I am certain you have,” The Mairch said kindly, and then he shifted on his feet, but Kirin didn’t look up. 

“Herbert, step back a distance.” The Mairch said. 

Sir Garris retreated, leaving only the Mairch and the wretched beggar. 

“Mr. Hare, would you put your shoulders back, please?” 

He could have more easily moved a mountain… Nonetheless Kirin straightened, and slowly, piece by piece, he put himself in order. He almost managed, but couldn’t quite lift his head. 

The Mairch hummed for a moment, “Shoulders back. Look me in the eye, Mr. Hare.” 

It was a simple request. One that should have been easy to do. One that could change his fate. If he could look the Merchant Lord in the eye, perhaps he could ask him to have pity on his mother. A man as wealthy as the Merchant Lord would surely have alms to spare for a dying woman. But try as he may, Kirin Hare, filthy urchin he was, couldn’t raise his eyes.

But perhaps one of the characters he’d played on the stage could? 

He’d played a fine lord before. He’d played King Alfreth once, for god’s sake. Surely High King Alfreth would be able to look The Mairch of Eldefrey in the eye? 

Kirin took a long breath, his eyes closed, remembering the lines he’d memorized, the choreography of the sword fights. How had he stood as Alfreth? He put his shoulders back, and raised his chin, and imagined he was on a stage with an audience before him. He visualised the lights and the crowd, and finally he opened his eyes. 

He met the Merchant Lord’s gaze. 

The stern expression on his face lightened to a slight smile, but his eyes were still searching him for something. 

“Very good,” The Merchant Lord said, “Now smirk.” 

Kirin did. He gave him the wryest, most amused smirk he could manage. 

The smile on the Merchant Lord’s face grew into a pleased smirk of his own. He nodded, then walked around Kirin in a circle. “Herbert, what do you think?” 

Sir Herbert sighed, “Well, I don’t like it, but I won’t lie: that’s uncanny.”

Kirin glanced at Herbert, and let the smirk die. “What’s uncanny?” 

The Merchant Lord smiled, “If you’re free over the dinner hour this evening, I have a job opportunity I’d like to discuss with you.” 

Kirin’s heart began to hammer in his chest, “A job opportunity?” 

“We will discuss it at length later. I have a meeting for which I’m already quite late, and you will have need of a bath, a fresh set of clothes, and a hot meal before we discuss that. Until then, I’m pleased to have you as a guest in my home.”

Kirin blinked and stuttered, “Thank you, your grace.”

“Sir Herbert, you’ll be attending Mr. Hare’s needs for the duration of his stay here. See to it he has a fresh set of clothes and whatever else he requires.”  

Sir Herbert bowed, “At once, Milord.” 

“Thank you.” The Merchant Lord said, then turned to address Kirin again, “Mr. Hare, this is Sir Herbert Garris, one of my most loyal knights and a good friend of mine. Should you need anything, he will be at your disposal.”

Kirin glanced nervously at the mountain of ill-temper waiting politely to the side. He didn't seem to mind at all, but it would be a long way before Kirin felt comfortable with him in any capacity.

“Herbert, would you please escort Mr. Hare to a guest room? I’ll send Madam Fryth to assist you.” The Merchant Lord said, and with that he turned to go. 

“Sir, if you please—” Kirin said before he could stop himself. He was immediately horrified with himself, and then his blood went cold as the Merchant Lord actually stopped and turned back to him.

“Yes, Mr. Hare?” He asked, seeming mercifully unperturbed.

Kirin swallowed. He was committed, he may as well. “My mother, your grace. It’s been two days since she’s eaten. I can’t leave her alone.”

“Of course, that’s more than reasonable. I’ll send a carriage to collect your mother and bring her here. You mentioned she's ill; has she seen a physician lately?” 

“No, your grace,” Kirin replied.

“I’ll have one of my physicians waiting for her arrival then.” The Lord said, “Enjoy your afternoon, Mr. Hare. I look forward to our conversation this evening.”