Unfortunately, the word monster has become so entangled with these magical aberrations that we have lost the original meaning. It is dangerous to forget that.

  -Unattributed

  The serious atmosphere is gone by the time I make it halfway to the back of the room. Those at the tables scattered around the hall are already busy speaking with one another; some discussing the information given out, others their plans, while others still turn back to the random conversations they had going on before the prince gave his address. A bit of self-consciousness nags at me as I find myself one of the few moving toward the back of the room where the hall staff are setting out food. That feeling soon leaves as the woman I saw before meets me in front of a silver platter bearing freshly breaded and fried pork.

  “Jae Ava Carbina,” Althemia, the woman with the eye so much like my own, says as we meet, offering a demure nod.

  “What?” I ask, expertly articulate as always.

  Althemia blinks at me for a moment, confusion apparent on her face. “I thought I had the greeting right. Are you not Faethian?”

  “No. I thought you were.”

  She returns the awkward smile that I am no doubt wearing. “And just when I thought that I had finally found one.” Her words are stilted and highly accented, making me think that Castinian is not her native tongue. “Am I right to believe that your left eye is of Faethian origins?”

  “As I’m sure yours is as well.” I hold my hand out to the woman. “My name is Charlene Devardem, though I think you already know that.”

  The woman takes my hand, squeezing in a way that lets me know her strength is incredibly higher than my own. “Althemia of the Mist Islands. I might have known that would not be from Faeth. Everything I have heard about those people claims that they are isolationists. Have you made it to that land where our eyes originate from?”

  “Not yet,” I admit. “It is on my list of things to do.”

  “Mine as well.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you come by that eye? When I received this one, I was made to believe that these artifacts are incredibly rare. I didn’t expect anyone outside of Faeth to have one either.”

  The attraction of the delicious food next to me is too much to overcome, and I find myself stacking a good number onto a small plate. Biting in, I find the spiciness of the cooked meat inside worth the social faux pa. The chefs working in the hall are geniuses. They have taken a brilliantly spiced pork sausage and wrapped it in a cooked roll, before frying the entire thing. These little treats coupled with the cold cream I had a few days ago force me to conclude that Danfalla food is truly on another level from what I am used to.

  “This,” Althemia presses a finger to the side of her eye. “I received this as a reward for completing a dungeon in my homeland. The integration was…less than pleasant, but who can argue with the results?”

  “You completed a dungeon before integrating your essentia?” As far as I am aware, artifacts can only be integrated before a magician fully binds themselves to essentia and creates their conflux.

  “I have always thought that too much merit is given to monsters,” Althemia says. “Those that are referred to as rank zero and rank one monsters on the mainland are not usually handled by wielders of magic on the isles. Warriors use such beasts to hone their skills. The dungeon I completed only possessed such creatures, anyone competent with a weapon and possessing the necessary courage could have done what I did.”

  “Do not forget humility,” I say.

  She shrugs. “Being humble never caused injury. In fact, it often can save one from it. Tell me now, how did you obtain the artifact?”

  “I got it as part of a deal I made,” I say.

  “The price must have been quite high.”

  My hand raises to my face, touching the skin around the eye. The price in gold that Arabella Willian used to lock me into her contract was steep, but I likely would be able to pay it off in full by the time this beast tide was through. No, the real cost had been taken from me in the trial.

  “More than I knew at the time.”

  Althemia nods. “I won’t ask about specifics, as I likely can guess them.” She looks to the side of me, no doubt reading some window that I cannot see. “Quite the conflux you have. Ambitious, you could say.”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  She smiles back at me, and I am sure I wear an equal grin on my face. “Care to make a wager?”

  “Oh, on what?”

  “Why, this operation,” she says. “They may have said that this is no contest between adventurers, but I doubt they can or would stop us from competing with one another. Competition is the furnace of excellence after all. Combating this beast tide will be mainly about destroying thousands of monsters. I only wish to see whether you might be capable of keeping up with me as I do so, to see if you are utilizing that artifact as well as I am.”

  “You are higher level,” I say.

  “I did not say that it would be a fair wager for you,” Althemia replies. “I tend to engage in contests I am reasonably certain that I will win.”

  “What would be the prize for this wager?” I ask.

  “Honor,” she says.

  “You like sure bets, but I like stakes,” I say. “I would wager a hundred and twenty ounces of gold that I can slay more beasts than you.”

  Her eyebrows rise at the sum. In truth, it is a greater sum of gold than I possess at the moment. Not that I think I will lose. If there is one aspect that I excel at, it is churning through hordes of monsters.

  “You can support that kind of wager?”

  “You saw my conflux.”

  Althemia’s smile becomes predatory. She claps me on the shoulder faster before I can react to her movement. “I love the bravado. You have a deal, Charlene Devardem. Do not fall too far behind, I want you to watch as I outpace you.” Stealing the last word and a piece of fried pork from my plate, the woman turns and walks back to the table she was sitting at initially.

  I watch her go, unable to stop the feeling of excitement coming to me. That is what the address had been missing, something to get my blood pumping. I scan the room for a moment, considering if there might be others who would be willing to make a wager with me, when a man in a sharp black suit steps toward me, coughing into his fist.

  “Pardon me, Ms. Devardem,” he says, offering me a slight bow. “I did not want to intrude on your conversation, but your presence has been requested in the adjoining hall.”

  “Mine has?” My hand pauses with a bite of food halfway to my mouth. “Who wants to speak with me?”

  “I was not informed of that,” he says. “If you would follow me, miss.”

  Before I can even agree, the man turns and starts toward the hall’s exit. I look between the retreating man, the table where Jess and Jor’Mari are talking, and the plate of food in my hand. Tossing the plate onto the nearest table as I shuffle after the man, I call back to my table. “I have to go meet with someone!” The sound of my shout cuts right through the conversation in the hall.

  “Why!?” Jor’Mari yells back, heedless of the attention he attracts.

  “I don’t know.” I, however, am incredibly aware of all the eyes turning in our direction and cut the yelling back to merely loud speech.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Have fun!” Jess calls as I slip around the corner of the door, waving to me as I go.

  The man walking away from me forces me to jog to maintain pace with him as he enters a side hallway. The murmur of conversation mutely echoes through the wall as we walk parallel to the hall. Even the hallways of this league hall are exquisite, paintings of men and women fighting massive beasts stretching between every wooden pillar, weapons and other relics set into locked display cases every few feet or so. My escort stops in front of a wooden door polished so brightly that it shines in the light coming in through the far window.

  “Here we are, miss.” He gestures to the door, stepping back to let me at it.

  “This feels a bit like a trap,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.

  “I apologize if it feels that way,” he says, deciding to not dispute it. Odd man.

  The man is already retreating by the time I have the door open. The facade of the grand league hall is diminished somewhat by the simple room I find beyond the door, a simple ash table with two chairs being the only adornment, and a rug of incredible patterns giving color to the otherwise plain and beige room. One chair sits occupied with a man I saw for the first time just a few minutes before, Illigar the Sage.

  “Ms. Devardem,” the man says, using the same disinterested monotone he showed on the stage before. “If you would please join me, I have a matter I wish to discuss with you.”

  I feel like a chicken staring at the ax. The situation reminds me so much of how I first met Arabella Willian that I find it difficult to move. The man at the table glances down at an open ledger in front of him, turning a few pages and scanning the contents, not showing any indication that he cares for or notices my indecision. My foot stepping into the room breaks the spell on me. This man is high third-rank, if he wanted to harm me, he could do so easily.

  “Please close the door behind you,” he says, still not looking up. The man takes his time looking through the book in front of him, making small notes with a sharp pen here and there as I close the door and take a seat. Oddly, though the book is right in front of me, something keeps my eyes from focusing on the words within. There must be some kind of magic at work, but my eye cannot detect it.

  The pen cuts across the page in a harsh scratch before Illigar sets it aside, finally looking up. “Ms. Devardem, thank you for joining me for a moment. I had a brief conversation with your team leader, Dovik Willian, a few minutes ago, asking that he outline the base utility of your team. I had already determined to bring your team under my operation authority during this culling due to Mr. Willian being among you. There is merit to the Prince’s asking to better define the personnel we will be using to enact his plan, but in truth, most of the plan has already been set down. Your team will be joining the loose army that will be put under my command at Maidenlake. The objective will be to break the encirclement of the city before making a general clearing gesture toward the generator of this beast tide. If all goes as planned, this operation will last no longer than a month.”

  “I don’t want to give you any sass,” I say when he has stopped speaking and looks ready for a response. “But why are you telling me this?”

  “The information is not a secret,” he says. “Before the day is over, you would have learned of it anyway. I tell you it now to give you context for what I require from you. Mr. Willian informed me that you have a wide-range looting ability. I am sure that you are aware that looting abilities are not the most common things, and that they are generally found among support staff. I know of your participation in the trial some weeks ago in Grim, and that you would not be sorted into the role of support. Given that this operation will see potentially thousands of monsters dead at the hands of the force I will lead, I either need to enter into a direct contract with you that outlines the limitations and expectations in the use of your looting ability during this period or I need to secure guarantees that you will not employ it.”

  “You would demand that I don’t use my power?” I ask, more curious than angry.

  “Adventurers take umbrage to the valuable bodies of their slain enemies being stolen by others. If you were to go about pilfering the goods that they create on the battlefield, it would lead to strife that I do not need. So, tell me, are you amenable to entering into a contract for your use of this ability during the operation? Otherwise, I will have to ask you not to employ it at all.”

  Instead of answering immediately, I give myself a moment to think. The man across the table from me seems unbothered by my silence, returning his attention to the book in front of him, making notes that my eyes find impossible to decipher. Truthfully, I have no issues in entering some kind of arrangement for the use of my ability. I spent a long time traveling with my brother simply because I had the ability, and while we never had a written contract, there was an understanding. No, I take the time because I know that it will make my negotiating position better in whatever he will try to make me sign if I look reticent. Despite his saying that he will have me restricted from using the ability if we cannot come to an understanding, my experience tells me that everyone would rather have someone on their side who can easily turn monster corpses into usable materials rather than having to dedicate time and effort to the butchering themselves.

  “What are the terms you are thinking of?” I ask after counting to two hundred.

  He glances up in a way that might almost convince me he had forgotten I was here. Illigar licks his thumb, turning to a specific page in his book, and turning the entire thing to where I can see it. Strangely, as soon as the book is turned in my direction, the script becomes legible.

  “Standard fair is that the user of the looting ability is allowed to retain a tenth of the total output. This contract stipulates that all meat, material products, and magical products be turned over to one with an eye for appraisal as soon as the items are retrieved from the bodies. A portion of the total haul will then be dispensed back to you.”

  The contract he points out to me is a simple thing, outlining exactly what he says. It does go more into depth about the material items that my ability creates from the monster corpses: leather, scales, fur, hides, etc. The list itself is the most extensive part of the contract, a purpose given to make certain that nothing is overlooked for me to pocket on my own. I do notice that a very particular item is missing from the contract. It makes no mention of me needing to turn over any coin that my power generates. Good for me.

  “I would need at least twenty percent of the haul,” I say, turning the book back to face him. “It is my ability that easily renders the bodies of the monsters. Without it, you would have to dedicate more time and effort than it is worth to the task.”

  “No,” he says simply, shaking his head. “That is true, but we will be slaying potentially thousands of monsters during this operation. Twenty percent is too high of a demand; we will settle upon thirteen and a half percent.”

  “You strike me as a man who wishes to do business in the most efficient manner possible,” I tell him. “Dedicating a force to butchering bodies will detract from that. My ability to loot monsters is truly wide-scale, as you say. I doubt anyone in the duchy is as efficient at it as I am. Seventeen percent.”

  Illigar taps the silver ring on his right finger a few times as he stares at me. “I hate haggling,” he says. “These games of deception and demand are far too transparent.” His hand moves in a blur, making amendments to the contract in less than a second with the pen before he turns it back to me. “You will be fine with fifteen percent.” The words are a statement of fact, nothing even approaching a question.

  “I can be fine with that,” I say, wisely not arguing the percentage further. My gut tells me that the man would take that poorly.

  I give the contract a few more thorough reads, making certain that there are no hidden clauses in the wording before signing. As soon as he has my signature, the man seems to lose all interest in me, dismissing me back to the main hall. I can’t help but feel elated as I leave the room. If what he promised about slaying thousands of monsters in this tide is correct, I will profit incredibly from that contract I just signed.

  My eyes are so turned to my future riches that I don’t notice a man’s approach as I exit the room. We bounce off each other, the momentary and sudden contact spiking my sense of danger.

  I turn, ready to summon fire, only to find a lanky teenager with unkempt blonde hair standing in front of me. His dull gray eyes stare at me as if he was looking at paint dry on the wall, with no sense of emotion or recognition in them.

  “Sorry,” I say, pulling myself together. My heart continues to beat loudly in my ears, and I find it difficult to calm myself down completely. “You really startled me there.”

  “I apologize for that ma’am,” he says, his voice more unfeeling than even Illigar’s had been. “Just lookin’ around, trying to find my friend.”

  Recognition comes back to me as I check his name with my eye. “I’ve seen you before,” I can’t help but say, “at the baron’s fort.”

  “Oh?” He tilts his head to the side like a dog might, peering up at my through greasy hair.

  “I only saw you in passing. You were there with your friend, though they looked like an elven man at the time.”

  “Looked like?” A smile begins to spread across his face as emotion finally seeps into his eyes, pure elation. Now that I see it, I wish those gray eyes had stayed dull and uncaring. “You noticed her then, today?” he asks. “Seen her enter with me, maybe? Wouldn’t happen to know where she got off to, would you?”

  “I…yes, well I mean no. I haven’t seen her since the hall,” I say.

  “I’m lookin’ for her, you see.”

  “I hope you find her.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  The instant before I can move to leave, he raises his hand. There is something in the simple gesture that sets my nerves on end, but he merely holds it out to me to shake.

  “Name’s Ferro,” he says. “Might I have your’s back?”

  “Charlene,” I say, not bothering to comment on the incongruence between the name he says and the one my eye shows me.

  Tentatively, I reach for the man’s hand, shaking it. The sense of danger scratching at the back of my mind screams as I touch him, but nothing comes of it. His hand squeezes mine gently, the smile on the young man’s face spreading wider.

  “Charlene,” he repeats. “A pretty name. I won’t forget it.” Ferro lets go of my hand, taking a step back. “Now, if you’ll be so kind, I have to find my friend.”

  “Of course,” I say, attempting politeness. He is already walking past me, interest and emotion having vanished from his face. His steps echo behind me, bouncing off the stone, disappearing finally around a corner. I linger for a while longer, flexing my hand, trying to stop the shivers running down my spine.

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