“Okay,” Lain said, “first things first.” The thief spoke slowly, considering every word as she went, as if thinking things through even as she spoke. “We need to secure you a job of some kind.”

  Julia pursed her lips. “I don’t know if that’s an immediate need,” she said. “I do have some mon-” Lain abruptly slapped her hand, palm down, onto the wooden table, turning Julia’s word into a squeak.

  The thief blew out a breath, and closed her eyes for a moment. “If you’re going to take lessons from me on surviving down here, hear me well, alright Jewel?” Lain leaned forward a little, her expression intent, and spoke in a low voice. “Never speak about any money you may or may not have on you in public. In Highwalk, it might be considered rude, or gauche. In Lowrun, it marks you as a target. Am I clear?”

  Julia swallowed, and quickly nodded her head. “Y-yes, of course. I’m sorry, I just thought that, if I was with you…”

  Lain rolled her eyes, a small smile dancing across her lips as she sat back. “I’m a thief, Jewel, not some sort of battle-gifted. And while I’ve got enough of a reputation to keep you safe from most of the people in the Claw tonight, the same can’t be said for the rest of Lowrun. So you need to be careful. Clear?”

  Little spots of color came to Julia’s cheeks, but she still made herself nod. “Y-yeah.”

  “Okay.” Lain closed her eyes again, and Julia couldn’t shake the impression that, behind her eyelids, the thief’s brain was flying through plan after plan.

  Idly, Lain crossed her left leg atop the right, straightening her right leg in such a way that her chair was lifted up onto its back legs. She crossed her arms, and for all the world, she looked ready for a nap before she finally drawled, “Like it or not, you need some kind of employment, and you don’t really seem like you have much Rogue in you.”

  Julia flushed a little–but she knew that Lain was right. She had barely managed to climb out of her own window, and it was only luck that had gotten her as far as the Blackened Claw alive and unharmed. Even if the thief taught her how to survive in Lowrun, Julia doubted she’d ever have the skills or inclinations to keep up with someone like Lain during a robbery, much less to catch the attention of the archetypes that catered to Lowrun’s criminal occupation.

  “So what gifts do you have?” Lain asked, cracking an eye.

  Gifts were the source of magic in the Realm. Primarily granted by the ill-defined beings known as the Divine Archetypes, gifts opened the human soul to the presence of magic, giving them an assortment of both magical abilities and superhuman attributes. Julia knew that someone like Lain would have the gifts of a criminal and thief; likely granted by the Outlaw or even the Rogue archetypes, her gifts would be strictly pragmatic and functional, making her faster, sneakier, boosting the coordination and awareness already required for a woman living her lifestyle.

  Julia’s own gifts were… different than that.

  “I have the gift of the scribe,” she admitted.

  Above Lain’s cracked eye, her brow arched. “The scribe?” she repeated. “That’s a gift?”

  “It’s from the Professional,” Julia explained, her cheeks heating up. “It… uhm… It lets me conjure scrolls and quills on demand. And it makes my handwriting legible and understandable by anyone who reads it.”

  Julia flinched at the clop as Lain’s chair landed flat on its front legs again, the thief’s eyes now fully open–and a wide smile on her face. “You’re joking.”

  Julia reached up to her neck, rubbing it awkwardly, the laughter dancing in Lain’s words only making her flush more deeply. “I… I’m not.”

  Lain snorted and shook her head, a dry chuckle slipping from her lips. The laugh was weird, rough and far from sunny or feminine, but… compelling. “Okay… Well, at least you have your letters then, right? Numbers too?”

  “I… I’m literate, yes, if that’s what you’re asking. And I have quite a bit of training in algebra, geometry, accounting…”

  “Useful skills, those.” Lain’s tone and broad smile made the lie obvious.

  Julia looked away from the woman, surprised by her own reaction to Lain’s teasing. The thief was being outright rude, mocking what few talents Julia had and not even hiding her condescending tone as she decided Julia’s next steps for her.

  But rather than irritated or embarrassed, Julia found herself continually blushing and smiling, rolling with the jibes. The thief woman obviously didn’t mean anything by it, and Julia couldn’t help but find the thief’s dry humor intriguing. It was so different from the pompous jokes and passive-aggressive comments favored in the cutthroat social venues of Highwalk.

  “Do you have a second gift?” Lain asked. “Or just magic writing powers?”

  Of course. A person wasn’t truly considered gifted until they gained a second gift from another archetype, one separate and distinct from the source of their first gift. Only by possessing two gifts could one reach Novice level and begin advancing their gifts.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Julia bit her bottom lip, the humor draining away. She did have a second gift, of course, but her father had made it very clear that she was not supposed to talk about it. It was a shameful gift, ill-befitting a wealthy heiress who was expected to, at most, be of simple aid to her father’s and husband’s businesses–to say nothing of exactly how she had gotten it. But once a gift was received, it was impossible to strip it away, and so Julia was stuck with it, like it or not.

  Her thigh burned with the direction of her thoughts, and she reached down, rubbing the tender skin of her brand, the physical mark of her gift burned into her leg.

  “I have a second,” Julia confessed, “but… I don’t like to talk about it. It’s nothing useful for finding a job.”

  Lain frowned–but after a moment, she shrugged. “Fair enough then,” she said, apparently willing to accept Julia’s reticence. “Silly as that scribe gift is, it has its uses, so we probably don’t need a second anyway. A Highwalk-educated bookkeeper is a rare enough thing downhill. I’ll put some feelers out, and we’ll see if we can’t find some independent businesses that need a girl to run their books for them.”

  Julia blinked. “Really? Is it that unheard of?”

  Lain rolled her shoulders in a mild shrug. “The goldshits uphill like keeping their scribes close to them–and most of the coin counters and writers I know down here are either gossipmongers, as likely to sell you out or run a con as actually help you, or else they work for one of the factions. A freehand scribe is a rare enough commodity that I expect we can find you work easy enough, as long as we’re careful about it.”

  Julia blinked a couple more times. Her education, and her scribe gift, had come before her brother had shown a superior inclination towards running the business, and her father had decided to essentially ignore her gifts in recent years. Her gifts had become little more than a source of embarrassment and shame. But to have someone see actual use from them… “Thank you! That would be great!”

  Lain tilted her head. “No real problem. Now, we should-”

  “Oi, Lain!” a voice interrupted them. “How long are you gonna keep the new girl for yourself?”

  Lain blew out a breath, exasperation flickering across her face. “Stay still,” she warned Julia in a whisper–then she stood to face the approaching man.

  He was large, broad of shoulder and thick of arm, with fair skin and a brush of dark hair. He wasn’t quite unattractive, but Julia found his features too heavy and blunt to be appealing–though, come to think of it, she could say the same about most men.

  “Elmo,” Lain greeted him, her voice quiet, heavy with a level of warning that even Julia could pick up–but the young man seemed ignorant of it. “She’s with me.”

  “Says who?” As he spoke, the man took a step forward, leaving him mere feet from Lain. So close together, the difference between the two was stark–Elmo had several inches on the dusky thief, and his muscular frame likely weighed twice as much as Lain’s lithe body, at least.

  “Me,” Lain said simply. “You’re drunk, Elmo–go back to your brothers.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed, and his gaze flicked over to Julia with obvious heat. Her face first, then down. Uncomfortably, Julia reached up, folding her arms over her chest.

  “Oi, she’s right, El,” one of the others behind the swaggering man called. “Come on–we’ve still got a few hands left to play.”

  “Nah, nah, I wanna talk with the new girl!” Elmo insisted–and then he suddenly startled, his flinch magnified by his drunkenness.

  Julia’s gaze returned to Lain, just as the man’s had, and she was shocked to see the thief now holding a dark dagger–a blade made entirely of wood, which she was idly cleaning her fingernails with.

  Where had that come from? Julia was sure she hadn’t seen a blade like that anywhere on the thief earlier, and it was large–the blade thick and heavy and as long as Julia’s hand twice over. It couldn’t have been hidden up a sleeve the way Julia’s own knife was.

  Across the bar, the massive bartender, a mountain of a man, made a sound that was as much a growl as a grunt.

  “You’re both done,” he barked. “Curly, Shep, get your brother out of here. Lain…”

  Lain promptly held up her hand, dagger pointed down towards the floor. “I get it, Bors,” she said. “We’ll take off for the night.”

  The enormous man looked from Lain to Elmo, then seemed to ease back, a bit of tension leaving the room–though the rest of the bar’s patrons stayed quiet, and a few made for the door as well.

  “Alright,” Lain said, turning back to Julia. She tilted her head towards the door. “You heard the man. Let’s go.”

  Julia blinked–but she didn’t think twice about obeying the woman, quickly gathering her cloak around her and standing up. They crossed the room briskly, Lain not giving a single look backwards.

  Julia couldn’t quite manage the same. She saw the young man, Elmo, being braced by two men similar enough in appearance that they had to be his brothers. He couldn’t hear what they were saying to the man that had tried to approach Julia, but she could tell from their faces that Elmo was being reamed out.

  “What was that all about?” Julia asked as they emerged in the streets of Lowrun. It had grown significantly quieter in the area since Julia had entered the Blackened Claw, the hour apparently late enough that even Lowrun’s revelers had begun passing out for the night.

  “It’s the rule of the Claw,” Lain explained. “It's everyone’s job to maintain peace in there.”

  “But you didn’t start anything!” Julia said. “You were just standing up for me!”

  Lain nodded, and she started walking, clearly expecting Julia to follow. “You’re right–but when I pulled out my dagger, I escalated things.” The woman shrugged, and Julia noticed that she wasn’t carrying the odd wooden blade anymore.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “Bors and the Coldsteel boys will cool off by tomorrow.”

  “Okay…” Julia bit her lip, considering the woman’s words. She had barely known Lain for an hour, yet the woman had been willing to pull a weapon on a man that tried to approach her? Even at the risk of pissing off the patrons, and the owner, of the Blackened Claw?

  Why would she do that? And… Why did it make Julia feel all warm inside?

  “Oh,” Julia suddenly said, looking around. “Um. Where are we going?”

  Lain didn’t stop walking, but she threw a look over her shoulder that said the answer should've been perfectly obvious. “Where else?” she said. “My place.”