The repercussions were swift and inevitable.

  Though they had avoided the Claw for a few days after their brush with Kole, Lain had eventually convinced Jewel that it was fine to go out for dinner. The Blackened Claw was packed with its usual evening crowd, nearly two dozen freehands drinking, eating, gambling, and cussing. Lain and Jewel had gotten places at the bar and ordered dinner–a simple, hearty stew–to go with their drinks.

  Lain shrugged, taking a swig of half-decent ale. Bors had just cracked a new keg, and the swill was fresher than normal, which had led Lain to order a mug of it rather than her usual. “At the end of the day, I don’t know what she can really do, even if she did put it together.”

  Jewel frowned down at her own mug, a sour cider she was taking only small sips from. “I guess… I just don’t like anyone up there knowing where I am.”

  “Knowing where you are and having the balls to do something about it are very different things,” Lain reassured her. The thief reached over and stroked a hand over Jewel’s arm.

  The runaway sighed a little and leaned into her partner’s reassuring touch.

  In their days spent in hiding together, the two had begun to sort out exactly what their relationship was meant to be, now that a few of their secrets were both on the table. Lain found the whole process unnecessary, but she had humored Jewel’s need to put a label on what exactly they were now, seeing it for the obvious coping device it was. In the midst of so many changes in her life, Lain had become the rock Jewel clung to, and Lain couldn’t blame her for wanting to put a name to that experience.

  Besides, Lain had no plans to leave Jewel any time soon anyway. Maybe some hard labels would be good for her, too.

  Lain cocked a smile at the slender girl, and Jewel responded with one of her own–accompanied by one of those heated, smoldering looks, where she did something with her eyes that Lain couldn’t quite place that made her mouth go dry and a thrill run down her spine.

  Lain leaned a little closer to Jewel, the girl turning her head to meet the thief’s–and only then did Lain realize that the entire Claw had gone silent.

  Lain sighed. “Or,” she muttered, quietly enough that only Jewel would be able to hear, “they could be stupid enough to surprise me.”

  Jewel’s face went pale in an instant. Lain popped a swift kiss onto her frozen lips anyway, and then turned to face the newcomers to the Blackened Claw.

  There were five of them, all armed and armored, all wearing the sigil of the Golden Council–a shield surrounded by coins. Neither wardens nor official town watch, Lain immediately placed them as private guards. The four in the back were clearly subordinate to the brick of a woman making her way towards their table. She had steel gray hair and a warrior’s build, and her right hand was resting on her still sheathed sword.

  As Lain stood to face the battle-gifted, she palmed one of the many wooden rings she perpetually wore, preparing her magic. At the very least, Lain noted, if it came to a fight, she wouldn’t be alone. While the neutrality of the Blackened Claw was only as good as the temper of its patrons, no freehand in Lowrun would allow Highwalk blades to just stroll into their territory and start trouble without being taught a lesson. Few hands were in evidence, all hidden under tables as the Claw’s patrons went for their weapons. Out of the corner of her eye, Lain noted that Bors had sidled to the other end of the bar, where she knew the barkeep kept his drunk beater.

  The woman came to a stop a few steps away from Lain, at what the thief took to be the approximate reach of her longsword. Her posture was aggressive, and as the four minions behind her spread out, their eyes were focused on Lain and Jewel–entirely oblivious of the crowd of angry rogues surrounding them.

  “Can I help you?” Lain drawled at the woman.

  “Silence, rogue,” the woman barked in response. Lain bristled, but the swordswoman had already moved her attention to Jewel. “Julianna. Get up and come with me. Your father and your betrothed are waiting for you at the manor.”

  “Nah, I don’t think so,” Lain drawled, putting herself between Jewel and the woman. She tried to let ice run through her veins–Lain wasn’t as good at intimidation as some of the more handy swordarms in the Claw, but she still knew how to handle herself, and she let no small piece of that blithe confidence leak into her voice.

  The battle-gifted’s eyes shot to Lain, anger and surprise evident on her face. Her arm moved, and an inch of dark steel came free of her scabbard. “I thought I told you to keep silent, rogue?”

  Lain twisted her palm and sent a small flow of quintessence, the energy of her gift of wood, flowing into the ring in her hand. “You did,” Lain agreed. “I just don’t care. And she isn’t going anywhere.”

  The woman’s upper lip twitched. “So. You kidnapped the heiress, did you? Is that what this is all about?”

  Lain cocked an eyebrow–and then she couldn’t help herself.

  She laughed, loud as she could. The whole time, though, her eyes never left the woman’s cold gaze. “You’re accusing me of kidnapping, hound?” Lain asked, her voice pitched to carry. “You’re the one who just swaggered in here and tried to abduct her, from where I’m standing.”

  That was apparently enough for her. The woman’s face twisted with anger, and her longsword came free with liquid fluidity. Behind her, the other four guards followed her lead, pulling their own steel. “I am rescuing the young mistress, rogue! From people like you!”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “Elena,” Jewel finally said, her voice soft. Lain didn’t turn to look at her, keeping her own face as smooth as she could, a small smirk dancing across her lips as if she had expected Jewel to speak up. “Please. Tell Father I’m okay–he should just forget about me.”

  Elena’s eyes darted past Lain, and her face didn’t soften by a hair. “That’s not going to happen,” the woman swore. “I’m taking you home. Tonight."

  Lain rolled her eyes. “Look around you, Highwalk dog. Do you even know where you are?” Lain waited a moment, but the woman replied with nothing more than a snarl. Lain rolled her eyes. “I didn’t think so. This is the Blackened Claw, hound. If you start a fight here, neither you nor your men will leave here alive.”

  “Is that a threat, rogue?”

  Lain blinked, cocking her head with feigned confusion. “Of course it is. Did I speak too fast for you? I figured a goldshit’s pet would be a little smarter.”

  Elena’s eyes widened, and she took a sharp step forward, her sword raising to a ready guard.

  The swordswoman was, no doubt, a skilled battle-gifted, her skill and willingness to do violence enhanced by her gifts–at least one from the archetype of the Warrior, probably supplemented by an ensouled item or totem, considering the wealth of her owners.

  By comparison, neither the gift of the thief nor the gift of wood was considered a true battle gift. Lain knew some tricks with them, sure, but not enough to go toe-to-toe in a fair fight with a battle-gifted of the same level as her.

  Fortunately, Lain didn’t much believe in fair fights.

  Elena took a step forward, her sword dipping for a thrust, and Lain tapped her third gift, the one she didn’t tell anyone about. The one she hadn’t explained even to Jewel or Bors.

  To anyone else, the fight was only a blur, Elena’s skill and speed impossible for any but the most skilled of gifted to read.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Mere moments later, Elena was sinking to the floor, one hand clutching at the wooden dagger buried in her heart. Her powerful arms pulled futilely at the blade, but it didn’t budge. Even as it had slid into her flesh, Lain had sent more quintessence running through the blade, needles and spikes splintering from the main blade, shredding her heart and lungs alike in moments.

  It was all too likely that the woman had the supernatural hardiness granted by resilience boons, and Lain wasn’t willing to take that risk.

  The goldshit’s hired blade moved her mouth in silent confusion, coughed once, expelling a small gout of blood–and then she collapsed to the floor, dead before her head hit the cold, hard wood.

  Lain’s eyes darted behind her, worried what she’d see in the face of her comparably innocent partner, but there was none of the horror or fear she had expected to see in Jewel’s face. The glare she gave Elena’s corpse was as hot and unforgiving at the flames that had marred her leg.

  Jewel’s eyes met Lain’s and she nodded, the gesture betraying a small tremor, the sudden violence having its effect on Jewel's body even if she hadn’t participated.

  Only then did Lain turn back to the rest of the taproom. The other guards had been easily subdued; their weapons had been taken from them and noticeable, though nonlethal, cuts and bruises were already decorating their faces. Behind the closest guard stood Elmo Coldsteel, the same sellsword that had tried to make a move on Jewel that first night, weeks before.

  It was the first time she had seen him or his brothers since that encounter–but still, the three mercenaries had apparently been among the first to jump to Lain and Jewel’s defense.The brawny young man met Lain’s eyes and nodded his own head, a tiny gesture of apology that she subtly returned.

  Lain faced the four guards and said nothing, watching as their own gazes fell to the corpse of their leader.

  It was Bors that finally spoke, his gruff voice echoing through the bar. “You boys made a mistake–but yours at least was simply listening to the wrong orders and following the wrong person. You’ve learned your lessons, yeah?” The guardsmen quickly nodded, eyes still darting from the barkeep to Lain to Elena’s body.

  “Good,” Bors continued. “Pick up your leader and get out of here, then. And tell anyone else up Highwalk way–Lowrun handles its own business. The next idiots who come stomping into the Claw like they own it will get what’s coming to them. Got it?”

  Lain and Jewel watched in silence as the soldiers gave Bors their most sincere assurances and carried off Elena’s corpse. Once they were gone, Lain sidled back to her barstool, taking her seat next to Jewel.

  “She was my father’s captain,” Jewel finally said, her voice trembling.

  Lain snorted, and she finally felt some tension leave her body, the pulse of adrenaline slowly quieting down. “If she was the best he had, then we should be fine. I doubt anyone uphill will be making that particular mistake again for a little while.”

  Jewel just kept staring at the stain Elena’s lifeblood had left on the hardwood.

  “Jewel?” Lain asked.

  No response.

  The thief leaned over and ran a hand over Jewel’s upper arm.

  The girl startled, suddenly turning to look at Lain, surprise obvious on her features.

  “You okay?” Lain asked.

  “Uh… Oh um, yeah…” Despite her words, Jewel’s eyes had returned to the bloodstain. “It’s just… Elena was never a nice person. But I’ve still never seen…”

  “I get it,” Lain said, even if she couldn’t quite remember the first time someone had died in front of her. She cast a brief look behind her, back at the rest of the taproom. People were slowly returning to their seats, whispers turning to mutters turning to full conversation again. Belo, the Claw’s most respected information broker, gave Lain a small nod. “Look, there’s something you should do, okay?”

  Jewel blinked. “W-What?”

  Lain told her.

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Jewel swallowed. “O-okay…”

  The girl got to unsteady feet, looked around the bar. Lain noticed her gaze linger on Elmo and his brothers, but the mercenary only gave her a grim little smile.

  From behind her, Lain watched something change in Jewel’s posture, fire and steel alike running through her.

  “Next round’s on me!” Jewel finally shouted.

  The Blackened Claw broke into cheers, and Lain smiled.