Had he underestimated her? Had she just been manipulating him this entire time? It was a clever move that infuriated and surprised him – using the death of his captain to blackmail him to get him to find this idol. It was ingenious, admittedly. And he knew he had made some terrible miscalculations along the way. He didn’t need to let his emotions get the best of him and perform the act in the street.

He stopped into a tailor’s shop and purchased himself a clean set of clothes. He discarded his soiled shirt and trousers that were painted with Tyrin’s stale remains. He was stared at, but never questioned. Then he headed towards the Industrial Quarter under the heavy afternoon sun. He contemplated the next step to get this job done and over with to free himself from under Shadowglade’s thumb.

A partner? A partner, he said to himself. She wanted him to work with someone to fetch the idol. He had never worked with a partner in this capacity before. It was an insult. He was important. He was a big shot. He had an entire industry in his grip. He ruled chaos with an iron fist. He was feared. Who was Lillandyr to say that the Old Dog, Kia Sin’del, needed a goddamned partner for a measly errand? For what? To pick up an antique on the black market? It seemed like an afternoon outing, at best.

On the other hand, it was necessary to at least touch base with this Anryn Stormcrow, if only to appease and pay lip service to Shadowglade. Then they could part ways and work separately or not at all.

He traveled down to the Emerald Docks in the Industrial Quarter where the salt spray scattered through the air, perfuming the atmosphere with the scent of the sea. He asked around and was pointed in the right direction by an old man's crooked finger. It didn't seem like the right kind of place, but then again, he wasn't entirely sure what he was expecting. Something more official. Something that wasn't... whatever this was. He was met by an old, cracked glass door that had a poorly painted mermaid on the front. It looked as if it were done by a child that didn't have a good grip on their brush. “Anryn M. F. Stormcrow, Cannery Number Seven Overseer." Yes, apparently. This was supposed to be the place. For better or worse, he was going to come face to face with his so-called “partner.” Already it seemed pointless. His tattooed, cracked knuckles rapped on the glass. And then he waited.

A stooped old woman who smelled faintly of cat piss and strongly of bourbon flung open the door. She had one milky eye that was looking off at nothing while the other was a rheumy blue. She glowered up at him. "Can I help ya?" She had very few teeth and cast him a nasty, suspicious look.

He was stunned. This? This was Anryn Stormcrow? In a reflex to his own surprise, he took a step back. A shot of anger surged through him. Shadowglade had slapped him across the face from a distance. How fucking dare she waste his goddamned precious time, he thought with a snarl. She sent him to meet an old fucking hunchback. Perhaps she was powerful, he said, trying to appease himself. Maybe this husk of a whore was a secret sorcerer, a mage. No, Kia stopped himself before the thoughts went too far. You know Lillandyr well enough that she merely wanted to shove her thumb in your eye. He gathered himself and took a long breath.

"Stormcrow?" he asked in a short, terse clip. His arms were folded and he stared down at the withered woman with a look of plain, steely dispassion.

The old woman laughed, gums black and shining. She shook her head, bemused, and waved him in. "I'm just her secretary, Lisolette. Come on."

The door was flung wide and the woman eased herself out of the way. There, sitting in a big, overstuffed leather chair was a short female with graying auburn hair, freckles on her cheeks and bright sea-blue eyes. She had a cigar perched between her lips, a shirt that was cut so low and showed so much of her ample chest that it barely covered her at all. The room stank of cheap liquor, old whore, and cigar smoke. There were playing cards strewn over the desk and her dirty boots with the patched, thin soles were up on the desk too.

"Hey." She nodded with a dimpled smile. "You must be Sin'del."

It was a relief. The woman with the tree-bark skin and the milky eye wasn't his partner. It was a foot in the right direction, even though he still didn't approve of the place they seemed to be going. He didn't want a partner; he didn't need one, either.

"Yep," he answered. His attention immediately trailed down her shirt to the bulbous, spilling cleavage of his new “partner.” Then, after a brief chauvinistic inspection, he met her face again. She seemed too sugar sweet. Anryn's face was speckled in a dusting of cinnamon freckles and a childish smile. Wherever they were going, she didn't belong. He decided to get to the point and not make small talk or dance around. She probably didn't want him here, and he didn't want or need to work with anyone to run a simple errand.

"Look," he gruffly began as he slid a thick hand into his front pocket. A new cigar sat on his lip. "I don't want a partner and I know you don't want to work with me. So let's not do this and you can sit tight and I'll just go get this thing done. Then we can both be on our merry way. Sound good?" It was an offer he assumed she couldn't refuse. She wouldn't have to lift a finger and would still get paid.

“Partner?” Anryn blinked with a look of confusion crossing her face. “Partner for what? I was told you was just swinging by. Wasn't told why or nothin’.”

His fingers drove into his forehead. Lillandyr didn't explain anything? Great. A mild migraine began to stab behind his eyes. He removed his cigar and continued massaging his scalp as he blandly explained in the shortest way possible.

"Lillandyr… Shadowglade," he said in his gritty, sandpaper voice as he stood in her office. He towered in it like a giant in a dollhouse. He didn't light the cigar but held it tightly in his free hand. "Sent me here. We are supposed to fetch an idol of some kind on the black market. I'm not sure why she asked me to come to you. Partner up. But let me be clear." His hand swung away from his ugly, aged face and slapped it against his side. "As far as I'm concerned? You can hole up here. I'll get it done. I'll split the gold with you. If anyone asks, you were a big fucking help."

She narrowed her eyes at him and sucked on her cheap cigar. She held the smoke a long, long time before blowing it out of her nose and lips. "Nah," she said at last. "If Shadowglade said I'm goin', I'm goin'. I ain't about to piss the Bad Bitch herself off. Just got this nice place here." She gestured to the decidedly shitty office. "I intend to keep it. She done me a solid. Owe her." She paused, the corners of her lips twitching in what was clearly the beginning of a big, toothy grin. "Looks like yer stuck with me."

Lisolette dealt herself and Anryn cards, likely for five card draw, and snickered, her watery good eye flicking up at him.

Kia scowled at her. Then he shot an accusing, violent glance at Anryn's secretary, who had been silent and watching with a snicker. He was being made a fool of, and it left a foul taste on his tongue. He wanted to kick something over in frustration. He threw a look back to his new partner. She seemed scrappy, but harmless. Maybe an old prostitute. His good eye continued to trail down her too-revealing shirt – if it could even be called a shirt. It left little to the imagination. He couldn't help it, but then he forced his gaze to crawl back to her friendly, sunshine face.

"Why you?" he questioned finally. Why Anryn Stormcrow? He asked Lillandyr in his mind. Anryn looked inept if she was pitted in an actual fight. She was small and past her prime years. She was no one he had heard of. He was familiar with the few female names that were big in the underground world. She was no one he recognized.

"Well," said Lisolette after she sipped her whiskey. She coughed and scuttled on the crate until she faced him. "Rynny here's the meanest cutthroat there ever was." This was said with deadly seriousness. The snicker was gone from the old woman's tone and gaze. "And she's got bigger balls than you, I'd wager. Captain Stormcrow there,” she hooked a thumb at Ryn, "took down the Emperor's navy and then robbed his pleasure boat."

It was a well-known story and had happened some time last year. Anryn, for her part, was just grinning lopsidedly, her arms folded under her breasts.

It was all over the papers. There was a wild man-hunt. It was discounted as sheer stupidity and luck by many people. But it was also brazen, bold, and heroic. Sure, he had heard about that story. It was a good story. A few of his own people had been captured and questioned to find her whereabouts. He just hadn't put a face to a name, nor expected that Captain Stormcrow to be sitting in front of him. He also truly didn't believe that it really had been a woman behind it all. Kia fell silent again. His tongue lapped around his bottom lip and his cigar corked his mouth again. He finally lit it with the snap of a mechanical lighter.

"Oh," he said, made speechless by the notorious tale. Anryn’s crossed arms only accentuated the heavy gap between her tits. He couldn’t stop staring. "You're... that Stormcrow." A cloud of gray puffed out and floated to the ceiling. She had been arrested and brought to justice. Many people praised her for being the boldest pirate seen in decades. He had to admire her tenacity. But he hadn't heard about her since she had been thrown into custody. Frankly, he assumed she'd dangled for her crimes. What did she think was going to happen after a blatant attack against the Emperor? It was impulsive and juvenile.

"So now you're with Lillandyr?" It wasn't hard to piece together what happened. Anryn was probably now under Shadowglade's protection in exchange for her service.

She chuckled and looked sheepish. As if she were modest about her infamy. She ran a mangled hand missing two fingers through her hair. "Yeah. Lady Shadowglade bought my bond. I oversee stuff down here and down on the docks. Ship a few things here and there." She shrugged, swung her slim legs down, and hopped out of the chair. She approached and held out her good hand. Her nails were dirty and chipped. Her little fingers were rough with calluses. "So let's get this shit done, huh? How's tomorrow for ya?" She smiled up at him, her gaze searching his face.

Judging from her cavalier demeanor and the childish painting on the door, Stormcrow probably had more dumb luck than skill behind her. It was unlikely that she was a real asset. She probably just had the goddess Ysimul on her side. It didn't matter. This would all be over quick and he wouldn't have to be near the so-called “Captain” again. Luck wasn't a bad thing to have in your favor, but he preferred skill rather than naive, poorly thought out antics with bad execution. Like an amateur, she got caught for her crimes. She probably didn't have a crew or a boat any longer. She was washed-up, and a taint on his reputation. He couldn’t respect her for her half-hearted attempts at “piracy.” But he took her small hand in his big paw and shook. It will be over soon, he reminded himself.

"Fine," he grunted, his good eye locked on her face. He tried to pry her open. She was intriguing, if anything. How does someone so unassuming and lighthearted become a cut-throat?

And her grin blossomed into a full blown smile. Before she'd been cagey and playful, but there was genuine warmth and a sweet softness in her gaze. She clasped his big hand in both of hers and shook firmly. A snore cut through their handshake. Lisolette was asleep, slumped over and drunk, drooling on the playing cards. A look of hurt crossed her features and she shot him a glance that dared him to say something. She looked fierce and she moved to help ease the old woman so that she made a pillow of her ropey arms. Anryn rested a hand on the top of her head for a moment, her face serious.

"I don't really need a secretary. Pretty sure this job is just a cover for smuggling. Cannery number seven? Dustier than the Empress's twat." She scoffed and leaned a hip against the desk. Again, she folded her arms under her breasts. She talked to him as though he were an old friend. As if she'd just decided he was good and trustworthy. "I figure Shadowglade is moving some contraband on those ships of hers. And if said contraband is found? Why, they'll just pin it on me. She's a Lady and I'm a pirate."

He was taken aback by the ex-Captain's easy-going nature. He wasn't one for small talk, but this wasn't small talk. He had just walked into a conversation that he wasn't aware he was a part of, and that had been going on for a long time. He took a small backwards step to the door, but immediately stopped the moment Stormcrow began to talk. He eyed Lisolette and the buxom Captain. His broad shoulders rose and fell as he shrugged a noncommittal reply.

"Could be. Probably is," he said as he stepped back into the room to tap his cigar ashes into the glass cup on her oversized desk. He felt comfortable in Stormcrow's presence. It struck him as unusual and he was able to recognize it with some objective self-awareness. He lingered despite himself.

"Been working for her since you been caught? How'd you manage not to swing?" he asked with a slow, gradual, knowing smile. They were sharing a private joke. Two well-known criminals that had both successfully escaped jail time or death. Together, they knew that justice was a fool and they could arrogantly live as they pleased forever – they were just that clever. Herith, the goddess of justice, had not caught them yet. He felt that he had gotten away with so much, that perhaps he was oddly justified in what he was doing. The world needed criminals to balance out the lawmen. They were both necessary evils.

Her grin was sly again and his humor was greeted with an arch of her brow and a low, husky chuckle.

"To this day I can't figure out her angle. They made a real damn big deal outta hangin' me too. I told that pig in a crown if he wanted to see me dance so bad, shoulda just tossed a few coins at me and played me a jig." Her smile, for just a moment, became almost sensual. A slow curve.

"There was a big damn crowd when they hauled me kickin' and screamin' up on that scaffolding. Had it special built too, real tall so that I'd fall an extra long way and even people in the back could see. Why, the whole city probably turned out." She pulled herself up on the desk and sat, ankles crossed, legs swinging. "I got cuffed a couple times, boxed in the ear. They told me to kneel for the Emperor. Know what I said?" She paused for dramatic effect. "I said I ain't her mam last night." She laughed, bright and boisterous. She was crass. "Shadowglade showed up, then marched her fine self right up that scaffold. She did a lot of demanding and smiled real sweet. And I tell ya, Kia," she said his name as though she'd been saying it for years. "Was the strangest thing. They went from tellin' her to step back to kissin' her ass. The crowd lost their shit. Screamin', throwin' stuff. But... that was that!" She clapped a hand over her thigh. "I was free so long as I agreed to pay my debt to Shadowglade."

Every word Stormcrow said jingled in his ears. He enjoyed the story, and for a moment, he forgot himself entirely. A youthful smile strung along the side of his face that was capable of holding the expression. His good eye glittered in genuine amusement instead of malice or distaste. Crow's feet pulled in the corners. He hadn't grinned like that in a while, and at times, he wondered if he had forgotten how. She was childish and probably a fool, but she was an old friend that he hadn't met yet.

After a beat of silence passed between them, broken up by the old secretary's snoring, he caught himself and snapped it to a halt. This was work. This was business. Don’t get too friendly. He didn’t have friends. No one in this black world could be truly trusted, no matter how charming or how cute their smile. He sucked on his cigar. The orange embers illuminated the cracks and crevices in his damaged face.

"Should probably go," he said, shifting his weight uncomfortably as he backed again into the door. He smoothed his long, graying hair behind his shoulders. "Tomorrow," he reminded her as smoke streamed from his lips. His free hand fumbled, blindly reaching for the doorknob behind his back.

Both of her brows lofted this time but she just shrugged. "Go if you gotta." She hopped off the desk and moved to open the door for him. She stood too close. "Lookin' forward to it.” Her hand stayed on the knob and the cool night breeze stirred her hair. She still smiled up at him, not moving out of the way enough. She didn't look as if she felt the least bit uncomfortable. The moment stretched and then she stepped out of the way again. "Have a good night, honey."

A fleeting glance fell down the front of her shirt again. But it drifted back to her freckled face and golden grin. He smirked back. Immediately, he felt stupid and awkward like a little schoolboy. Work, he chastised himself into silence. He didn’t like his tough mask being ripped away by a mere smile from a pretty girl. He forced the grin into a straight, brutish line. He snatched the door handle and tugged with harsh force. A violent yank and he saw himself out. He didn't look back or say pleasantries or goodbyes. This was a job and she an employee, nothing else.

Stormcrow unsettled him and threw him off his game. He couldn’t explain why, but he immediately liked her. He knew he shouldn’t. It was unprofessional. It was a grievous mistake. He reminded himself that she was a liability. He shouldn’t allow himself to be so smitten by the smile that reminded him of a welcoming hug, her funny little stories, or her voluptuous, bulging breasts.

Getting caught off guard by an attractive female was a novice mistake. And he was certainly no beginner at this game. Stay on track, Old Dog, he told himself. Keep your eyes forward and have Stormcrow stay at a distance. Don’t become weak for her.

He walked to the harbor and boarded a small boat. The drone of the motor lulled his chaffed emotions into submission. He skimmed along the waves until the West Lion came into view. Home. Well, his home away from home. His actual private residence was miles away, out of the city and deep in the countryside. In the meantime, this acted as both his place of business and his house. He was living here far more than he’d like. But it was both convenient and versatile. He could move his floating office to the other side of the world if he needed to. He could escape the law in a pinch. It was armed to the teeth and had everything he needed.

The events of the day dully rolled around in his mind. He chewed and digested some things. Lady Shadowglade. The murder of captain Tyrin by his hand. The fucking Idol of Turtih. He knew where he needed to begin but was reluctant.

The Underground.

The Underground wasn’t a world he was completely unfamiliar with. Everything dark, illegal, taboo, or forbidden was connected within the same web. He just avoided the Underground as much as he could.

Even for him, it was a dangerous path to tread, involving people he’d rather not deal with. Although, at times, his hand was forced into it.

The Underground was a vast network that operated largely in the sewers. The Underground wasn’t isolated to the Imperial city of Belshalara. It referred to every underground haven in every city. They were all interconnected. It was too big to be controlled or destroyed by law enforcement alone. Besides, its operation had become imperative for the economies, both black market and the standard, to breathe and survive. The Underground was as intrinsic to the operation of the world as the social hierarchy above ground.

The lifeblood of the Underground was the sale and trade of antiquities, books, art, and forbidden or exotic magic. Millions of gold passed through the sewers. Kia had several associates within the Underground, and one of them was conveniently right at his fingertips.

Kia met Arie through an acquaintance in the Underground. She was an arms dealer, and often supplemented her income as a mercenary. Those days were long behind her since she left the Underground and began dealing weapons solely to the Old Dog. Then their partnership turned romantic. She no longer worked at all, but was still useful for her channels in the Underground.

He was let onto his barge and didn’t stop by the bottom decks to drink, gamble, or socialize. Kia Sin’del went straight into his room and office.

Arie was stretched out on the bed waiting for him. Her pale hair was disheveled and her leather tunic was growing too large. Her small, skinny shoulder peaked out of the collar, as if her weight loss were growing increasingly noticeable. The tepid, gray film in the air alerted to him that she had been smoking some substance that he explicitly forbade, and had probably been doing so all day. She looked at him with a startled, strung-out, bleary-eyed expression. Her voice was distant.

“Heya… Didn’t hear you come in,” she said as she yawned tiredly and swung an arm above her head.

He had his back to her and didn’t initially answer. He knew that speaking to her in this state would only agitate him. He kept the conversation clipped and business-like. He sat down at the edge of the bed and unlatched his boots and tugged off his socks. The mattress sagged under his weight.

“I am going to be gone for a couple of days. A job to do in the Underground.” He looked over his shoulder and finally acknowledged her for the first time. “I want you to keep the captains in line while I’m gone,” he said, flat and factually.

“You mean like, I’d be in charge?” Arie asked in a tone of excitement, a brush of eager, youthful anticipation.

Kia shrugged indifferently as he stood to unbutton his shirt. He kept his back to her and paused before he answered. He gave it consideration. No, she shouldn’t be in charge of anything. She’d be more of a figurehead so he didn’t look weak.

“No. You won’t necessarily be in charge. That’s my captains' job, to run things while I’m gone. Probably Johann.” Definitely not fucking Tyrin, he thought sourly. I killed him this morning, you treacherous whore. Don’t you dare cross me again. He didn’t tell her. He wasn’t going to tell her, either. Tyrin was just going to be forever “missing.”

He continued, “You will just… keep the peace. Make sure they aren’t taking advantage of things and aren’t doing anything too stupid. It shouldn’t be long, just a couple of days. And since I’m going to be in the Underground, I want the names of some of your colleagues, preferably from the antiques trade.”

Arie teased her toe across his back. He doubted that she was truly listening. Arie was probably only hearing what she wanted to hear. She heard that she would be in charge and that she could do what she wanted and boss people around. He resented her a little. She used to be useful, clever, and ruthless. She used to be a capable right hand. She used to commandeer an authoritative voice of leadership and had a budding name in her trade. Now she was a worthless drug addict. Arie was a mere shadow of what she once was.

In long, slow strokes, her toe slid along his spine. Kia stripped his shirt off and then unlatched his belt. He whipped off the leather strap and threw it to the floor in a clatter. He spun around and pinned her arms above her head with one hand. His teeth were hungrily clenched to her throat.

“Kia!” she cried out in laughter, unable to move or struggle against his monstrous size and strength. Arie wriggled under him as he caressed her skin with a long glide of his tongue. He wrenched her pants down as far as he could to spread her legs wide. She squirmed and cried out under the force of his greedy insistence.

All he could think of was auburn hair and a smattering of freckles. His mouth tightened against Arie’s lips and she moaned. He wished he was touching her. As he crashed into Arie’s small, taut frame, he imagined Stormcrow’s pillowed breasts and easy smile. He didn’t swat at the images to diffuse the forbidden thoughts.

He wasn’t dreaming or focusing on the young body under him at all.

Arie still groaned and giggled, even as his mind whispered Anryn’s name.