Halfway there.

Fir stretched his arms above his head, relishing the feel of being able to move freely for the first time in hours. Kil was pushing hard—and while the hired carriages were much more comfortable than the horses they usually used, it still didn't give him much room to move throughout the day.  He rubbed the sore muscles of his neck. 

Sand ground against the cobblestones under his feet as he paced the small courtyard of the inn. Honestly he was surprised that, despite the high walls surrounding the wedge-shaped oasis, it hadn't been buried in sand a long time ago.

They may be traveling on the edge of a desert, but tonight, there was a fresh, cool breeze that had a hint of salt in it, even with the ocean being two days' travel. He breathed deeply, relishing the smell of sea air and rock still cooling from the day's sun and...

Lavender and mint.

Fir opened his eyes, the hairs on his neck prickling. He glanced around. The courtyard was empty, the shadows stretching long over the sand-dusted cobbles. He rolled his shoulders. Jumpy. Those two smells don't—

A hand clamped around his mouth, an arm around his neck. Fir flailed, slapping at the arm around his throat. His assailant dragged him backward and threw him against the  courtyard wall beside the small smithy. Fir curled up, glancing at his assailant through the protective cage of his arms around his head.

"Marrick," he said hoarsely. "I can explain—"

The big man, every inch as tall as Fir and twice as wide, grabbed Fir's shirt collar and dragged him upright. "Thought you could just run off?"

Fir shook his head. "I'm on a job." He kept his hands at his sides—no need to let Marrick see them trembling—and looked Marrick in the eye. Time to be Lord Thorne. Time to bluff. "I gave you what I owed, remember? Right after I got paid, just like I said I would."

Marrick released Fir and stepped back. The wind shifted, bringing the smell of lavender and mint to Fir's nostrils again. Marrick reached into the pocket of his coat and brought out three playing cards, fanning them in one hand and holding them out so the moonlight clearly showed their faces. "Funny how I found three extra cards on the floor under the table. Cards that didn't belong in any of my decks."

Blood drained from Fir's face, leaving him light-headed. He'd dropped them. Of all the stupid, careless things to do. 

Marrick tucked the cards away into his pocket again. "How much did you win back from me that second game, sapsucker? Fifty goldmarks, wasn't it? To leave you only with a debt of five."

"I have that up in my room, if you'd just let me—"

Marrick held up his hand. "No, no. I don't think that fifty goldmarks quite covers it any more, Fir. You see, it's not about the money. It's about my reputation, and that fact that I had to come chasing after you for two days because you left without so much as a by your leave."

"Marrick, come on—"

"Let's call it two hundred goldmarks. That should cover my traveling fees, plus what you owe, plus the interest that has accrued."

Fir sucked in a breath, lowered his hands to his sides. There wasn't much greenery around. Stupid desert. His eye fell on a few brownish, half-withered vines clinging to the wall a few feet away. They barely had any green left in them.  "Marrick, I don't have that—"

Marrick flicked his wrist and stepped forward, a gold-hilted knife appearing in his hand.

Fir opened his hands. His fingers brushed along something that felt slick, fragile, ready to fall apart at the slightest touch—ley. The invisible magic that thrummed through the air like an electric current

Marrick's knife darted forward. 

Fir twisted his wrists, and the vine burst along the wall, curling outward and wrapping around Marrick's wrist. He flicked one hand, directing the vine to the side. The knife grazed his ear as it sliced past, the point burying itself in the wall. Fir turned his eyes to see the blade quivering in the stone beside his cheek.

Marrick snorted in Fir's face. "You figured I'd kill you rather than collect a debt? I was just going to leave you a reminder."

Fir's stomach roiled. If he could get out of this confrontation without throwing up all over Marrick, it would be a good night. He reached up and touched his ear. No blood. He must have felt the flat of the blade. "I don't need another scar or a notch in my ear to remind me of what I owe to you," he answered.

Marrick ripped his arm free. "So now we understand each other."

I understand you're a bully who thinks physical intimidation will get you what you want. "Yes," Fir answered. Because that was what Marrick wanted to hear. He wanted to think Fir was cowed. It would be the only way to get him out of here.

"And next time I have to come after you, Fir, I won't be coming for you. I'll be coming for your sister." Marrick tapped his knife against Fir's cheek.

Mock. Fir curled his hands into fists. She might not be his biological sister, but the threat was the same whether Marrick knew it or not. "There will be no reason to come after me again. I'll pay you what I owe, don't worry." And then I'm never making this kind of stupid mistake again. 

He'd thought he could handle himself. Figured maybe there was a way to stop his years-long loosing streak, once he'd started learning all the tricks for the Thorne scam. I'm a rotting idiot.

Marrick nodded and turned away. 

Fir waited until the big man disappeared outside the gate before he straightened, using the wall for support. His limbs felt weak, and he still felt like throwing up. Fir flexed his fingers and stepped back into the courtyard. Marrick was nowhere in sight. Fir stopped and listened.

Hoofbeats sounded on the road outside. Marrick hadn't even stayed the night. Fir rolled his eyes. Idiot. He came alone, and he obviously knows nothing about us, otherwise he'd know Mock isn't my sister. 

And yet he still figured out my tricks. Because I was stupid. Fir shook his head. Never again. As much fun as it had been to try out his card tricks in a real game, he could never allow this kind of slip-up to happen again.

He started for the door of the inn, but another sound caught his ears. Mock's voice, coming from the stables.

Fir turned, but as he did so, the stable door opened. A square of yellow lantern light spilled across the courtyard as Mock swung out of the stable. She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, tipping her head back.

"Mock?" Fir said.

Mock startled, her hand going to the hidden dagger she kept in her shirt sleeve. She straightened. "Fir?"

"You all right?" He crossed the courtyard in swift steps.

"I'm fine."

Now that he was closer, he could see the tear tracks down her cheeks, her reddened eyes. Fir started to reach out to put his hand on her shoulder. 

Mock slapped his hand to the side. "Leave me alone."

"Are you sure—" he started.

Mock spun toward him, lips pressed together in a tight line. She reached up, rubbed her thumb across his cheek. Fir felt a sting and flinched, raising his own hand to his cheek. He felt something warm and sticky, and his fingers were bloody when he pulled them away. His skin went cold. He hadn't even felt the cut. Hadn't noticed it was there until Mock touched it. Hadn't even noticed it when he'd felt his ear earlier.

Mock rubbed the blood on her fingers. "Seems like we both have some secrets. I'll make you a deal—you don't talk about mine, I won't mention yours."

Fir bit the inside of his lip. "Secrets kill teams, Mock," he said gently. 

"Who taught you that? Kil? Haven't you noticed how absent-minded our own dear wyvern has been lately, Fir?" Mock's voice trembled, and she rotated the beaded bracelets on her wrist, fingering the good-luck charms hanging from them. "He's hiding something. You're hiding something. I am, and I'm pretty sure Snitch has been hiding things from us since day one."

Fir swallowed. "Mock, listen, I know you're upset, but—"

Mock shook her head, chin quivering. "I'm done. I'm done, and I can't have this conversation now." She spun on her heel and marched across the courtyard.

Fir watched her slam into the inn. He tipped his head back and dragged his fingers through his hair. Kil. How are you this oblivious?

Maybe after this job it would get better. Fir rubbed his cheek again. We just need to hold it together for a few more days.