Fallon Slade

Prologue I could hear them. Steel boots thundered behind me, reverberating off the cobblestones like war drums in a parade I had very specifically not been invited to. “Stop her!” Oh, excellent. I tightened my grip on the pack slung over my shoulder and ran faster. Inside it were the Archives—the ancient royal documents I had just “borrowed indefinitely” from the royal library. Priceless. Ancient. Heavily restricted. Apparently, stealing them was frowned upon. Who knew? I cut through the marketplace, narrowly avoiding a merchant's cart as guards shoved their way through the crowd behind me. A basket of apples went flying. Someone screamed. A fruit stand collapsed. Honestly, if the royal guard wanted to destroy half the market while chasing one sixteen-year-old girl, that sounded like a budgeting problem. My boots hammered against the black cobblestones. My lungs burned. My shoulder ached. My hair whipped wildly behind me, nearly taking out an innocent bystander as I turned sharply around a stall. Then I caught a flash of purple in the corner of my eye. I didn't need to look twice. General Hadeon Casimir. The walking fortress. Of course he'd come personally. “Fan out!” his voice rang through the chaos. “Don't let her reach the east gate!” I swore under my breath. The guards ahead began closing ranks. Left. Right. Dead end. My eyes darted upward. The rooftops. Terrible idea. Naturally, I went for it. I threw myself at the nearest wall and started climbing. It was not graceful. My fingers scraped against the stone, tearing skin as I desperately searched for cracks and ledges. Somehow, I managed to haul myself onto the roof. “She's on the roof!” Brilliant observation. I scrambled across the slanted tiles, nearly slipping twice before jumping the first gap. Then another. And another. Behind me, the guards struggled to follow. Hadeon, however, remained infuriatingly composed. “You're inefficient,” he called. I glanced back. “Oh, fuck you!” Then I jumped. For several glorious seconds, I was airborne. Then I slammed into the opposite roof, caught the edge, and barely hauled myself up. I kept running. Eventually, I slid down an old iron support beam attached to a crumbling building and hit the street below hard enough to make my shoulder scream. I didn't stop. I found an abandoned tavern. I slipped inside. Dropped behind the counter. And waited. The guards surrounded the building. But they didn't enter. That was strange. Then I heard one set of footsteps cross the threshold. Slow. Measured. Familiar. Hadeon. He stalked through the tavern, searching. I waited. And waited. Then I sprang. I slammed into his ankles with everything I had. The walking fortress hit the floor. For one beautiful second, I thought I had won. Then he rolled. And suddenly I was pinned beneath him. I fought. He didn't move. I threw dirt in his face. He was unimpressed. I bit him. He was considerably less impressed. Finally, I threatened to burn the tavern down. He told me not to. So naturally, I did. I threw a handful of red powder onto the barrels of beer. The tavern erupted into chaos. Fire raced across the old wood. Hadeon swore. I escaped through a broken window. And ran. I ran until the city blurred. Until my shoulder felt like it was on fire. Until my hands stung. Until my lungs were barely keeping up. Then I found an old sewer grate. I slipped inside. The grate dropped shut behind me. Silence. At last. I ran through the tunnels until I saw the markings carved into the stone. The Dregs. Home. Or at least the closest thing I had to one. I pushed through a side passage and finally stopped. I bent forward, hands on my knees, wheezing. I was supposed to meet Archer here. I was probably late. Very late. I took one breath. Then another. “Archer?” I called weakly. Because apparently nearly getting arrested, setting a tavern on fire, and running through half of Myrrithal wasn't enough to make me reconsider my career choices.