Watching Daine and Lei enter the inn, Pierce clung to the scant shadows of the alley, his mithral plating blending into the darkness. He had been built to serve as a scout and skirmisher, and a talent for stealth had been forged into his soul. He held his great bow in one hand, an arrow at the ready. There was no sign of danger, but Pierce had been a soldier since the day he was born, and he never lowered his guard.

The city felt strange and unnatural to Pierce. He was twenty-eight years old, and he had spent his entire life on the battlefields of Cyre. Even after Cyre was destroyed, exploring the Mournland was much like fighting a war. Horrors far more dangerous than any Brelish soldier filled the devastated land. It was hard for him to conceive of a life without conflict, to look at the bustling street without evaluating the threat posed by each traveler. A part of him yearned for a sudden attack, an ambush, something that would justify his vigilance.

“Do you miss war so much?”

The voice was soft and warm, as was the hand that touched his shoulder.

During the siege of Felmar Valley, the Valenar elves had played games with the Cyran defenders, killing sentries and leaving the corpses standing at their posts. After a time, Pierce began playing a game of his own—making himself an inviting target, then bringing down any elf who thought he could approach undetected. He’d caught five would-be assassins this way, though he had a few arrow-marks from elves who’d wisely chosen not to play his game. But no one had ever come close enough to touch him without his noticing. Until now.

It was not in Pierce’s nature to fear for his life. He was made to fight, and if he died in battle he would know that he had served his purpose. Rather than fear, he felt a deep sense of disappointment at his failure to spot this potential threat—and the need to regain the upper hand as quickly as possible. He turned to face the stranger and took a long step back, trying to get enough room to draw back his bow.

But even as he stepped away, the stranger moved forward, perfectly matching his stride. She wore a dark cloak with a deep hood, and she moved as silently and smoothly as a shadow, remaining inches from his chest.

Pierce was at a loss. This woman had taken no directly hostile action, and the folds of the cloak suggested her hands were empty. He was larger and presumably stronger than her. Should he drop the bow and lash out with a steel fist? Or was this some sort of misunderstanding?

“I suppose in battle the answers are always clear,” she said.

Her voice was low and musical. Had Pierce been made from flesh and blood, it might have sent a shiver down his spine. As it was, he merely noted the clarity and enunciation, the unknown accent that suggested a homeland beyond the Five Nations.

“If you mean me no harm, back away slowly.”

The woman took a few steps back. “My apologies,” she said.

She looked up to meet his gaze, and her hood fell back far enough to reveal her pale skin and finely sculpted features. Green eyes glowed within a halo of black hair, and her lips twisted with the slightest hint of a smile. To Pierce’s eyes she seemed human, though it was hard to tell for certain, with the shadows and the hood.

“I have little experience with your kind,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I was not startled,” Pierce replied.

The stranger’s smile widened ever so slightly, and Pierce wondered why he felt the need to defend himself. He set down the bow and pulled his flail off of his back. The woman was unarmed, but still he felt the need to be prepared for battle.

“You didn’t answer my question.” If she felt threatened by the flail, she didn’t show it.

“What do you want with me?” Pierce was used to dealing with allies and enemies. Abstract conversation was not something he’d had much time for on the battlefield. He’d listened to the lady and the captain argue with one another, and he enjoyed the healer’s wordplay, but he wasn’t used to being the target of such things.

“The answer to a question, nothing more. Do you have a place in a world without war?” Her eyes flickered down to encompass the flail. “Or are you just a weapon, worthless when there is no blood to be spilled?”

Pierce stared at her, trying to find the words to answer. It was not a new question. In fact, it was what he’d been asking himself before the stranger showed up. Did she know that?

Even as he searched for an answer, he caught the glimpse of motion in his peripheral vision, two figures stepping into the alley. The possible threat was a welcome release from the question, and he relaxed and let his reflexes take over, stepping back against the wall and setting the chain of his flail in motion. But there was no threat. Just Captain Daine and Lady Lei, exiting the tavern.

Captain Daine eyed the spinning flail, glanced at the bow on the ground, and his hand went to the hilt of his sword. “What’s wrong?”

Pierce let the flail come to a stop. “Nothing, Captain. A misunderstanding. I was just …” He glanced toward the stranger, but she was nowhere to be seen. If he’d had eyelids, Pierce would have blinked in surprise. She had slipped away as smoothly as she had appeared. “… thinking,” he finished.

The captain shrugged. “Let’s get moving then. I’ll fill you in a long the way.”

Pierce nodded. He returned his flail to its harness and picked up his bow, studying the empty alley. He listened to Daine’s words, but his thoughts were far away.