Chapter 26: Saving Damsels, Because Why Not

Serine’s voice was a steady stream of thunder, sharp enough to rattle the windowpanes, but I sat on the bed and bore it like a condemned criminal awaiting sentence. My hair was still tangled from sleep, my head pounding from too much rotgut, but apparently none of that mattered to her. No, Serine had enough fury to fuel a hundred sermons.

Across the room, Cassian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the spectacle with what he thought was a neutral expression. He wasn’t fooling me. The corner of his mouth had twitched upward—barely, but I saw it. Oh, I saw it. Smiling at my misfortune? That boy had no idea what storm he was inviting. Fine, I’d let him keep it for now. But later? Later, he’d pay.

Arkanthos, as always, was no help. The skull perched smugly on the nightstand, sockets fixed on me like he was enjoying every second of this circus.

Finally—finally—Serine ran out of breath. Her chest heaved, cheeks flushed crimson. I rubbed my temples and gave her the driest look I could manage.

“Well, alright then,” I said, drawing out each word. “I get it. I’ve sinned, I’ve shamed, I’ve disappointed the holy tribunal of Lady Serine. Point made. Now that you’ve thoroughly vented, I actually have something important to tell you. Something that makes my drinking look like child’s play.”

Both Serine and Cassian blinked. For once, I had their full attention. Rare occasion, that. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

“Arkanthos already knows most of it,” I continued, glancing at the skull. “Perks of being partially bound to my soul—he’s been able to dig around my memories since day one. But you two… you deserve to know the whole mess.”

Serine sat down beside me, cautious now, while Cassian dragged a chair over and dropped into it, arms braced on his knees. They looked at me like children waiting for a bedtime story, except this one came with nightmares included.

I drew a long breath. No more dancing around it.

“I remembered my first death when I was seven,” I began. My voice surprised even me—steady, serious, no sarcasm in it. “One day, out of nowhere, it all hit me: the knowledge that this wasn’t my first life. That before I was Rissa, I’d been someone else. Clarisse Leighton. Different world, different time. And I didn’t die naturally. I was murdered.”

Serine gasped, hand flying to her lips. Cassian’s brows knit, suspicion flickering across his face.

I went on before either could interrupt. “Since then, I’ve had… visits. Headaches that felt like knives in my skull. Always tied to the same figure—a man in a hood. Turns out, he wasn’t just some stalker or hallucination. He was death itself. Or at least, an avatar of it. He calls himself a dozen names, but I’ve taken to calling him Mr. Grimmy McDrama-Cape, and honestly, it fits him best.”

Cassian blinked. “You’re telling us… Death talks to you?”

“Mm-hm.” I nodded, deliberately casual. “Death talks, lectures, makes terrible jokes, and apparently has a very incestuous marriage arrangement. The whole package.”

“By the stars,” Serine whispered, paling.

I leaned back against the wall, folding my arms. “He’s not just hanging around for fun. He threw me into some sort of game. A competition. The rules are foggy, deliberately so, but the gist is simple: win or die. I don’t know what winning looks like yet, but if I lose…” My voice trailed off, grim. “He’ll kill me again. Permanently, maybe. Though he insists he enjoys bringing me back, so who knows?”

The silence that followed was heavier than lead. Serine’s hands twisted together in her lap. Cassian stared at the floor, jaw tight. Even Arkanthos, smug bastard, didn’t interrupt.

Finally, Serine spoke, her voice trembling. “Rissa… why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

I snorted softly. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because it sounds insane? Maybe because I barely believe it myself half the time? Or maybe because I was too busy keeping us all alive to sit down for tea and confessions?”

“That’s not fair,” she shot back, her eyes wet with anger. “We’ve trusted you with our lives, time and again. Did you not trust us with yours?”

Her words hit harder than I wanted to admit. I looked away, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. “…It wasn’t about trust,” I muttered. “It was about fear. If I said it out loud, it became real. And I wasn’t ready for that.”

Cassian finally lifted his gaze. His voice was low, even. “So what do we do?”

I met his eyes, surprised. “You’re not calling me mad?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Mad or not, you’ve kept us alive this long. If Death himself is playing games with you, then we play smarter. But I need to know—what’s our part in this?”

For a moment, I just stared at him. Then, despite everything, a crooked smile tugged at my lips. “Cassie, that’s the first useful thing you’ve ever said.”

Serine glared at me, but I could see the fear behind her anger. “This isn’t funny, Rissa. If what you’re saying is true…”

“It is,” Arkanthos rumbled, his dry voice cutting in for the first time. “I have seen her memories. What she speaks is truth. Death himself has set her upon a board far greater than this world.”

Serine turned on him, fire in her eyes. “And you knew this? You let her keep it secret?”

“Of course,” the skull said smoothly. “My loyalty is to my mistress. But if it soothes your rage, I will admit—I urged her to speak sooner.”

I groaned, pressing a palm to my face. “Thanks, bone-boy, throw me right under the carriage, why don’t you.”

Cassian leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Alright. So the question stands. What now?”

I straightened, brushing hair out of my eyes. “Now? We live. We fight. We make plans. And I figure out what the hell Grimmy expects me to win. But one thing’s clear.” My smile sharpened, teeth bared. “I’m not losing. Not this time.”

The days after my grand revelation passed like a slow parade of overprotection. Cassian and Serine shadowed me everywhere—two anxious moons in my orbit, tugging the tides of my patience. They saw assassins in every doorway, omens in every pigeon. My days of slipping off to drink alone were over; even the barkeep started greeting me with, “Your chaperones aren’t far behind, are they?” Arkanthos, for his part, was his usual charming self—equal parts judge, archivist, and paperweight.

Thalosir didn’t care about our drama. The city thrummed as always: fishmongers hawking silver ropes of mackerel; spice sellers turning the air to cinnamon and heat; street fiddlers making coin jars sing. Wind rolled in off the water, tasting of salt and iron. Somewhere, someone shouted about fresh pears. Somewhere else, someone else shouted about fresher lies.

We were cutting through the Green Market—Serine, bright-eyed despite her worry; Cassian, steady and scanning; me, pretending the world wasn’t an unending lecture—when the crowd split with a startled cry. A wicker cart groaned and tipped, its pony rearing as a rope snapped. In the same breath, three men in dull greys surged from an alley, faces wrapped, moving with the ugly coordination of people who’ve done this before.

They grabbed for a girl.

Not a girl, really—young by elven standards, which still put her a few decades older than me—but she looked like a springtime hymn: hair like poured sun, dress the green of new leaves, eyes the pale blue that happens when the sky remembers it can be gentle. She twisted like a ribbon, but the first man had her wrist, the second reached for her mouth—

“Absolutely not,” I said, and moved.

Cassian was faster. His hand found the pommel; steel whispered. He didn’t bother with flourishes—just clean economy: one step, one cut to the binding hand, a pivot, the heel of his palm into a throat. The first man folded like a bad bet.

Serine was already at the pony’s bridle, soft voice cutting through panic. “Easy, easy, good one—” She slipped a knife from her belt and cut the dragging strap, turned the animal with a precise tug and a palm to its shoulder. The pony’s eyes rolled, breath huffing, but the panic bled out under her calm.

The second man yanked the elf toward the alley.

“Let go of the lady,” I said, sweet as poison, and smashed a market scale into his ear. He staggered; I hooked his ankle with mine and put him on the stones. He grunted, reached for a knife. I stepped on his wrist and smiled like a saint in a fresco.

The third came at Cassian with a cosh. Cassie met him with the flat, then his shoulder, then a very personal introduction to the nearest crate. Wood cracked; grey cloth went limp.

The one under my heel wheezed, “Not your business.”

“Everything’s my business,” I said. “Especially when the packaging is this pretty.” I glanced down at our rescued elf and let a grin tilt my mouth. “Are you alright, sunshine? Please say yes; it will ruin my whole day if I have to pretend to care about someone who isn’t you.”

Her eyes—sea-glass bright—cut to me and did the smallest, most devastating up-and-down. “I’m—yes. I am now.” Her voice was music with a dry wit stitched into the seams. “Do you always open conversations with assault and flattery?”

“Only on market days.” I eased pressure from the thug’s wrist and nudged his knife away with my boot. “Cassie, darling, could you stack our new friends somewhere tidy? Serine, you’re a miracle.”

Serine flushed and handed the pony’s lead to a boy who’d popped out from behind a barrel. “Take him to Riall’s stable, please—tell him we’ll pay for the strap.”

Cassian dragged two groaning shapes into the alley like they were sacks of onions. He planted himself at its mouth, sword low, eyes higher.

The elf brushed a strand of gold behind her ear, breath steadying. Up close, she smelled faintly of cedar and lemons. She held a cedarwood case tight against her ribs, carved with leafwork so delicate it looked like it might breathe.

“Thank you,” she said, meeting my eyes without flinching. “All three of you. I would have managed, but… not gracefully.”

“Oh, we do everything gracelessly here,” I said. “I’m Rissa, this is Serine, and the statue with the sword is Cassian. And you are…?”

“Aelith,” she said. “Aelith Saelethril.” The name poured like honey. “I owe you more than a thank-you.”

“You can start with your favorite vice and your worst decision,” I said, then flashed her a mock-solemn look. “Kidding. Mostly. Do you—” I tilted my head toward the cedar case. “—always carry something that half the city wants to steal?”

Aelith hugged it closer, then relaxed deliberately. “It’s nothing they’d understand. Commission papers and sample inlay for my family. But someone told them to watch me.” Her gaze flicked, assessing, intelligent. She wasn’t afraid now—just angry. “You truly came out of nowhere.”

“Fate has a crush on me,” I said. “It’s awkward.” I glanced at Serine, who was watching Aelith with both academic curiosity and protective suspicion. “Before your admirers revive, we have a question for you—bit of a long shot.”

Aelith’s eyebrow lifted. “Ask.”

“By any chance,” I said, casual as a cat, “do you know an elven carpenter named Elyndor?”

The effect was immediate. Surprise flickered across her face, quick as a fish in clear water. “Why would you ask me that?”

My smile sharpened. “Because we’re looking for him. We’ve been looking since a very dear bridge near Cinnabar needed his genius and a very dear Wyrm decided to be in the way. We solved the Wyrm problem so he could solve the bridge problem. He left a note—cryptic as a priest—and then vanished. We’d like to collect on a debt. Also say hello. But mostly collect.”

Serine added quickly, gentle and earnest where I was daggers and grin. “A Wyrm was nesting in the ravine above the old span—he couldn’t safely assess the damage. We um… removed the obstacle. He repaired it after, but we never managed to find him. We only had the name, Elyndor and his note.”

Aelith’s surprise softened into comprehension, then something like relief. “You’re the reason the Cinnabar ravine is safe again.” She nodded to herself, a dozen calculations happening behind her eyes. “Then this is… fortunate.”

Cassian, still at the alley mouth, glanced back. “Do you know him?”

Aelith’s lips curved. “Very well. He’s my master.”

Oh, I liked that.

“Master as in mentor,” I said, eyes dancing, “or master as in I should be jealous?”

“Rissa,” Serine hissed under her breath, scandalized. “Please.”

Aelith didn’t flinch. In fact, she laughed—a clear, bright thing that had two nearby vendors pretending not to listen. “Master as “you will see,” she said, meeting my gaze squarely. “Though I admit, I’m curious which answer you were hoping for.”

“Whichever one gets me invited to dinner,” I said. “Preferably somewhere with good wine and terrible decisions.”

She cocked her head, delighted and a little dangerous. “You flirt like it’s a craft.”

“It’s a sacrament,” I said devoutly. “So—if he’s your mentor, can you take us to him?”

Aelith’s expression dimmed a fraction. “I can take you close. He’s… been keeping to a quieter “workshop” since trouble began.” She air quoted. “There are people who want him for what he can “manage”—governor’s agents, rivals, men like these.” She nodded toward the heap Cassian had made. “Pressure. He refuses work he doesn’t believe in. That makes the wrong sort of people… insistent.”

“Insistent I can handle,” I said. “Insistent is another word for stupid with a deadline.”

Aelith’s mouth twitched. “You remind me of him, a little.”

“Me?” I asked. As long as I remembered Elyndor was more like and afraid puppy, nothing like, but whatever.

“Yes. Infuriatingly certain.”

“Whatever.” I said, without knowing what she meant.

Serine set a firm hand on my arm, her scholar’s mind already racing. “If we help you—if we go now—will he see us?”

“If I vouch,” Aelith said. “And if you keep your blades sheathed and your jokes only moderately criminal.” Her eyes slid to me, full of mirth. “Moderately.”

“I can do moderately,” I said. “I can do anything moderately if you ask nicely.”

Cassian sheathed his sword with a click, calm as tidewater. “If people are watching you,” he said to Aelith, “you shouldn’t walk alone. We’ll escort you.”

Aelith stood a hair straighter, and the admiration in her glance toward Cassian was not lost on me. “I won’t refuse the help.”

Serine’s smile didn’t falter, but I caught the way her fingers tightened around the hem of her sleeve, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles with a little too much focus. Her gaze flicked between Aelith and Cassian, quick as a sparrow, before settling on the streets ahead as if they’d suddenly become fascinating. She didn’t say a word, of course—sweet Serine never did—but the faint pink blooming across her cheeks told me enough. Ah, jealousy: subtle, polite, and utterly adorable.

“Before we go,” I said, toeing the nearest groaner, “a parting gift.” I crouched and patted the man down with all the professionalism of a corrupt customs officer. A handful of brass tokens, a stub of chalk, a ring with someone else’s initials. I held up the ring. “Sentimental, aren’t we.”

The man coughed blood and spat near my boot. “You don’t know who—”

“Darling,” I said warmly, “I’m bored already.” I leaned close enough for him to smell my scent and let the grin turn to knives. “Tell whoever owns your leash that if they reach for Aelith again, I will come back with a beating. Nod if you understand.”

He nodded.

“Good boy.” I stood, dusted my hands, and flashed Aelith a brighter smile. “See? Moderation.”

“Terrifying,” she said, amused.

We slipped into motion—Serine at Aelith’s side, the two of them already in excited, rapid-fire talk about joinery marks and guild politics; Cassian a step behind, watchful; me on Aelith’s other flank, the better to guard her and offer very helpful commentary like, “Is your hair always this illegal?” and “If we get ambushed again, I call dibs on whoever looks the richest.”

Aelith took it in stride, meeting me feint for feint.

“My hair is regulated,” she said gravely. “By seasonal ordinance. Violations incur wine fines.”

“I am the law,” I said. “Where are we taking our crimes?”

Aelith’s lips quirked in a little secretive smile, the kind that promised mischief and mystery in equal measure. “If he’s not there, he’ll have left a sign only I can read. His… ‘shop’,” she said, and the pause was deliberate, the air-quotes practically audible.

“Yes, yes, little cutie, I understood your “air quotes” since the beggining” I echoed, arching a brow. “That word sounded like it had more velvet and chandeliers than sawdust and nails behind it.”

Aelith didn’t deny it. Instead, she glanced ahead, the corners of her mouth curling like she was carrying a joke she wasn’t ready to tell. “You’ll see soon enough.”

We left the city behind, slipping past its stone bones and into the green silence of the forest. Aelith guided us with the ease of someone who knew the trees as well as her own veins. The path narrowed into a thread of moss and roots, sunlight spilling through the canopy in fractured beams that turned the air to gold dust. She walked a step ahead, her pale hair catching every stray ray like a living lantern, pointing the way deeper. Birds trilled above, and the ground softened underfoot until the cobbles of Thalosir felt like they belonged to another lifetime.

Cassian kept his hand near his sword but said nothing, scanning shadows out of habit. Serine trailed close to Aelith, peppering her with eager questions about elven joinery, woodcraft, and guild politics, while I hung back half a step, watching the way Aelith’s hips moved as easily through the undergrowth as the breeze itself.

“Funny,” I muttered loud enough for her to hear, “this doesn’t feel like the way to a carpenter’s dusty little workshop. This feels more like the opening act of a fairytale—where the humble craftsman turns out to live in a palace made of moonlight and arrogance.”

Aelith’s smile sharpened just enough for me to catch it when she half-turned. “You’re not as wrong as you think.”

I narrowed my eyes, intrigued. “Oh, sunshine, if you’re telling me your master is less ‘sawdust and sweat’ and more ‘silk sheets and a crown,’ I might just fall in love twice in one day.”

She didn’t answer that—at least not with words. Her laughter drifted back through the trees, light and ringing, and it sounded very much like confirmation.