A Friend

They walked back from Mystikos in that easy, half-drunk happiness that comes after learning something new – Corin practically hummed, every other word a small, delighted discovery about vowels and breath control. He kept picking at the red book with a reverence that made Tia grin. “If I tighten the inhale and hold the E a tick longer–” he’d start, then demonstrate with a tiny pop of light, like a firefly that remembered how to be polite.

Tia smiled because he was smiling, and because the city smelled like warm bread and sun-warmed stone and, for a beat, the world seemed fixable. Then a shadow slid across her chest, and the grin folded up at the corners.

The tavern door swung in on its familiar hinge. Maressa looked up from polishing a mug and did a double-take that should have been comic if Tia’s nerves weren’t already frayed. The innkeeper’s eyes went new-bright like someone who’d glimpsed a very odd sunrise.

“There’s a bit of mail for you, love,” Maressa said, holding out a thin envelope like it might sting.

Tia’s stomach flipped inside out. A letter in Ssarradon was ordinary. A hand-delivered note at the Dozing Serpent was less so. A sealed, hand-addressed little thing might as well have been a small, warm grenade.

“Who?” Tia asked before she could stop herself.

“A hooded one,” Maressa said. “Dropped by when I was stacking plates. Said it was important and for the girl who liked making trouble.” She winked. “Looked like it had the manners of a thief.”

Tia’s fingers closed around the paper. It was thicker than the usual market scribbles, edged in a faint green dye. Her name sat in a neat, looping hand:

To Miss ‘Tia’ – at the Dozing Serpent.
Meet me at the Glass Conservatory, tomorrow midday. – A friend

Her heart hiccupped. Tia. The name glowed in her mind like a stupid insect lamp.
“A friend, huh.” Sheepish hope and hot suspicion tangled in her chest.

Corin’s grin dimmed a little as he watched her. “Everything okay?”

“It’s fine, probably.” Her voice sounded too small in the hush of the common room. She folded the letter inside her palm as if hiding a beetle. “It’s… nothing.”

She hushed Corin up the stairs to the privacy of their room. Inside were the other three already.

Balthan was at the window, one eye narrow, the other a tiny slit of concerned light as he spotted the letter. He leaned in like a man who could smell trouble two terraces away. “What’s that letter about?”

Tia’s voice was thin. “Maybe… that hooded person from the bazaar…”

He folded his fingers together, a slow, precise thing. “...You do not see the same thing twice for no reason.”

Rika, who’d been pretending to ignore them while balancing a spoon on her nose, dropped it and cocked a brow.
“You got a secret admirer? Ooh, I call dibs. If it’s noble, I want to date-check him.”

“Very funny,” Tia snapped, but she couldn’t make it sting. A small, fierce part of her wanted to tear the letter open and march straight to the conservatory and demand answers. A slightly smarter, less dramatic part of her wanted to burn the envelope and never leave the tavern again.

Rika leaned back, grinning wider. “Or her. Maybe it’s the princess, eh? She loves disguises. Slipped out of the palace again this morning, according to the barkeep downstairs. They’ll be combing the streets by supper.”
Tia blinked. “The princess?”
“Troublemaker with a crown,” Rika said, satisfied. “If anyone would send a cryptic little love note, it’s her.”

“It’s not really a love letter I’d say,” Vesh said, “more of a court summon”. He had been loosening his cloak and listening with that patient lizard way he had – like he could sort words into piles with a glance – said quietly, “Don’t show it. Not yet. We don’t know who’s watching.”

“What if it’s important?” Corin asked, genuine worry worming through his voice. “What if they have information? Maybe about the blank mark–”

“You don’t know anything about that,” Balthan cut, low and sharp. The entire room stillened. “You keep your head down and your pockets closed. We decide when we act.”

Tia felt the room tilt a little toward him, like gravity itself agreed. She stuffed the letter into her pocket, feeling the thin crease of paper against her hip like a second heartbeat.

“Who gave it to you?” Vesh asked, fingers flexing around the leather strap.

“A hooded one gave it Maressa, and she gave it to me”, Tia answered.

“That’s not helpful,” Rika sniffed. “Sounds theatrical.”

“It sounds deliberate,” Vesh said instead. “Someone who plans how they want to be seen.”

Tia’s chest felt both lighter and heavier. Someone was paying attention. Someone was close enough to drop messages. Which was the good news and very much the bad news at the same time. They didn’t alert the guards, nor did they harm her yet. But at the same time it was creepy knowing someone knew your every whereabouts.

Tia pulled the letter out again because she couldn’t not. She unfolded it with fingers that were betraying her because the hand that opens a letter always tells you something about what you fear.

Its text was polite in tone, almost painfully so. The handwriting looped – a person of culture hiding in a cloak.

“Meet me at the Glass Conservatory, midday. – A Friend

I want to talk with you and your gruffy friend. I see potential in you.”

No name. No flourish. No hint of rank. Not even a clue about whether they meant harm.

“Let them meet you?” Rika asked, pragmatic now, the flirtation dropped like her spoon.

Balthan’s hand closed on his other wrist. “No. Not alone.”

“You’d come? I mean, I suppose you’re that ‘gruffy friend’ they’re talking about.”
Tia heard the hope she hadn’t planned to say. It sounded small and childish and honest.

Balthan’s voice was a flat stone. “I’ll go. Vesh too. We choose the place and the time. We don’t walk into someone’s plan because the person who wrote the plan asked nicely. We walk into it on our terms.”

Vesh nodded. “I can talk to priests and merchants quietly. Find if anyone else received the same note. If it’s a trap for gossip, we’ll know before stepping in.”

Corin’s face fell an inch. “But I– I wanted to–”

“You stay,” Rika said, leaning toward him with that soft, dangerous grin she used when she wanted someone to stay put and not complain. “Someone has to mind the fort and eat the stew. Also, it’s good practice to learn how to look unsuspecting.”

Corin made a sad face between genuinely sad and understanding the severity of the situation. “Someone’s gotta count the crests,” he said, trying to match the joke.

“Do it, then.” Balthan’s voice had edged softer. “Find a new counting method. It’ll help your concentration.”

Corin brightened half a beat and then ran downstairs like a boy who’d been granted a small, meaningful adulthood. Tia watched him go and felt something like warmth press under her ribs. He was a small safe thing in a city that suddenly felt full of teeth.

“So,” Rika said, settling, “we go tomorrow. Midday at the conservatory. Two guards at our shoulders, two eyes scanning. We keep it public. No theatrics.”

“Tia, keep away from the window,” Balthan added. “If they’re watching, they’ll be watching any time of the day.”

Tia’s face pinched at that, a mix of humiliation – how many times could she be told to hide? – and gratitude. People wanted to protect her. It felt… odd. Good. Uncomfortable-good.

Fingers tightened on the folded paper. The room felt too small.

“But we can’t even do this on our terms,” she burst out. “We don’t know who they are. We can’t send a message back. Either we sit here, waiting for them to knock on our door again, or we meet them and find out what they want.”

Her voice wavered, but the truth in it hung heavy. “Those are the only choices.”

Balthan gave a short gruff and a sigh. “You’re right. As much as I hate it, that’s certainly our situation.”

“So tomorrow, Me, Balthan and Vesh go to the flower market? And then meet that stalker of mine.” Tia’s voice now more determined. Though there was still an edge of fear of the unknown prickling at her neck.

Outside, Ssarradon rolled on – fountains glinted, hawkers yelled, a child with a wooden sword paraded like a small general. The city didn’t know what it had invited into its heart. It hummed oblivious as ever.

Tia closed her eyes and tried to keep the panic tucked behind the next breath. She wanted to be brave. She wanted, more than anything, to meet the person under the hood and know whether they were friend or threat.

Either way, she thought as sleep finally pulled at her, she would rather step forward than forever be watched from the dark.
Tomorrow, she would go and meet what came for her – but on her own terms, with friends at her back and a pointy hat sitting crookedly on her head.

The day after the letter stretched long and thin.
Everyone else seemed to have things to do – Rika, Vesh, and Balthan left early to chase coin with odd jobs and errands. Kethra did her usual three sets of snorting plus a set of dozing. Corin, meanwhile, practically bounced with eagerness, pestering her until she agreed to visit Mystikos again.

Tia wasn’t in the mood. But sitting alone in the tavern sounded worse.

At Mystikos’ tower
The old wizard was ecstatic to see them again. He nearly dragged Corin inside, cackling about “fresh diagrams” and “a promising theory on spontaneous combustion ratios.” Books piled high. Papers spread across tables. Corin dove right in beside him, bright-eyed and babbling questions, as though he’d been waiting his whole life to have a teacher like this.

Tia… sat.

She tried to read. Tried to leaf through a stack of bound parchment. But every line blurred. Every word snagged on the thought that someone, somewhere, might be watching her. Her stomach churned, her fingers restless on the page.

Her eyes kept wandering back to a particular shelf – the one with the heavy, dust-slick tome she’d noticed the first time they were here. Teleportation. The title shimmered faintly in gilt runes. A promise. A temptation. Maybe even a way home.

Her pulse quickened when she tugged it down. She flipped pages. Strange circles filled with glyphs she couldn’t parse. Notes scrawled in dense script. A thousand doors locked, and no key she could recognize.

Corin would never understand it. Mystikos probably wouldn’t either. And asking would mean explaining why she cared – which she couldn’t. Not without unraveling too much.

She shut the book with a quiet thump and shoved it back.

The laughter of Corin and Mystikos filled the room behind her. Tia felt like a shadow sitting in a world too bright.

On the way home
The streets pressed close with twilight crowds. Vendors shouted, lamps were being lit, and the stone walls of the terraces glowed with the last scraps of sun. Tia kept her hood low.

That’s when she saw them.

One hooded figure leaned against a wall, head tilted. Another pushed through the crowd without a glance – yet when she risked a look back, his eyes flicked toward her.

Were they strangers? Just passersby? Or…?

Her pulse skittered. Every face seemed turned her way. Every laugh from an alley felt aimed at her.

Corin didn’t notice. He rambled happily about spells Mystikos had shown him, his voice light and warm in the dusky air.

Tia pulled her cloak tighter. The words from the letter clawed at her again: Meet me.

And suddenly, she didn’t want to. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

But she knew she would.