Attention!

The three of them moved quickly through the side alleys, eager to put distance between themselves and the greenhouse. Tia’s pulse still drummed in her ears, Ellis’ words circling in her head like a stubborn song. She could almost still feel the princess’ presence beside her – then the sharp contrast of her absence.

The air outside was cooler, but no less tense. Way fancier guards were everywhere now, stationed at stairways, questioning traders, peering into alleyways. Their polished armor gleamed harshly under the sun. Even the street music seemed subdued, notes trailing off whenever a patrol passed.

Then came the voice.

“Attention, citizens of Ssarradon!”

It rang sharp and nasal, cutting across the chatter of the bazaar. Another town crier had mounted the fountain steps, flanked by two armored sentries. The man was thin, his yellow tabard clinging damply to his ribs in the heat, but his voice carried with the weight of authority.

“All are to be aware,” he cried, “that the princess, Her High Grace Elysizith, has once more wandered from the safety of her royal keep. For her own protection – and yours – report immediately any sighting of a young Drakaris woman traveling without escort.”

Tia stiffened, her eyes flicking to Balthan and Vesh. No one dared react outwardly, though a ripple of whispers passed through the crowd.

The crier raised a hand for silence, his voice growing louder, more insistent.

“Furthermore, the Dominion Council warns of dangerous falsehoods being spread through the streets – tales of guild marks gone awry, and of… Blank Marks.” He spat the term as if it were poison. “These are not curiosities. They are corruptions. They are instruments of terror, fashioned by those who would sow chaos in our great Dominion!”

A hush fell, broken only by the faint gurgle of the fountain.

Tia’s stomach knotted. Blank Mark. Even hearing the words aloud made her skin prickle. The man’s eyes swept across the crowd as if daring anyone to admit knowledge.

“These so-called Blank Marks,” he continued, “are a trick of the faithless. They drain life from those who bear them. They erode loyalty, erode order, and place all honest citizens at risk. But know this – our arcanists, our scholars, our priests, all labor without pause to uncover the truth of these abominations. In time, every rumor will be exposed, every hidden mark rooted out!”

He jabbed a finger skyward, his voice almost shrill.

“Do not be deceived! What appears harmless may be corruption in disguise. Those who shelter the bearers of such marks commit treachery against crown and Syrath alike.”

The guards beside him shifted, hands resting on spear hafts. The crowd remained silent, though unease rippled through it.

Tia’s throat was dry. Every word felt aimed at her, at the mark etched into her own skin. She tugged her sleeve lower without thinking, heat crawling up her neck. Did anyone else notice? Was anyone looking too long at her?

Beside her, Balthan’s jaw was clenched tight. Vesh’s gaze remained steady, unflinching, but the faint lash of his tail betrayed tension.

The crier concluded with a sharp flourish:

“Report all suspicion. Report all sightings. And above all, trust in the wisdom of the Dominion. We will root out falsehoods, just as we will return the princess to her rightful place. That is our vow.”

The guards barked a sharp command, and the crier stepped down. Slowly, the crowd broke apart, conversations springing up in uneasy bursts.

Tia hugged her arms. The words lingered like smoke, acrid and heavy. Blank Marks. Princess on the run. Treachery and corruption. It all connected to her.

“Feels like the noose is tightening,” she muttered under her breath.

Balthan didn’t answer. His gaze tracked the guards as they moved down the street, his expression grim. Vesh exhaled low through his nostrils.

“They spread fear first,” he said quietly. “Fear is the soil where obedience grows.”

Tia swallowed hard. She tried to shake Ellis’s smile from her mind, but it clung stubbornly, like rain on your favourite hoodie.

And now the Dominion itself was hunting both of them.

They slipped away with the rest of the dispersing crowd, heads low, silent until they turned down a crooked stairwell that smelled of old herbs and stagnant water. Only there, with the echo of the crier’s words still ringing in her head, did Tia finally let out a shaky laugh that wasn’t really a laugh.

“Looks like we’re fucked,” she said.

Balthan didn’t answer. His gaze swept the rooftops above, jaw clenched so hard it looked carved.

By the time the tavern came into sight, Tia’s nerves had twisted into knots. The Dozing Serpent looked the same as always – lamplight spilling gold onto the street, the warm hum of voices and laughter within – but after the crier’s speech, it felt suddenly fragile. Like any second the Dominion might decide even laughter was treason.

Inside, the familiar scents hit her first. Roasted barley, spice, woodsmoke, and a hint of fried onions that always clung to the rafters. Rika was behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, hair half tied and still somehow radiant even with flour dust on her cheek. Corin hovered nearby, trying not to hover, balancing a stack of mugs like it was the most important quest of his life.

“Finally!” Rika called, setting down a tray. “I was starting to think you three had gotten lost in a card game.”

“Something like that,” Balthan muttered, pushing past to the corner table.

Tia lingered a beat longer, grin twitching despite herself. She leaned toward Corin as she passed, pitching her voice just low enough not to carry.
“Careful, if you keep gazing at her like that, you’ll spill the ale.”

Corin blinked, nearly dropping one of the mugs. “Wh– I wasn’t–! That’s not–” His ears went bright red, which only made Tia smirk harder.

“Uh-huh. Sure.” She winked and darted after the others before he could sputter another denial.

For a moment, just a moment, the tension eased.

They sat together in the shadowed corner, tankards untouched. The tavern’s chatter washed around them, a noisy comfort that almost masked the silence at their table. Almost.

Balthan finally broke it, voice low and edged. “This is spiraling faster than I thought. Ellis was reckless enough, but now the Council is stoking fear of Blank Marks in the same breath as naming her. If people connect the two–”

Tia swallowed. “They already did. You heard him. He spat it like I was the disease.”

“You are not,” Vesh said firmly, cutting her self-spiral short. His eyes were steady, unwavering. “Do not let their poison become your truth.”

She wanted to thank him, but the words stuck.

The rest of the night blurred. Rika eventually brought food, though Balthan barely touched his and Tia only picked. Corin snuck glances toward their table, his ears still a little pink, which at least kept Tia’s spirits from sinking too far.

But even laughter couldn’t completely scrub the image of the crier from her mind, or the way the crowd had gone so still when he said Blank Mark. Like they all knew to fear it before even knowing what it meant.

By the time she crawled into her bed, exhaustion pressed heavier than the day itself. She lay staring at the ceiling beams, Ellis’s smile replaying itself again and again, until it blurred into the crier’s sneer.

We will meet again, Ellis had promised.
And the Dominion had promised the same – just in far uglier words.

Tia pulled the blanket tighter. Sleep, when it came, was thin and restless.

Tia jolted upright, breath ragged, skin clammy with cold sweat. For a moment she didn’t know where she was – only the press of shadows, the imagined heat of that crowd screaming at her, the echo of “corruption” still biting at her ears. Her hand flew to her pocket, desperate, even though she knew it was empty. No card there. No accusing eyes. Just the quiet rise and fall of her companions’ breathing.

The room was still, dim in the predawn dark. Even Balthan, who always seemed half-alert, was slumped in his chair by the door, chin to his chest. A tiny snore escaped Corin from the bedroll across the floor. The air smelled faintly of smoke and old ale, the tavern’s usual perfume.

She pressed her palms over her face, trying to shake off the dream. But the images clung like burrs: the way her friends had vanished without a word, the blank card fluttering into the dirt, the crush of strangers’ faces twisted in rage. That same word, again and again, spat like venom – Blank.

Her throat was dry. She pushed the blanket aside, crept quietly to the shuttered window, and cracked it just enough to let in a trickle of cool air. Outside, the terraces slept. Even the city’s usual hum seemed hushed, as though the Dominion’s crier had stolen the voice of the streets too.

The night was dark, no moon to light it up, but that stupid arch. Here in Ssarradon she almost forgot about it. Not sleeping under the open sky gave her a false sense of… earthness, even with all the alien people and magic around.

For a long while she sat there with her knees pulled tight, watching the first pale gray of dawn creep across the stone. Her heart slowed, but unease still churned. If this was what her mind conjured while asleep, what hope did she have of escaping those whispers while awake?

By the time the others stirred, she had dozed off again, cheek pressed to the wooden sill. Corin was the first to rouse, his clumsy shuffle knocking his blanket into Rika’s side. She groaned, swatted at him, then sat up with a stretch that cracked her back. Balthan blinked awake with far more dignity, of course.

“You look like you fought the night itself,” he muttered when he caught sight of Tia’s face.

“Yeah, well,” she said, rubbing at her eyes. “The night fought dirty.”

They ate a quick breakfast downstairs. Rika had scrounged together bread still warm from the morning ovens, a crock of honey, and thin slices of something smoked and salty. The tavern was quieter than usual, most of the regulars missing, though Maressa still bustled as if nothing were wrong.

“Word’s out,” Rika said between bites. “They’re checking taverns. Not here yet, but…” Her voice dropped, eyes flicking to the door. “I heard they dragged folks out of the Glassed Hen last night. Looking for Ellis.”

Tia flinched at the name. She kept her head down, chewing carefully, though her mind replayed the princess’s grin, her sly wink as she vanished into the palms.

Corin, meanwhile, was happily helping Rika fetch more honey, darting up at every chance to take a plate from her hands or pour her a mug of cider. Tia smirked. When his back was turned, she leaned in and whispered just loud enough for him alone: “Careful, she’ll have you wrapped around her finger before noon.”