Pauline waited for the last group of worshippers to pass the nave before pulling Orion toward a side passage, ducking to avoid attracting attention.

  They slipped out through a side door into an alley filled with stacked wood and empty amphorae, silently making their way out of the temple complex.

  Considering that both of them had been seen in Asteria’s company by hundreds, if not thousands, of people, that small precaution was worth taking unless they wanted to be swarmed. People were still coming in droves to worship the changed statue of the Mother or offer their thanks to the witches who’d sacrificed themselves, though at least it was starting to slow down.

  “Have you eaten?” Pauline asked without preamble, scanning the alley for people.

  Orion blinked and did a quick accounting of the last twenty-four hours, but couldn’t remember taking the time. “No,” he said, realizing it at that very moment. “Not since we left the Floating Bridge.”

  “I figured as much," Pauline said. "Let's start with some soup, then we'll deal with the militia. It’s been a while since I last was in the city, but I remember a decent tavern.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, since his Body points allowed him a much more efficient calorie burn rate, meaning he could ignore hunger for a few more hours, but his stomach, traitorously, made a small hollow sound, forcing him to acquiesce. “Fine. Something quick.”

  They skirted the overflowing square without crossing it, sticking to lanes where gutters flowed swiftly, and followed the city downhill. Last Thaw was built like a stretched arch along the Belt, and the closer they got to the water, the more the street smelled of fish oil, and more doors bore weathered charms against storms, which echoed faintly with faded spells to [Hypotheticism].

  The waterfront stretched from the rain in a line of warehouses and taverns. Men navigated the area carefully, still trying to come to terms with the near disaster. Technically, the damage done was very small, but it was clear to everyone that things wouldn’t stay peaceful forever.

  Pauline led him past a row of respectable houses with shuttered windows and polished brass plates, surrounded by private defensive spells strong enough to be the work of professionals, and guided him to a plank-front tavern with a hand-painted sign of a gull with a fish in its beak, laughing so hard its head tilted back.

  That explained the swinging sound with “The Chuckling Gull” carved into it.

  Inside, the space was warm and lively, with a baking hearth warming the room. Nets hung along the rafters to dry, and the floor was spotless, which was surprising given that the tavern seemed to cater to fishermen, though perhaps not the poorest.

  A girl in an apron approached them as they entered, her smile seeming somewhat forced, until her storm-gray eyes fixed on Orion as if drawn by magnetism.

  Oh no, not again.

  “Welcome to the Chuckling Gull!” she said, breathless, hand twitching as if she wanted to touch him. “We’ve got a pot of soup on and brown loaves still warm, dear guest. Have you—”

  “Elsa!” a woman’s voice barked from somewhere behind the bar, sharply cutting her speech off.

  The girl jumped. “Yes, Mama!”

  “Take them to a table and give them the menu there, not at the door. Don’t crowd the door.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Elsa didn’t look back, still fixated on Orion as if his eyes were the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen, then seemed to remember herself, flushed bright red, and hurried them toward a corner booth with a nailed-down table and a better view than Orion expected any stranger would normally get.

  She set the table for them, poured water, and fiddled with the edge of a napkin as if that could justify staying for a little longer.

  Pauline observed this with the calmness of a cat on a wall. When Elsa hurried back to the bar after being called by her mother, she tilted her head toward Orion. “Another victim for the famous Voidwalker charm, huh?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Please, this is just an inconvenience. We should be out of here as soon as possible.”

  “She will probably cry if we do that.”

  “With a mother like that, she’d be worse off if I stayed and distracted her,” he said dryly. “She’ll survive.”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Soon, Elsa reappeared with a tray. “Do you want the special, or… we can make anything, really, if you prefer—”

  “What’s the special?” Pauline asked kindly.

  “Fish soup, miss. Plenty of fish and mussels, crab too if you want it,” Elsa said, then caught herself and almost bit her tongue. Given the current situation, she probably shouldn’t have offered more than what was necessary.

  “The regular soup will be fine,” Orion said. “And bread, thank you.”

  “The same,” Pauline added.

  Elsa hesitated, hope briefly duking it out with propriety, until the latter won by a narrow margin. She bobbed a nod and hurried off to relay their order to the kitchen.

  Orion exhaled and looked around the rest of the room. It resembled a busy harbor tavern, with men in tar-stained coats hunched over bowls, a couple of women whispering while crocheting shawls, a boy asleep against his uncle’s shoulder, and a dog curled under a bench, one eye open in case a treat fell.

  It should have been very noisy, but all he could hear was a murmur of private conversations, as people remained stiff even with a drink in hand.

  “What am I missing?” he asked quietly enough not to be overheard. I might have improved my social awareness, but I know where my limits are.

  Pauline’s mouth flattened. “Your mother declared the Belt to be hostile grounds until further notice. No boats shall go out without an escort, no nets shall be cast in the water, and no night fishing shall be allowed. It’s a sensible precaution, given that the wyrms might still be lurking in the water, but it will be absolutely ruinous if it lasts more than a few days.”

  He nodded. Of course she did. If dragons had dared attack the city once, they would probably try again. Declaring the river a hostile land gave her legal right to seize docks, stop the crews from getting themselves killed, and start setting up defenses.

  It also meant that all of the city's fishermen were now out of work.

  Elsa placed two bowls on the table, the broth thick and steaming, dotted with leeks and curls of pale, tender fish. The bread was brown and hot enough that he should have waited for it to cool, but Orion tore off a piece and spooned some soup without hesitation. Anchovy, onion, white fish, thyme; simple and perfect.

  The door slammed open suddenly, and a gang of men burst in through a swirl of damp air, loudly making their presence known. They looked flushed and hard-eyed, already prepared for a fight, and their boots left wet streaks on the floor, but they paid no mind to that.

  They didn't seem like locals; they were probably a wandering group caught in the chaos and unable to escape.

  “We’ll have your best drink,” one announced to the room. “Enough for all of us.”

  Elsa’s mother was broad-shouldered, with her hair tied in a kerchief and forearms thick as anchor chains. She stepped out from behind the bar, carrying a rag and wearing a stern look. “You’ll have seats if you can behave,” she said. “And if you can’t, you know where the door is.”

  “We can behave,” the leader said smarmily, and immediately proved himself a liar by grabbing Elsa’s wrist when she passed by with a tray. He pulled her in with a laugh, greedy and thoughtless.

  Chairs creaked as several people stood, and knives scraped out of their sheaths.

  The next moment, a bolt of light struck the man like a hammer. It was a powerful blow that lifted him off his feet and threw him backward through the door he had just entered. He landed outside on his back in the rain like a sack of flour.

  Elsa tumbled to her knees, hands to her mouth to prevent a shriek, and the remaining men froze.

  “Out," Elsa’s mother commanded, a wand in her hand. Her chest heaved, but her eyes were as hard as stone. “All of you. Out, before my patience runs out."

  They exchanged a few words and postured but then walked away, showing that even fools like that knew better than to try a witch in the Sanctum’s lands.

  The door swung back on its hinges and slammed shut with a flick of the woman’s wand.

  Orion leaned back, mildly impressed, and inspected her.

  Lysa Murren - Dockside Matron

  Class: [Hearthwitch] [C-rank]

  Level: 93

  Mind: 312

  Attunement: 281

  Body: 54

  Traits: Tidal Wardwork [C-rank]; Scald & Sear [C-rank]; Moonlit Witchcraft [C-rank]

  She was high Tier Two. That was a lot for a tavern-keeper.

  Pauline followed his gaze and smiled. “Last Thaw’s full of people like her. Not everyone is at her level, but they can still scare off thugs. Retired witches, Wardsmiths who married fishermen, widowers who can curse entire generations if harm comes to their men. The Sanctum’s farther than in Silverpeak, but it’s not that far.”

  Lysa examined her daughter’s wrists with a skilled touch, softly cursing at a bruise that would hurt by morning, and tapped her wand against it, healing the injured skin. Once finished, she kissed her hair and sent her back to work.

  They ate in genuine peace afterward. The soup tasted even better when it wasn’t scalding, and the bread disappeared in a few quick bites.

  When they finished, Pauline slid a silver coin across the table; Lysa tried to push it back, but Pauline gave her a meaningful look, and the woman sighed and relented.

  Outside, the rain had finally slowed, and Orion’s feet easily found their rhythm on the wet cobblestone. By the time the barracks appeared at the end of a long, low street, he nearly forgot he was walking on a prosthetic.

  “Ready?” Pauline asked, observing the compound, a rectangular group of buildings surrounding a churned courtyard, with a palisade on three sides and a low stone wall facing the river. Lanterns glowed despite the daylight, and men moved purposefully in groups, cautiously watching the water.

  “As I’ll ever be,” Orion muttered. Given what he’d seen in the tavern, he expected this little expedition wouldn’t be as quick as he’d thought.

  They stepped into the yard as a crack of leather echoed through it.

  Two men were tied chest-high to a flogging post, their clothes soaked through, with their backs striped and bleeding. The man wielding the lash looked grim, but the woman standing beside him showed no hesitation at all.

  She was short, stocky, and built like an ox. Her hair had grayed with age, but no one would ever mistake her for a desk worker. She wore a militia coat with the commander’s insignia casually pinned on the lapel, and when she turned her head, her eyes found Orion and locked onto him like a knife through paper.

  The lash fell twice more, and on the third, the woman chopped a hand down. “Enough,” she said. “Cut them free and give them bread and salt. If either of you is seen within ten yards of a skiff without an order, I’ll have your hides for the tack room.”

  The men stumbled away on their own feet, trembling, shoulders clenched with shame. Orion felt the urge to look away or offer help, but didn’t move. Discipline wasn’t pretty when the people under it were scared for their children, but chaos killed more.

  The commander silently signaled for them to follow, and Pauline fell in at Orion’s shoulder as if to remind him that he wasn’t alone.

  He watched the two men being led away for a moment longer before deciding it would only make things worse for everyone.

  Orion sighed and followed the commander into the main building, trailing her to the back. He stopped in front of a room where the woman was leaning against her desk, waiting with a stern look.

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