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Damian slept deeply and dreamlessly. The comfort of a feather bed after sleeping on a horse blanket on the ground for many days eased her stiff joints. She was also glad that the frightening dreams that had haunted her occasionally since she left Aether did not disturb her that night. Instead, her sleep was only long and restful.

The "perfect view" of the sunrise the innkeeper had boasted of was marred by the inn's neighbor, so close that Damian could reach out through the window and touch it, and many of the town's larger buildings also hid the dawn. Sunlight flooded her room soon enough, however, and she awoke with it.

Now that the sleep had cleared her thoughts, she found she couldn't focus on anything, and further, that she didn't want to. She stared impassively at the streets outside while the town awakened and began its daily business. Everything seemed distant from her. The attack in Aether, the people she knew there who had died, Domino, even Trent itself. Few sounds penetrated the thick walls in the upper story of the inn and the activity outside seemed much farther away than it really was. She felt alone and was glad for it.

She lied in bed for a long time, thinking of nothing and watching the shadows shrink away and the streets come to life. The inn awakened below as well. People could be heard scurrying about and calling to each other in the kitchens and conversations began in the common room, drowning out the faint sounds outside.

Finally, Damian rose. She felt she could stay in bed and simply watch the world go by all day, but the cleanliness and faint lavender scent to the sheets reminded her how dirty the travel had made her and she longed for a bath. The bathroom was downstairs, next to the kitchen. Whether anyone noticed her as she crossed the common room, she didn't care.

The room was occupied only by one middle-aged woman attending the water who quickly wished her good morning and stepped out. A hearth and three wooden tubs circled by curtains filled the room, leaving little space to move otherwise. Two of the tubs were already full with steaming water scented with lemons and rose petals. Damian chose one and undressed, slipping gratefully into the warm water.

She took as long to bathe as she had taken to rise, the water cool by the time she stepped out. Two people came in to bathe and finished while she scrubbed the dirt off her body and washed her hair, and two others who worked at the inn returned to change the water in the other tubs. Damian simply listened, her mind still free of thought as she rubbed soap over her skin.

Stepping out of the tub, she dressed herself in a towel and bathrobe hanging beside it. The softness of her cleansed skin was a stark contrast to her faded sundress and undergarments, still the only clothes she had. After a moment's consideration, she sought out a washboard and scrubbed the dress clean. She laid her clothes out before the hearth to dry and remained in the bathroom longer, working the tangles out of her long hair.

The morning was half over when she finally returned to the common room, refreshed. The bath had eased the tension from her shoulders and she felt calmer than she had since she left Aether. The innkeeper, named Weston, smiled broadly and lavished her with attention as he served her a breakfast of sausage, honeycakes, onions, and hard fried eggs. Damian spoke little and smiled softly back, spending most of her time gazing at the street outside.

After breakfast came the moment she dreaded. She had been avoiding the thought as she basked in the comforts of the inn, but it remained at the back of her mind regardless. She had no more excuses or delays to keep from facing it. Now it was time to rebuild her life.

Damian headed for the front door of the inn directly after leaving her table. She had nothing upstairs but a handful of coins, and without a purse or pockets to hold them, she would only be inviting danger. She forced herself to contemplate what she would do next. The night's sleep and her bath had invigorated her spirit as well as her body and she was determined to make her way alone.

Evidently, she was better off than most, if not all of the people she had seen at the temple the previous night, so she was reluctant to go there for help when the Seers had their hands full enough already. Perhaps she could have better luck trying to find someone to apprentice for if she sought out central offices of the guilds in town, but doing so could take her all day, and she imagined the odds of finding a master at her age were still slim. The same might be said of looking to serve at a pub or inn nearby, though there was no shortage of taverns to search in Trent.

Damian stood on the sidewalk in front of the inn, glancing at the people passing back and forth before her. The more people she saw, the greater her options became. Farmers, they could always use extra hands, though the work was harder than Damian would like. Lords, they had no shortage of jobs for servants in any part of the house. Bakers, dozens of them needed every day, and it was easy enough work to learn. Bankers and accountants, they needed assistants to keep their books and she had learned to count a little in following her father around on his trade routes. Messengers...

Suddenly, a voice called out through the crowd, "Damian!"

Damian looked up with a start, her heart racing. She had felt herself invisible as she stood unnoticed by the crowds around her. The thought of being recognized made her head swim with confusion, hope, and fear all at once. Anxiously, she gazed into the throng of people, hoping to make out the owner of the voice. A hundred faces flashed in her mind. Connor, Andrea's brother, her father's stableboy Meris, her father, Domino. Each face gave her more hope than the last, and the call had so surprised her that she couldn't decide who the voice belonged to. For a long pair of heartbeats, her heart swelled, overjoyed that there was still someone left in her life.

But the crowds parted and it was only the curious knight she had met the night before who approached her. He was smiling, but all the joy fled from her face at the sight of him. That one glimmer of hope had consumed her for all its short duration, reminding her how much she missed the people she had lost. Her heart turned to ash at the disappointment. Just like that, her resolve was gone, and all she wanted was to be held by someone she loved and trusted.

She couldn't bring herself to face Garrick as he greeted her amiably. She didn't want a stranger's sympathy. All of a sudden, his presence was unwelcome. Making friends was too hard and she wanted none of it. She wanted to disappear into the crowd, to be a shadow, invisible and untouchable.

"Damian? What's wrong?" Garrick asked, concerned.

Hot tears gathered beneath her eyes as she spun away from him and muttered, "I just want to be alone." With that, Damian ran.

It was harder to maneuver through the thick crowds than she would have liked, but she pushed through, ignoring the angry yells of those she threaded past. The tears ran unwilled down her cheeks as the air rushed by her face. She ran away from Sir Magni, from the inn and her few things that still bound her to her fate, from everything familiar about the town. She ran as if she could escape from the pain she'd suffered, back into the time before the attack.

So it was that she found herself in another alley several minutes later, panting for breath and cursing herself. She didn't know where she was or how she'd gotten there and she hadn't even thought to ask the name of the inn where she was staying. It was for the best, she supposed. She didn't belong there and she had nothing she'd left behind. The horse wasn't hers, the animal pelts in its saddlebags weren't hers, and the coins sitting on the nightstand weren't hers, either. She had nothing and she was nothing. She would starve to death on the streets of Trent and nobody would miss her. The thought tasted like bile in the back of her throat.

"Hot pies!" came a shrill voice from the street she had come from. "Hot pies! Two to a moon! Hot pies!" A boy some years younger than Damian passed by the mouth of the alley carrying a wooden tray, followed by a scent of fresh baked pastry meat pies. The smell was enough to set her mouth to watering and she was glad that she had just eaten. She watched the townspeople pass by the alley, some chasing after the boy with the meat pies. She resented them their happiness and security. She resented those cruel strangers that had been as quick to cast her aside as they had been to condemn Domino.

Domino, she thought. She couldn't keep her mind off him. The mercenary had been distant and she knew nothing of him, it was true. But he had only been kind to her, had rescued her and cared for her in her darkest hour. The bitterness she felt turned to sadness. She had nothing else, but she still had him, yet he had been taken away from her as well.

Loneliness set in and Damian edged deeper into the alley, almost feeling the pain awaiting her beyond it. Her foot hit a piece of brown paper bloodstained from the meat it had once wrapped with a loud crackle. The sound was answered by a shuffling and a heavy breath deeper in the alley. Startled, Damian turned to it.

A stocky, dirty, unkempt man rose from the waste farther down the alley to gaze at her. In the dark shadows of the buildings, Damian could only see the whites of his eyes clearly. They gazed at her hungrily and she made out a hideous smile in his tangle of beard. A disgusted look crossed her face and she took a step back towards the mouth of the alley.

"Hey, now, lovely girl," he stated in a gruff voice. His accent was so slurred that he sounded drunk. With the heavy stench hanging over him, he very well could be without her realizing it. "You must have some coin for a poor old beggar, don't you?"

"I don't have any money," Damian answered curtly as she backed away from his approach. But as she glanced over her shoulder, she found herself nearing the street again and liked that even less than the old man.

"Come on, now, dear," he continued, reaching a grubby hand out. "Just a half-moon for a hungry old man?" Damian whirled on him, suddenly angry again.

"I don't have any money!" she snapped. "Look at me! I have nothing of any worth!"

"I think you do," he replied, his voice growing dark.

"Stay away from me," she warned and took a reluctant step back. Misery and uncertainty merged into an anger that grew hotter in her with each passing moment. She felt the fire burn inside her and didn't want to deny it this time. The old man raised himself to his full height, taller than Damian, and pulled a knife out. She glared daggers at him, but it deterred him none.

"That's it, hand it over..." he attempted and grabbed Damian's arm.

"I said don't touch me!" she screamed and threw her free arm around. An explosion erupted from her hand, throwing the old man back down the alley. After assuring herself that he wasn't going to move, she turned her furious gaze on the mouth of the alley. Several townspeople stood still and stared at her, amazed or horrified. Damian gazed at each of them in turn, as if challenging them. The spell had affected her little and even now, she felt as if she could repeat it a hundred times more. Her golden eyes passed from person to person, daring someone to provoke her. It felt like she had only been stepped on and used since she arrived in town and all she wanted was to exact revenge.

Her anger dissolved in an instant, however, when she found one of the faces familiar.

"Damian!" Garrick exclaimed, trying to push past the spectators to her. Terrified, she turned and raced down the alley, passing by the fallen old man. Garrick called after her, but it only made her run faster. Her anger spent, she couldn't believe what had come over her. With all the people who saw her attack the old man, half the town would know there was a magic user in the city by nightfall. She had to leave town, to run away, far away, and quickly. If she could even escape the knight chasing her.

Desperately, she ran through more streets, but she was still tired from her last flight and her legs began to tremble. People stared at her as she ran past, but she paid them no mind. They didn't know, yet, and she had to lose the knight before she could worry about anyone else. She ran down more streets and alleys, losing herself further in the town. At this point, she didn't even know where the rivers were.

Her breath was heaving and her feet felt like lead when she turned a corner down an empty alley leading to quiet shops and ran into him. He grasped her by the arms and she was too weary to fight.

"Please, don't," she begged.

"Damian, calm down," Garrick attempted. His grip was the only thing keeping her standing.

"I'm sorry," she continued breathlessly, "I'll never cast another spell again, please..."

"Damian!" He leaned her against a wall and crouched down to look her in the eyes. There was no anger or fear in those grey-green eyes. "It's okay. I saw that guy attack you, you had every right to hit him back." Damian stopped struggling and shot him a confused look, still panting. Had he not seen her cast the spell?

"I..." she attempted.

"Are you okay?" he asked, checking her over as he had the last night. She only stared at him. "Damian?"

"Y... you're not angry?" she wondered. Garrick looked baffled.

"Of course I'm not angry," he stated. "I'm surprised that you're a sorceress, but... why would I be angry?"

"It... it was wrong," Damian explained. "The magic... it's evil." Even as she said it, the statement seemed irrational, but she couldn't let go of the belief.

"Magic isn't evil," Garrick replied, confused. "What gave you that idea?"

"My father," she remarked sadly. "He always told me that it was. I never really wanted to believe him, until... those monsters..." The knight laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Let's find somewhere to sit down," he offered gently. "We have a lot to talk about."

 

Damian was afraid when Garrick began leading her away, but he only took her to a tavern on a busy street nearby. He chatted about unimportant things while he ordered a tankard of bitter ale and Damian a mug of mead, and she found herself examining him while they awaited their drinks. He had a handsome masculine face, younger than Domino's with larger eyes and sharper nose, cheeks, and chin. He loved to smile and was very good at it, and it was hard not to be affected by it. A few strands of thin hair had come loose of his tail hanging down just past his shoulders. The color of it was difficult to determine. In some lights, it was a soft chocolate brown, in others, a deep wine red, and the colors melded together so perfectly that it often appeared both shades at once.

Up close and under better light, his armour looked even stranger than it had the previous night. The silver engravings in the blue-grey steel of the cuirass, vambraces, and greaves emulated a serpent's scales. Down the front of the breastplate was a series of plain plates of a lighter shade shaped to look like belly scales, though each one jutted out with greater depth than an ordinary snake. The same types of plates ran down the top of the vambraces from diamond-shaped plates covering his elbows and down the shins of his greaves from similar plates covering his knees. The tassets were designed in the same style and the sharply spined spaulders and sabatons resembled the large, scale-like plates as well. The shirt and trousers he wore beneath the armour were a darker grey and his cloak was a shade of grey-blue in between. He wore no helm nor shield and the spear was obviously his weapon of choice, though he kept his dagger, ivory hilt carved in the shape of a dragon, sheathed on his belt. She thought again about the first glance she had of him the night before, when she had seen horns and fins on his head.

Garrick sent her a grin over his shoulder as the barmaid returned with his tankard and Damian's leather mug. "Never seen an Agaesi before, have you?" Damian blinked.

"A what?" she asked. He chuckled lightly.

"A knight of the great dragon Agasis," he explained. "He's very choosy, so we're a very elite group. It's little surprise you've never seen one before, in a remote town like Aether."

"You've met a dragon?" Damian wondered incredulously. The knight's grin widened.

"The dragon," he clarified, "the greatest and most powerful dragon ever to inhabit the realm." He shrugged, tankard in hand. "Nobody's met him in person, though. I've heard his voice a few times, and occasionally I see him in dreams." He flashed an enigmatic smile at his ale. "Sometimes he has to remind me of my duty." Damian looked at him inquisitively, but he only sipped his ale.

"So," she began, "what exactly are you?" The playful eyes returned to her.

"Technically, I'm a sorcerer," he replied. "Just like you." Damian pushed her chair away from him uncertainly. His smile faded.

"Damian," he stated seriously, "there's nothing wrong with using magic. It isn't evil. It's just a tool, like a sickle or a sword or a quill. There is no 'good' or 'bad' to magic. It just is." Damian gazed uncomfortably into the amber drink before her.

"Why would my father lie to me?" she replied, more accusingly than she intended.

"Maybe he didn't know any better," Garrick offered. "A lot of people don't. It's nothing to be ashamed of. He just..." Damian shook her head vehemently.

"He always said that!" she insisted. "Every time..." She still remembered clearly the first time she cast a spell, though she had only been five years old. She had begged her father to let her light the fire in the hearth, but her tiny hands could not draw a spark from the flint and steel. Her frustration sent a tongue of flames into the kindling straight from her hands. She had been amazed, she remembered, and turned to her father with a proud smile on her face. The darkness in his expression still frightened her even now.

"I don't understand," Garrick remarked. "Where did you train?" Damian returned her golden eyes to his green.

"Train?" she repeated. "For magic? I've never trained anywhere for magic." The knight's confusion only grew.

"Then who taught you?"

"Nobody taught me," she answered, shaking her head.

"Then how..." Garrick attempted. He paused and downed a quick gulp of ale. "How did you make your spirit bond, then?" Damian only stared at him blankly. "With your magus?" The conversation was only bewildering her further, and it seemed her answers were only doing the same for him.

"The magus," he tried to explain. "The magical creature that gave you its power."

"I... didn't get my power from any magical creature," she stated. "It just comes to me." Garrick looked at her said nothing for a long time. The gaze made her uncomfortable. It felt as if he was trying to see something inside her and she was afraid of what he might find there.

Finally, he responded slowly, "Damian, that's not possible."

"What?" she uttered.

"Humans aren't inherently magical," he continued. "At least not enough to just use it at will. The only way you can cast spells is to create a spirit bond with a magus." She could think of nothing to say to that. He leaned forward. "You're telling me that you've learned how to cast magic, on your own, without forging a spirit bond?" She nodded faintly.

After another pause, he stated, "Show me." Damian's eyes widened.

"Here?" She glanced around. It was not yet dinnertime and few people inhabited the tavern, none of them looking their way. Still, the thought of casting a spell in this common room made her uneasy.

"Just something small," Garrick urged. Reluctantly, Damian brought her arms up above the table, cupping her hands beside her mug of mead, still half full. A flash and a snap and it was gone like static, though the spark she made would have jolted a man temporarily out of his senses. She looked up. The knight hadn't flinched, but she could see the astonishment he tried to conceal.

"Unbelievable," he remarked in a low voice. He fell quiet and looked away, silently nursing his tankard. Damian tried to take another sip of mead, but her stomach twisted into knots anxiously. Quickly growing afraid, she gazed at him, hoping to discern his thoughts, but his expression was unreadable. What was he thinking? Did he think her a monster? Inhuman? That was essentially what he had said. She remembered with a shiver the persecutions she had faced regularly through her life. The citizens of Aether had grown used to her unusual yellow eyes, though few truly looked past them. Every town where she had accompanied her father on his trade routes, she had met a few who had gasped or cringed when they saw her eyes. They were unique, her father told her, but now she knew it wasn't just that. Humans aren't inherently magical, Garrick said. What was she, then? Tears formed behind her eyes and she trembled. All she had ever wanted was to be loved and accepted, but she didn't belong. Didn't belong in town, didn't belong in the kingdom, perhaps didn't belong in the realm.

"Please," she begged, and she didn't know what she was pleading for. "I'm sorry, I'll never cast another spell again, I just..."

"Damian," his voice came, silencing her. She looked to him. His smile was forced, but kind. He shrugged. "It's unusual. That's all. It's nothing to apologize about." The smile grew more serious, but more sincere. "You never need to apologize just for being you."

For a moment, Damian saw Connor sitting across the table from her. "They look like amber," he had said when she asked him bluntly what he thought of her eyes soon after meeting him. "My grandmother had this beautiful amber necklace with a pendant shaped like a swan. Your eyes remind me of that." He had smiled as he spoke. Expecting a cautious remark or change of subject, she was surprised. It had set the tone for a friendship like none other she'd had, a friendship she never sought out and now could never regain.

Looking at the dragon knight, she longed for Connor and felt uncomfortable speaking freely to Garrick. He wanted to get inside her heart, he wanted to know her in a way that she hadn't allowed anyone to know her in years. Except Domino. She grew ever more uneasy as she gazed at the knight's gentle smile. It so reminded her of Connor's. The thought was heart-wrenching.

The walls began to close in on her and she felt caged in. She couldn't even utter an apology as she abandoned her mead and ran outside, ignoring Garrick calling after her.

Outside, she was immediately shoved aside by a thickset woman carrying a tub of undyed linen. She regained her balance when she braced herself against the wall of the tavern, but before she could move she was accosted by a pair of boys shoving dead animals in her face.

"Fresh meat, miss, still warm! Butcher's got lots more just over there!" announced the taller boy with a grey hare and a pigeon hanging from his hands. The rabbit swayed as he pointed across the street. "Tell 'em Hobby sent you!"

"No, Macks sent, Macks sent!" the other insisted, his black squirrel and chipmunk bouncing in his fervor. Damian shot them a disgusted look and felt the heat rise in her heart, but it faded when a hand laid on her shoulder.

"That's enough," Garrick commanded from beside her. The boys scattered, the younger Macks whimpering as he ran. Damian let out a frustrated breath in a hiss.

"Do I have a bull's-eye painted on me?" she asked, annoyed. "Why is everyone I run across so determined to take something from me? Do I look such a fool?" When she turned to face Garrick, he grinned knowingly. The sight was unwelcome at first, but she soon remembered what he had told her the last night. I won't ask anything in return but to see you happy. She sighed and tried to calm herself.

"Let's go get you some new clothes," he offered and began leading her down the street.