The air felt damp against his face, turning his skin cold and clammy. The oppressive dank had permeated into every corner of Lon’s lonely prison, and the musty odor that surrounded him provided the assassin with clue enough to deduce whereabouts. Undoubtedly he was underground, far beneath the city and its celebration, lost now within the maze of an old system of watery caverns. Lon had traipsed the shallow levels of Neurial’s countless catacombs many times before, but never once had he gone so low as to explore where he presumedly was now. Perhaps he should have taken the time, given the current state of things. The cave system under Neurial was a veritable labyrinth, said to have formed around the ribcage of the dragon slain by the city’s founders. It was only by the strength of those old bones that the city could stand on its otherwise weak foundation, and gods know that with a dragon’s size, the caverns were immense. To blindly search these passages for an escape would take untold days to accomplish, days that Lon simply didn’t have, and if he lost himself within this place, he may well never get out.

  Thus he was forced to wait, wait and ponder within the silence of an aged and neglected cage. He felt at home within these folds however, almost completely swallowed by shadow, for within them his mind was clear. So often did he work in darkness that he considered it his quiet partner, always there to comfort him and push him on to greater things. The blackness calmed him, shrouded him, and all the while disquieted those who would mean to do him harm. The only light that threatened him here was borne by a solitary lantern burning somewhere outside the room, but its glow was distant, weak, and failed to illuminate even the most removed of Lon’s prison bars. This was how he preferred it.

  But as comforting as such darkness was it could not console the assassin concerning the matters of his fate. True that it eased his mind, but there was no denying that Lon’s situation was rapidly growing grim. Already he had ascertained that the Valor had sequestered him off inside a long-forgotten underground keep, this being the worst of every possible outcome Lon had accounted for in the unlikely event that he was caught. Originally he had believed that the Valor would stash him away within a weakly defended hide should their plans be unexpectedly upheaved, and so Lon had prepared to use only a minimal amount of effort to secure escape if the need arose. That his contingency plan had in fact secured this route proved that he had not been wrong in his thinking, but rather negligent in his considering of the Valor’s trained response to emergencies.

  Fortunately, though he never meant to make use of it, Lon had prepared for this poor turn of events and so was not without some measure of hope. After all, he was among the most talented of his colleagues, something of which he’d been known to boast, and so in spite of this untimely setback he would be able to get free. The Valor had taken his pouches and belts of course, ridding him of his most obvious and useful tools, but in being flustered by unforeseen events they had bungled a thorough search of his person. Their mistake had left the assassin in possession of several well hidden trinkets; each one useful for helping Lon find a way out of his cell. The only problem with this plan was the finagling it would take to ultimately reach his things, as from the first moment he’d been imprisoned here, Lon had only been more securely tied.

  Where ropes had once been his sole restraint, heavy cuffs of iron now took their place, these chafing both his wrists and ankles with their vice-like bite. Lon’s hands, too, were raised and chained up onto the wall he slouched against, with his legs tethered out straight ahead leaving hardly an inch to bend his knees. Sore and uncomfortable, Lon could garner little room to move shackled as he was, and if indeed he meant to get at his hidden compartments, he could do naught but bide his time until his hands were free.

  Thankfully, Lon was patient, as he must be at times like this. If his assumptions were correct, then he would be waiting for quite some time before having the chance to make his move. The Valor would not permit him to eat or relieve himself until things had settled down, and these were the only instances that Lon foresaw allowing for the releasing of his hands. And even during those potential few moments he would remain closely watched. He was their enemy after all, there would be no show of lenience, and thus anything the assassin intended to do had to be carried out with utmost care.

  And there yet existed one chance more to wrest away the Valor’s advantage. Though he did not relish the thought of interrogation, given the nature of his work, Lon had endured his fair share of such questionings and tortures before. Though these instances more often occurred during the fledging years of his career, the assassin’s cryptic tongue had always faithfully aided him in avoiding injury with vague admissions and misdirection. Certainly he could use such tricks now to manipulate the current situation to his gain. Luring the Valor into divulging information was unlikely to be difficult, and it helped that the only thing he truly needed to learn was the conclusion of the confrontation above. Upon knowing, Lon could piece out information, be it half truths or lies, and maneuver his way back into a more favorable position. Once the Valor became distracted with chasing the fables he would concoct, Lon could use that time ignored to work at freeing himself.

  This plan would work, but it would take time, and so Lon’s mind fell to other matters. In truth, the assassin’s pressing need to escape was never what worried him. It was the afterward. There would be no hiding his new bruises from Amelia when he and the Honorbound next spoke, and more than this, he would never convince those of his guild that his latest injuries had all been planned. To bear the physical marks of such failure would surely tarnish Lon’s nearly spotless reputation, and the setback of his being captured was also costing him valuable time. Finishing his mission now was going to be far more difficult than before, especially since it was unavoidable that he would have to deal with her.

  “Damn that Fairwater,” Lon grumbled, cursing beneath his breath. If not for the Honorbound’s absurd stipulations he would have killed the Valor captain back in Meridia. If he had, then his capture, his embarrassment, would have been wholly avoided. And how much the easier it would have been for Lon to do things his own way! Accursed luck that politics were never a matter so simply solved.

  “My,” came an unknown voice, whispered from the dark, “I never expected you to be the sort to sulk.”

  “Indeed, the haughty bastard always seemed much too full of himself for that.”

  The sudden sound of a stranger’s voice took Lon by surprise, and whatever thoughts he once held escaped him instantly. Instinctively his gaze snapped up toward the dreary shadows beyond his cage, where there he spied a new-come figure leaning with a hand against the bars. Engulfed for so long in the dungeon’s gloom, Lon’s eyes had become well attuned to the deep darkness, and so it was almost nothing for the assassin to recognize both the stranger and her voice.

  “You…” he growled quietly, his words potent with his loathing.

  The acrobat chuckled, no doubt pleased at having successfully snuck up on Lon without his knowing. Even the assassin would begrudgingly admit that it was impressive she had done so, especially within such a quiet place. But, of course, this only made Lon hate her all the more.

  “Surprised to see me?” The girl coyly teased, flashing Lon a smile.

  He nearly scoffed at her audacity, though was hardly shocked by her confidence. Given how their last encounter had ended, she had every right to be so smug. “I am scarcely surprised by anything a woman does, sane or not,” Lon answered bluntly, though in hearing the vitriol upon his tongue he took a brief moment to find his calm. “I presume you’ve come here to gloat?” He asked, satisfied that his voice was smooth.

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  “Perhaps a little,” the acrobat admitted, “though that’s not the reason I followed you. In truth, I came here for your help.”

  The statement hit Lon like a bolt and he nearly choked upon his breath, taken so impossibly aback that he found himself at a loss for words. He wanted to scoff, wanted to laugh, wanted to yell all in a single second, and being unable to decide on which to do, he simply remained quiet. If this girl truly meant to ask him this, Lon could scarcely comprehend it, and it boggled him even further to think that she believed it possible he could comply.

  “My help?” Lon said eventually once he had weathered his initial shock. “You aid to put me inside this cage and then dare ask for my help?”

  “I had guessed that you would feel this way, but I only did what needed done at the given time. I’m sure you would have done the same if in my position.” The acrobat brushed her fingers through her bangs, flipping them aside. “And besides, it’s not as though I came to you without some sort of offer.”

  At this Lon balked, but in spite of himself, he was harboring an unexpected and growing interest. That the girl intended to bargain; therein lied an opportunity. In the realm of bartering Lon was certain that he would fare far better than the acrobat ever could. Obviously he would settle for nothing less than his total freedom, and this granted Lon the goal he needed to properly direct their conversation. “I’m listening,” the assassin thus spoke, urging the jester on.

  “First I must know how much you know of Dragon’s Teeth,” the girl began. “Have you been there before, and if so, do you know the directions to its dungeons?”

  Lon raised an eyebrow at the question. “Why do you need to know?” He asked.

  “You don’t know?” The acrobat replied, honestly surprised. “I’d thought it would be obvious, given what you’ve done.”

  Lon fell silent in response to this, taking a few moments to consider what the girl was getting at. He came to realize soon enough just what the jester had implied, and when doing so, newly amused, he chuckled to himself. “Ah, the Valor captain,” he mused. “You wish to save her, I suppose. Which means that whatever happened above did not go in your favor.”

  “As if you had any doubt of that,” the acrobat accused. “You arranged the meeting.”

  But Lon only smiled. “You presume much.”

  “But I presume correctly,” the girl shot back. “Or tell me that I’m wrong, Develli, and prove yourself a liar.”

  Though normally able to keep his expressions in check, Lon found himself frowning deeply. That this girl could utter his name—and to his face!—with such disrespect…again her manner was infuriating. Quickly though, the assassin reminded himself that such a thing was not worth his time correcting, as for the moment, it was more important that he haggle himself free. “Dragon’s Teeth,” he thus began, shifting the flow of conversation. “I have been there, yes, and too know how to navigate it.”

  “I thought as much,” the jester said. “Then this is my proposition: I will release you and then lead you back up to the surface. In exchange, you will take me through the Blue Passage and once we’re inside Dragon’s Teeth, you’ll direct me toward its dungeons.”

  Lon didn’t stop the huff of disbelief that rolled reactively from his mouth. The girl was willing to offer him his freedom from the very start, and not only that, but also save him the trouble of navigating these damnable caves. And for what? A promise of help that he had no intention of keeping? It seemed all too convenient for him, too much in his favor, and this alone was enough to stop Lon from dismissing her too quickly. Twice already this acrobat had proven herself capable of undermining him, and so he was not fully convinced that this time wouldn’t end the same.

  “You know of the Blue Passage?” Lon questioned then, surprised to hear the girl speak its name.

  “I stumbled upon it in my search for you. It let me know exactly where you would strike.”

  This admission caused Lon to grimace; was he really so easily read? No, surely not. It was merely that the girl was working with the Valor, and though few knew of that secret route, it was likely that the Valor would. Even if not an entrance that they would use, to know about it meant that this child had but to ask to be informed of its existence. This notion frustrated Lon; that he’d allowed himself to grow this careless and underestimate his enemies. “You would betray your allies so easily?” He said then, looking to distract away from this realizing of his mistake. Too he meant to probe the girl for some hidden catch as well, for though he did not believe she lied, he had no wish to be wrong again.

  “Do not speak to us concerning scruples,” the acrobat harshly hissed in smart retort. “Kayll know that you have none.” Only by having dealt with her before did Lon recognize this outburst as the manifestation of the girl’s madness, a diseased counterpart to the acrobat with which he had no desire to mingle.

  “That’s enough,” the jester snapped in self rebuke, speaking as to the air, and only after regaining herself did she turn back toward the cell. “The Valor are no more my allies than that caster is considered yours. As I said before, I only do what I must during the moment it needs done. If you’re worried about me betraying you, rest assured I have no reason.”

  “None other than our own hatred of you,” her alter ego once more muttered. But this time, rather than inducing disgust, Lon found himself once more amused.

  “In this our feelings are mutual,” he said, sneering at his would-be savior. “So, what is it then? Why are you really here? You do not truly expect me to believe your tale concerning the rescue of the Valor’s captain, do you? You have just admitted that you do not consider them your allies. So, why, then, do you seek my aid?”

  “My friendship with the Valor’s captain and my partnership with the Valor itself are two completely different things,” the acrobat calmly explained. “You are just a means to an end for me and, unfortunately, the only one I have.”

  “And you expect me to take you at your word? You speak in contradictions and spout betrayal in another voice. I will not agree to a bargain that has no intention of being fulfilled.”

  The jester scoffed. “Unlike you, I keep my word. And besides, I risk more by releasing you than you do by trusting me. We both have duties we must fulfill and shouldn’t be wasting time. I need you, and you need me. It’s as simple as that. So, just this one more time, I think it best we work together.”

  Silently the assassin listened to the acrobat as she spoke. “Again you presume too much,” he said, unwilling to let this girl believe that he was as desperate as she thought.

  “But again I presume correctly,” she insisted, just as unwilling to back down. “Don’t take me for a fool, Develli. I know you need into Dragon’s Teeth, even if not the reason why. I read your actions, I know your desire, for I have done them before.”

  “Impossible,” Lon spat aloud, unable to stop himself. “You are a worthless street performer. We are not of the same league.”

  In response to him, the girl merely shrugged. “I am a worthless street performer, but one trained in…certain ways. In fact, I’m likely just as good as you, and in some ways, even better.”

  Such arrogant cheek set Lon’s teeth grinding behind a tight expression. Truly the acrobat must be insane to so boldly speak this way! But what was worse than her blunt arrogance was that he felt he must agree. Lon had witnessed firsthand how she fought and moved, and it was clear that she had been well trained. If such training was granted by another assassin, he wanted to know who. “How?” He asked with a growl, his desire for vengeance upon her teacher now outweighing his injured pride. “How could some lowly soul like you come to learn our ways? Who is it that taught you?”

  “I’ve no reason to tell you,” the girl replied, “but I will, if indeed you help.” Immediately then she stooped down so that Lon could better see her hands, and pulling a lockpick out from a pouch, she held it up before the door. “So what say you, assassin Develli? Do I have your aid or not?”

  The question twisted Lon’s face to frowning, his answer caught between his ego and his earnest need for escape. If there had been another way, then perhaps he could have risked rejecting the jester’s “generous” offer. But the girl was right, he hadn’t time to waste. He needed to be free. “Yes,” he conceded, hating himself, “you will have your accord.”

  “Swear by Nox,” the jester insisted, causing Lon’s frown to deepen. That she knew this trick of the assassins too, she must have been taught by them.

  “I swear, by Nox,” Lon relented. “But you must never say my name again. This you must promise me.”

  “You have my word,” the acrobat stated, moving to unlock the prison door.

  Lon slouched back against the wall, waiting while the jester worked. In the returning silence he allowed himself to quietly fume at yet another accursed fate. If nothing else, he vowed to ensure that the girl would come to regret this new alliance, and the best way he knew how to make this so was by enlisting that whore, Lucille.