“How do you know where the Row is? Have you spent much time in Kestrel?”

“A long time ago, aye. Feels weird being back though. Everything feels less magical than it used to.” Bryony understood that feeling more than she was prepared to put into words. Instead, a prick of pain made her drop the rose still grasped in her hand. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I—I don’t know…” She eyed her fingers to find three punctures welling with blood. She sucked them clean, frowning, and then bent down to inspect the rose’s stem. Sharp thorns protruded from its length, three of which were bright with her blood. “What were you saying about Kestrel feeling less magical?” she murmured.

“How did he…?” The question trailed from Ludo’s lips, unfinished.

“Come on. We have more important questions to find answers to.”

Ludo

The Row was just as Ludo remembered. Cramped and tight, like a closed fist. Streaked with shadows, like a moonslit patch beneath a leafless tree. The houses were painted colors that might’ve once been vibrant, cheery even—reds and yellows and blues—but which had grayed and faded and peeled over years of neglect.

As he passed through alternating stripes of light and dark, Ludo stepped over a vagabond sprawled headlong across the narrow street. He smelled of piss and strong drink. A groan emerged from his throat when Bryony offered him a nudge in the ribs with his toe.

Ludo looked back. “Just checking he’s alive,” she said.

“Nice of you to care about a stranger’s well-being.”

“I don’t care, but if this whole thing goes sideways, I’d rather not be accused of his death to add to any others.”

He couldn’t tell if she was joking, but before he could figure it out, she gestured toward the only structure in the row that could be described as ‘robin’s egg blue’ with a ‘red’ door. Such descriptions were generous at best, as the blue was more of a ghostly gray at this point, and the red door was so scratched and dented he could almost hear its groans of pain.

On the other hand, he could hear other sounds emerging from within. Laughter. The clinking of glasses. “Seems Guard Crandon has company,” Ludo said. “Maybe we should come back another ti—” He clamped his mouth shut because he was talking to himself. “Bryony?” he hissed. When she didn’t respond, he cursed and said, “And they call me the Ghost…”

He eyed the beat-up old door and then the rest of the two-story structure. The only window, on the second floor, glowed between cracks in the drawn curtains. He considered his options. He could just walk away and continue his journey eastward. That would be the least risky course of action. Or quietly search for wherever in the gods’ names the woman had run off to. But what was she to him? An acquaintance at best, whose path had crossed his own by mere happenstance. A stranger at worst. There was a third option, of course. He could smash the door down and demand answers from those inside.