Through a crack in the shutter, I glimpse the city lights flickering to life. Milthar’s architecture stands proud, columns and arches lit by torch-glow. But I can’t admire the beauty while fear coils in my gut. The city archives nearly claimed me this morning, and who knows what tonight’s meeting might bring?
Eventually, the carriage stops in a humble district near the eastern docks. We disembark in a quiet alley. Remanos leads us to a modest warehouse belonging to a mid-level guild that trades spices and textiles. Inside, a small group of merchants gathers around a lantern-lit table. Their eyes widen at the sight of me—human, rumored troublemaker—but they greet Remanos with arespect tinted by wariness. Clearly, they know the Senate might disapprove of this meeting.
One merchant, a middle-aged minotaur with a salt-and-pepper muzzle, steps forward. “Champion, we only agreed to meet because the orcs’ raids threaten our livelihoods. Is it true you suspect someone in the Vakkak class fuels these attacks?”
Remanos nods gravely. “Yes. We have partial proof linking Senator Vaelen to secret arms deals with orcs. He aims to create unrest, manipulating trade for personal gain. But we need your voices to pressure the Senate into a formal inquiry.”
I present my battered treatise. “Older records show how certain nobles historically used orc raids to coerce trade advantages. Vaelen is following that blueprint. If we don’t stop him, your caravans might be next.”
A hush descends as they skim the passages I’ve marked. Murmurs break out. Some share incredulous looks, others whisper about bribes they suspected. The tension thickens. I sense real alarm in their faces. This is no minor matter—if Vaelen can orchestrate violence to profit, the merchants risk losing fortunes, even lives.
The older minotaur sets the treatise down, gaze flicking to Remanos. “The Senate rarely bows to merchant demands, but if we gather enough guilds to refuse cooperation until a hearing is held, they’ll have to listen. Are you certain Vaelen is behind this?”
Remanos clenches his jaw. “Yes. He’s threatened to remove me from champion’s post if I speak out. And he’s threatened to hand Mira to the orcs.”
Anger flares in the merchants. Another minotaur, younger, hisses, “We heard rumors she’s a spy. Now we see the Senate might be twisting that. Are you sure she’s telling the truth?”
I straighten, meeting their eyes. “I risk my life daily to expose Vaelen’s corruption. I have no love for orcs. Believe me, if wedon’t act, they’ll gain more footholds, and your goods—your entire livelihoods—will be next in line for sabotage.”
The merchants exchange uneasy glances, then nod. The older one speaks, voice grave, “We’ll reach out to fellow guilds. If your evidence is strong, we’ll back you in pressing for a formal inquiry. But be cautious—Vaelen may strike first if he suspects we side with you.”
Relief mingles with dread. We thank them quietly, stepping outside into the cool night air. Remanos’s tension eases a fraction, though the flicker of street torches reveals the strain in his face. “This is a start. If enough guilds unite, Vaelen won’t silence them easily.”
I nod, heart pounding with fragile hope. “Yes. We might stand a chance.”
Our guards lead us back to the carriage. As we climb in, a subtle warmth spreads in my chest. We accomplished something tonight. If the merchants follow through, we’ll have allies. The ride back to the estate passes in hushed contemplation. I keep glancing at Remanos’s profile, the lamplight casting his horns in soft relief. Each time I recall how close we came to losing each other, emotion swells.
When we arrive, the courtyard is empty save for a lone torch by the main doors. I slip out of the carriage, exhaustion washing over me. Remanos joins me, his presence a steadying force. We walk side by side through the portico. Neither guard follows us into the estate’s interior. We pass corridor after corridor, the hush enveloping us like a heavy cloak.
At the library archway, I pause. My breath catches as I sense him halt beside me, longing flickering. We’re both shaken by how entwined our fates have become, how reliant we are on each other’s strength. That unspoken question—Should we keep fueling this closeness, or lock it away?—hangs in the space between us.
He turns, voice husky with weariness and something deeper. “You need rest. Tomorrow is the hearing.”
I swallow, nodding. “You too.”
Our eyes meet, the tension swirling. I recall how quickly he rescued me today, how fiercely he defended me. The memory of last night’s closeness hovers, but we both know we can’t indulge in that again with Vaelen’s watchers at every corner. Even so, the warmth in my chest yearns for more than fleeting safety. I wonder if he feels the same pull.
He exhales, stepping slightly closer. My heart thuds. “Mira,” he begins, voice subdued, “I don’t know how to walk this line—between needing you at my side and wanting to protect you from all of this.”
Emotion wells up in my throat. “I don’t either,” I whisper. “But every time I try to handle things alone, it ends badly. I… I trust you more than any Senate vow.”
A faint tremor passes through him. “I trust you, too.” His hand lifts, fingers brushing my forearm in a gesture that electrifies the quiet air. “We’ll figure out how to stand against Vaelen, how to keep you safe. But after that… I don’t want us to be forced apart by city politics.”
Tears threaten to sting my eyes. “Nor do I. Let’s survive tomorrow first.”
He manages a small, tense smile. “Yes. Survive tomorrow, then see what future we can carve for ourselves.”
An ache of yearning pulses inside me. We linger, each breath shared, but no further words can bridge the complexities swirling around us. Finally, I muster the will to slip away, carrying the treatise toward my room. As I walk, I sense his gaze following me until I vanish around the corner. My chest is a riot of hope, terror, and a fragile spark of happiness. Everything rests on the hearing—exposing Vaelen’s pattern oforc manipulation, rallying the merchants, and somehow keeping Remanos’s champion title intact so we can keep fighting.
Tomorrow, Vaelen will try to brand me a threat, tearing me from Remanos’s side. But I refuse to let them break what we’ve begun building. We might be a mismatched pair caught in a corrupt city’s crosshairs, but we’re stronger together. And if the Senate underestimates our resolve—well, they’ll soon learn how determined a human traveler and an honor-bound champion can be, especially when their hearts and futures lie on the same line.
Tonight, I cling to that stubborn faith, ignoring the throbbing bruise in my shoulder and the swirl of fear. Tomorrow, we face the Senate. For now, the promise of Remanos’s loyalty, proven in the dusty chaos of the city archives, steadies me. No matter the Senate’s verdict, we won’t surrender to Vaelen’s tyranny. And if we must risk everything to see truth prevail, so be it. We choose it willingly, side by side.
12
REMANOS
I’ve barely taken two steps into the foyer when I see my own Freedmen guards pinned against the wall by a pair of Senate soldiers. Every muscle in my body tenses. One of the soldiers—a grizzled bull with a cold glare—has Mira clutched by the arm, a document clutched in his other hand. The wide-eyed Freedmen look too stunned or outnumbered to intervene. The entire entry buzzes with tense energy, as if the air itself has turned electric.
