Despite the months spent here, I was still in awe at the bustling streets of Corméliane. People from all over the world were walking past each other, snippets of conversations in a hundred different tongues could be heard at every corner.
I was strolling down a hill at the center of the peninsula, moving toward the waterfront. The scent of sea salt mingled with spices and smoked meats from the stalls lining the street. Between the tightly packed buildings, I caught glimmers of sunlight reflecting off the harbor.
Yet, marring the city's vibrant spectacle, was the omnipresence of the slaves. Beside me a young woman, her breasts bared, was lugging around a basket full of laundry. Further down the street, a few men were unloading a cart into a shop, their sweaty skin glistening.
Here, all slaves were forbidden from wearing anything above the waist, save for the steel collars that marked them as indentured laborers. Each time my gaze fell upon them, a surge of discomfort mixed with determination.
I reminded myself of my purpose here, of my duty as an Imperial Agent of the Magisterium. Every piece of information I gathered would bring the laws of the Empire one step closer to applying to all who lived on the so-called Free Coast.
A small smile grew on my face as I thought of my parents back in the capital. If they could see their daughter now, hidden beneath a burlap cowl, dressed in the rough, practical clothing of a Coastal. My red hair was tucked away, and my frame obscured.
To anyone passing by, I was just a young man on an unimportant errand. No one would guess that beneath this simple disguise was a trained Imperial Mage.
I finally reached the docks, weaving through the busy crowds as I darted toward the spot where my new source had arranged to meet. The air here was thick with the scent of brine, tar, and fish, and the shouts of sailors mingled with the creak of ships.
Most of my days were spent as "Lucia," a Provincial mage learning Contract Magic under the tutelage of Master Otto.
But Lucia had no business in this part of town. This was Elena's domain, the domain of an Agent of the Emperor. The familiar swell of pride filled my chest at the thought, putting an extra spring in my steps.
I soon entered the tavern. The air inside was thick with smoke, strong spirits,and the scents of sweat and roasted meat. Hushed conversations filled the dimly lit room, blending with the crackle of the fire in the hearth. Despite its roughness, the tavern had a warm, almost cozy glow, as shadows flickered over the worn wooden walls.
Behind the counter a heavyset older woman offered an inviting smile, wordlessly welcoming me. I sat at the back of the hall, letting the atmosphere settle over me, a far cry from my previous life.
But my comfort quickly faded as a slave girl approached to take my order, dressed in nothing but a thin, draped skirt. Her shoulders were bare, and her harsh steel collar caught the light. Any joy I felt was tempered by the reminder of just how far we were from the Empire's justice.
I took small sips from my beer, enjoying the bitterness, as I scanned the room. It didn't take long to spot the man I was here to meet. Where I looked unassuming, Radwig seemed to revel in drawing attention; a dagger rested prominently at his belt, and a glint in his eye suggested a taste for trouble.
His gaze found me, and with a lazy, deliberate stride, he sauntered over, his attention lingering far too long on the exposed curves of the poor slave girl. The hint of a smirk crossed his lips as he looked her over, giving me an uneasy feeling.
"Lucia," he greeted in a sugary tone, sliding right next to me on the bench. "Fancy meeting you here."
But I was in no mood for jests.
"Cut the crap Radwig." My dry words, wrapped in my best Provincial accent, weathered his sultry smile. "Do you have what I asked you for?"
He cast a quick, exaggerated look around the room, as if he couldn't resist playing the part of the mysterious informant. I cringed inwardly, feeling the unwanted attention his theatrics brought our way.
"Of course," he replied smoothly, leaning in too close. "But it won't be cheap."
"I'm good for it," I said, voice low. "Now, let me see."
From the bag he had set down between his legs, he pulled out a small leather pouch, which he dropped unceremoniously on the table.
"Here you go." As my hand reached for the pouch, he suddenly slung an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer against his chest. A waft of stale beer and sweat hit me, and I bit back a grimace. Every instinct screamed at me to pull away, but I forced myself to stay still. I'd spent weeks tracking him down, and if indulging him was the cost, I'd bear it, for now at least.
I loosened the pouch's string and opened it, revealing a smooth brown powder that released a warm, earthy aroma. The scent was surprisingly pleasant, with a faint bitter undertone that rounded out into a rich, almost intoxicating mix.
Like any mage, I had heard of coffee before. But it was rare, more a myth than anything else, and as I took in the smell, a wave of cold apprehension settled over me. It was as if a sense I hadn't realized I depended on had dulled, leaving me off-balance. The effect was disorienting, impossible to ignore.
"Grounded coffee beans," Radwig's voice was full of bravado, probably from the effect his sample was already having on me. "Fresh from across the ocean."
I looked up at him, fighting the odd sensation that dulled my senses and prickled my skin.
"Could you show me where you got them?"
His lecherous smile returned, his eyes lingering far too long, and I could feel his grip tighten on my shoulder. He had no magical affinity, so he was immune to the disorienting influence pulsing from the pouch on the table.
"There's plenty I could show you, little girl."His tone dripped with suggestion, his gaze brazen, as though challenging me to flinch.
Despite myself, I felt a flush rising to my cheeks. I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, that my magic, my training, or the funds I had at my disposal would be enough to get what I needed. But it was becoming painfully clear that Radwig had his own price, one he wasn't shy about naming.
Just then, the door of the tavern flew open, letting in sunlight, fresh air and three armored Municipal Guards. Against me, my companion stiffened, his arm letting go of my slim body. His other hand was fiddling restlessly on the pommel of his dagger. I hoped he wouldn't do anything stupid.
The three men were talking with the affable older woman behind the counter, and as Radwig's attention was on them, I seized the moment. In a swift, practiced movement, I swiped the pouch from the table and tucked it into my corsage under the cowl, careful to keep my expression unchanged.
But suddenly, the woman behind the counter pointed in our direction. I froze, and in the same instant, Radwig leapt to his feet. He made a mad dash toward the window opposite our table, vaulting over chairs, scrambling across tables, and ducking between startled patrons.
Just as he braced himself to dive through the stained glass, a loud, bone-cracking sound split the air. My breath hitched, and in a blur, his body jerked back, changing direction midair before slamming into the far wall.
A crossbow bolt protruded from his chest, its feathering bright against the fabric of his white shirt, where a dark red stain spread like spilled ink. Radwig's eyes were wide, frozen in shock, his expression somehow still intact even as his life bled out around the wound. The expert shot had pinned him upright against the wall, the weight of his body holding him still.
A chill crept over me, rooting me to the spot. The tavern had fallen silent, every eye fixed on the grim tableau as the last traces of motion left his body. It was the first time I'd seen someone killed, and I couldn't tear my gaze from the blood seeping into his clothes.
Rough hands seized my arms, jerking me back to reality. The two guards pulled me to my feet, their grips bruising and unyielding, while the third, the one with the crossbow slung across his back, rummaged through Radwig's bag on the ground. He pulled out a second, larger pouch, its top slightly open.
"Crap," I thought, watching in horror as he opened it. Inside, I glimpsed raw, unprocessed coffee beans, dark and unmistakable. The idiot had brought his entire stash with him?
The burly guard looked up from his crouch, a cruel smirk twisting his face.
"You're fucked boy." His voice was full of derision, cutting through the silent room, every patron looking straight at me, and the two men holding my arms chuckled at his words. In the corner of my eyes, I could see the terrified slave girl trying to hide behind a table.
Panic surged within me, but I forced a deep breath, centering my thoughts. I had one chance.
I threw my focus backward, and the two guards flew off their feet, slamming into the wall with a sickening thud. I turned to the third guard, ready to dispatch him. But before I could react, he'd already flung a fistful of coffee beans at me, only betrayed by the clinking of his armor.
An overpowering dullness engulfed me, more intense than I'd expected. My knees buckled, and I fell, vision blurring as I clawed at my face, desperate to brush away the dreaded substance. I must have been a pitiful sight, still half-blinded, as the butt of the crossbow came down hard on the back of my head.
===
The metallic taste of blood welcomed my mind back to my body. I was being held from under my arms, my knees dragging helplessly across a cold stone floor. Slowly my vision cleared, and I became acutely aware of the tight, icy silver shackles digging into my wrists. I would not be using magic anytime soon.
The steps of my captors came in as a quick succession, as they followed the guard with the crossbow. I tried to get back on my feet, but they were going to fast for my numb body, a lancing ache splitting my skull.
The man who had killed Radwig opened a metal door and gestured his companions in, shooting me an amused glance as we passed him. I was tossed to the ground, causing me to let out a pained groan.
We were in a bare, damp cell, a collection of chains hanging from the ceiling, empty save from a small wooden table near the door. It did not presage anything good for me.
"He's coming back." One voice said behind me.
"Watch it, the little shit nearly threw out my back." Another grumbled back. Despite the pain and fear knotting my gut, his complaint sparked a flicker of satisfaction.
