Chapter 42: BUSINESS

  Long shackled in servitude, the elves have proven unusually adept at mastering the Jingozi’s arcane arts. Their once-muted voices now resonate with a power beyond our reckoning, causing every faction to covet their emerging talents. Yet, in their newfound unity, I sense a purpose that runs deeper than any vow to kingdom rulers. If we continue to treat them as pawns, we risk awakening an ancient force that will no longer bow to any master, Jingozi or otherwise.

  ***

  Jon lounged in the velvet booth, a voluptuous elf with silver hair and full lips draped across his lap. His crew packed the nobles' section, their raucous laughter filling the pub as they celebrated their latest score.

  "To the Emperor's finest!" Dorian raised his glass, his black braided beard glistening with spilled ale. The elf perched on his knee giggled and pressed her blossom closer.

  "Affirmative. Maximum profits achieved." Sentinax, the metal Demi-Golem, cheered, carrying over the din as he awkwardly patted the green-haired courtesan straddling his chrome thigh.

  Jon forced a smile and lifted his untouched spiced wine. His purple eyes kept drifting to the pub's entrance. The night's real business hadn't started yet.

  "Boss, you're brooding again." Dorian leaned forward, bushy eyebrows raised. "We just scored enough coin to buy half the brothels in the district. At least pretend to enjoy yourself."

  "I am enjoying myself." Jon pulled the silver-haired elf closer, smacking her bottom and making her squeal. But his mind stayed fixed on more important affairs, such as whether his guest would show.

  "Your face suggests otherwise." Dorian's eyes narrowed. "What aren't you telling us?"

  Jon opened his mouth to deflect, but movement at the door caught his attention. Three dark elves in leather armor stepped inside, their purple skin marked with the familiar wave tattoos of the coastal syndicates—his half-brother's men.

  "Excuse me, darling." Jon lifted the courtesan off his lap and stood, straightening his silk jacket. "Business calls."

  "Now?" Dorian's hand dropped to his sword hilt.

  "Just a friendly chat with some old associates." Jon flashed his trademark smile. "Keep the party going. I won't be long."

  Jon approached the dark elf pirates, but the pub's front door burst open before he could speak. His half-brother, Valen, strode in, commanding immediate silence across the room. The pirate crime lord's gold-trimmed purple coat swept behind him as he moved, a cruel smile playing across his face at the fear he inspired. Though his pale complexion marked him as something other than a dark elf, Valen carried an equal measure of lethal menace.

  Jon's muscles tensed as Valen's entourage circled him. Their wave tattoos seemed to ripple in the dim tavern light.

  "Ale! Now!" Valen barked at a passing server. The young girl stumbled, nearly dropping her tray. "Are you deaf as well as stupid? Ale!"

  Jon clenched his jaw but kept his expression neutral. The bitter irony wasn't lost on him—Valen's hatred stemmed from Jon's adoption into nobility, yet Valen himself had also been adopted. They were elves, both outsiders who'd serendipitously found their way into power. The only difference was how they wielded it.

  "Why'd you summon me to this cesspit, brother?" Valen's lips curled around the last word like it tasted foul.

  Heavy footsteps approached from behind. Jon didn't need to look to know Dorian and Sentinax had come to back him up. The tension in the room thickened as Valen's pirates reached for their weapons.

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  "Stand down," Jon called over his shoulder. "Everything's fine."

  Sentinax's metallic voice rang out, "Affirmative, standing down, but maintaining combat readiness."

  The server returned with Valen's drink. Shaky-handed, she presented the mug. Valen snatched it and threw the contents into her face.

  "You call this swill a proper drink? Bring me something worthy of my station before I have you flogged."

  Jon reached into his jacket and pulled out a heavy velvet pouch. The coins inside clinked as he tossed them to Valen.

  "That covers everything I owe—to you, our family, and more." Jon kept his voice level, observing his half-brother's reaction. "I'm out."

  Valen's fingers worked the drawstring open. As he peered inside, his eyes widened, then narrowed with suspicion.

  "How did you get this kind of money?" Valen's voice dropped dangerously low.

  "Does it matter?" Jon shrugged. "The debt is paid."

  Valen's face twisted with rage. He shoved the bag into the chest of the nearest elf pirate and called a Jingozi card into his hand. Purple energy crackled around the card as he charged it with Zii, holding it inches from Jon's face. The card's glow cast harsh shadows across Valen's snarling features.

  Jon didn't flinch. Behind him, he heard the distinctive sound of cards being drawn—Dorian and Sentinax preparing for a fight. Jon raised his hand slightly without turning, signaling them to stand down again.

  Valen's hand trembled, his knuckles white around the glowing card. With a roar of frustration, he crushed it in his fist. The card's energy sparked and fizzled as Valen brought his clenched hand down onto the bar. The thick wooden surface split down the middle with a thunderous crack, sending drinks and patrons scrambling.

  Valen snatched the coin purse and stormed toward the door, his entourage in tow. The tavern's front door slammed so hard it nearly came off its hinges.

  Jon barely registered Dorian's angry tirade as his friend paced behind him, fists clenched.

  "Half our take! To that snake!" Dorian's braided beard swung wildly as he gestured. "We could've hired every mercenary from here to the northern wastes with that kind of coin."

  "Brother." Sentinax's metallic hand landed on Dorian's shoulder. "Current losses acceptable for maintained peace."

  "Peace?" Dorian shrugged off the Golem's grip. "There's no peace with Valen. He'll demand more next time. We could've united the underground against him, Jon. The Emperor faction needs real leadership, not these parasites bleeding us dry."

  Jon's attention drifted across the tavern, where a woman in a dark cloak sat alone at the bar. Her red hair cascaded down her back, making his chest tighten.

  "Are you even listening?" Dorian stepped into Jon's line of sight. "This was our chance to—"

  Jon brushed past him, ignoring the scantily clad silver-haired elf's attempt to catch his arm. His pulse quickened as he approached the bar. The way she held herself, the slight tilt of her head.

  "Boss, where are you going?" Dorian called after him.

  Jon's heart sank as the woman turned. Though beautiful, with delicate features and piercing eyes, she wasn't who he thought—hoped she was. The familiar ache in his chest returned.

  "I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else." Jon started to turn away.

  "Seraphina Xale." She extended a slender hand. "And you're Jon Deerfoot. Your reputation precedes you."

  Jon hesitated, then took her hand.

  "A dubious reputation, I imagine."

  "Quite the contrary." Seraphina patted the stool beside her. "Join me for a drink?"

  Jon sat, signaling the bartender. Her perfume reminded him of cherry blossoms, but his thoughts drifted to the scent of smoke and earth that always seemed to follow Ember.

  "I hear you're making quite a name for yourself." Seraphina's voice was honey-smooth as she traced the rim of her glass.

  Jon nodded absently. The guilt gnawed at him—how he'd betrayed Ember's trust and used her to further his agenda. The memory of her face when she realized his deception still haunted him.

  "The Emperor faction needs more Jingozi dealers like you." Seraphina leaned closer, her words barely registering as Jon's mind replayed that day in the prison cell.

  The betrayal in Ember's eyes. The way she'd looked at him like he was worse than the pirates, he'd just paid off. Maybe she was right.

  "Are you listening, Jon?" Seraphina's hand touched his arm.

  "Yes, of course." The lie came automatically.

  ***

  Jon jerked awake, his body drenched in sweat. Seraphina's hands gripped his shoulders, and her face hovered above him in the dim dawn light filtering through the inn's window.

  "You were thrashing." Her fingers traced down his bare chest. "Having a nightmare?"

  Jon pushed himself against the headboard, his heart still racing. The images burned bright in his mind—too vivid to be just another dream.

  "No." He rubbed his temples. "It was something else. A vision."

  "You kept repeating the same word over and over." Seraphina's hand slid lower beneath the sheets. "Like you were possessed."

  Jon caught her wrist.

  "What word?"

  "Alphathir." She tilted her head, studying his reaction. "Mean anything to you?"

  The name sent a chill down his spine, though he couldn't place why. Jon threw off the covers and stood, scanning the floor for his clothes.

  Seraphina stretched across the bed like a cat, the sheet barely covering her curves.

  "Come back to bed. Whatever it is can wait."

  "No." Jon pulled on his pants, avoiding her gaze. "I need to go. Now."

  "At least tell me what's got you so rattled." She rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand.

  Jon buckled his belt, already heading for the door.

  "Business."