Chapter 6: Chapter 5-The Summons of the Hound

Morning light spilled through the thin curtains, dust motes swirling in its warmth. Shade hadn’t slept. Not really. Her eyes had been closed, but rest had never come. Leni had clung to her throughout the night, soft breaths hitching against Shade’s collarbone until eventually sleep claimed her. Now, she was stirring. A sniffle. A quiet shift of limbs beneath the thin covers. Then a small, familiar voice, still hoarse with sleep and sorrow.

“Shade…?”

Shade’s arms tightened instinctively. “I’m here.”

Leni’s fingers balled gently into Shade’s tunic. “Was it a dream?”

“No,” Shade said softly. “But you’re not alone.”

The silence stretched. Then Leni looked up at her with bleary, swollen eyes. “You stayed all night?”

Shade nodded, throat tight. “Someone brought me an emergency meat pie and stayed all night not too long ago, so I figured it was only right to return the favor.”

Leni gave a watery laugh, brief, genuine. “You remembered.”

“I remember everything,” Shade lied. Her hand brushed lightly through Leni’s hair. “Or at least…I try to.”

They stayed like that for a while. No need for more words. The warmth between them was enough to drown out the world. Just for a little while.

Eventually, Shade pulled herself gently away and sat up. “I need to get something,” she said. “But first…”

She had understood the Apothecary's words. Let it rest where the heart lies. She reached into her inner cloak pocket and withdrew a small glass vial—deep purple, stoppered tight, the liquid inside swirling with a strange, dim glow. She handed it to Leni carefully.

“If anyone comes looking for me,” she said, her voice low, serious, “and I’m not back… hide this. Keep it safe. Don’t let anyone take it from you.”

Leni took it, brow furrowed. “Is it dangerous?”

“It’s the opposite,” Shade said. “But not everyone would understand what it means.”

Leni clutched it close, nodding solemnly. “I’ll protect it.”

Shade smiled faintly, then ruffled her hair. “I believe you.”

They came downstairs hand in hand. Leni’s fingers were small and warm in Shade’s gloved ones, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the gesture didn’t feel like a lie. It wasn’t a mask or a manipulation. Just comfort. Quiet and real. The common room of the Dragon Tear Inn was already alive with the smells of morning—fresh bread, sizzling fat, a hint of spiced fruit simmering in something sweet. Shade’s stomach gave a rare, quiet growl.

Mara looked up from behind the counter, and her expression softened immediately. “Well, stars above,” she said, brushing flour from her apron. “Would you look at that. Holding hands, even.”

Leni gave a shy smile but didn’t let go.

“We’re hungry,” Leni said simply. “And Shade said she’d try something other than Greyclaw Meatpie or Mix today.”

“Did she now?” Mara grinned. “Well, it’s about time someone broadened her menu. No Greyclaw specials this morning then?”

Shade glanced away, almost sheepish. “Maybe later.”

Mara leaned on the counter, teasing. “I’ll consider it a challenge, then. You sit yourselves down. I’ll bring out something worth remembering.”

They chose a table near the hearth. Leni sat across from her, eyes brighter than they’d been the night before. Shade took in the room—sunlight streaking through the windows, the low murmur of early patrons, the clink of cutlery. It was peaceful. Dangerous, even, how much she wanted to keep it. The food came quickly: warm griddlecakes with honeyed butter, soft eggs dusted with green herbs, and a small bowl of sugared berries soaking in chilled cream. Shade blinked at the plate.

“This… isn’t meat at all,” she said, deadpan.

Mara snorted from the counter. “It’s joy on a plate. Now eat it.”

Shade picked up a fork. The berries were bright and tart, the cream cold and rich. The griddlecakes practically melted on her tongue.

“This is…” She paused. “...insultingly good.”

Leni giggled, and Mara beamed like a proud mother hen. “Told you. You assassins don’t know what you’re missing.”

Shade hesitated over the word. Not because Mara meant anything by it—she didn’t know the truth. But because the label stuck sharper today than usual. Still, she took another bite. For a little while, there was only food, warmth, and laughter. The bittersweet ache of something like home pressing at the edge of her chest didn’t fade quickly. Shade watched as Leni devoured her griddlecakes with a kind of reverence, syrup on her chin and joy in her eyes. The girl paused only to hum with delight, kicking her feet under the table.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” Leni declared between bites.

Shade smirked faintly. “You said that yesterday. About the honey buns.”

“I was wrong,” Leni said around a mouthful. “This wins. Today.”

“High praise,” Shade murmured, carefully slicing a piece of her own. The fork still felt awkward in her hand, like a relic from someone else's life. But the warmth in her belly felt real.

Mara stopped by with a pot of tea. “You eat like someone who’s never had a proper breakfast before.”

“I haven’t,” Shade said, a little too honestly.

Mara blinked, then softened. “Well, you’re welcome here any morning. No one should go without something sweet to start the day.”

Shade looked away, the corner of her mouth twitching. “I’ll remember that.”

When they’d scraped their plates clean, Shade leaned back slightly, watching Leni finish off the last of the berries with a grin.

“I need to run an errand,” Shade said softly, keeping her tone even. “But I’ll be back before evening.”

Leni frowned, already sensing something beneath the words. “Promise?”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“I promise,” she said, and pulled the tiny, corked vial from her coat. Purple shimmered in the glass like bruised starlight.

Shade stood, adjusted her coat, and rested a hand briefly on Leni’s head. “Don’t wait up.”

Then she stepped outside.

***

The sky over Faeyren was bright, but the breeze was crisp enough to carry the scent of sea salt and chimney smoke. Shade moved with purpose, her senses tuned sharp. It didn’t take long to notice the presence. A figure behind her, keeping pace. Not close enough to alarm the average citizen, but far too consistent to be a coincidence. She cut through a narrow alley between a baker’s shop and a cobbler’s storefront. When she emerged on the other side, she ducked under a low stone arch, then stopped. Waited. The figure came into view moments later—hooded, poised, unmistakably trained. But the air around them was… still. No intent to harm. No bloodlust or tension. Just presence.

“Following me?” Shade asked without turning.

A pause. Then a low, female voice replied, “Orders. You’ve been summoned.”

Shade exhaled. The inn’s warmth was already fading from her skin.

“How long do I have?”

“Long enough,” the Veiled One said. “But not forever.”

The alley thickened with silence. Shade turned slowly. The Veiled One stood at the edge of the shadowed path, her cloak pulled back just enough to show a glimpse of her eyes—burnt amber, cold and steady. No emotion there. No malice either. Just an overwhelming, absolute control. Shade’s hand twitched near the blade at her hip.

“Easy,” said the woman, voice smooth but heavy, like stone dropped into still water. “You wouldn’t last a blink.”

Shade’s throat tightened. She knew. There wasn’t an ounce of arrogance in the statement—only fact. The woman didn’t just move like a killer. She radiated the kind of weight only long-forgotten monsters carried.

“I’ve delivered my message,” she went on. “You’ve been summoned. Don’t make us come find you.”

Shade forced her jaw to unclench. “Noted.”

The Hound stepped closer—just one slow, measured stride—and the pressure that followed made Shade’s knees lock.

“You’ve had time to play pretend,” she murmured, almost gently. “But you need to remember what you are.”

Then she vanished into the crowd, melting between merchant stalls like mist between trees. Shade didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her fingers trembled, cold sweat threading down her spine. She’d fought monsters. Killed men twice her size in silence. But that—that was something else. No openings, she thought, gripping the hilt at her side even as the pressure faded. She didn’t have a single one. Only after her heartbeat stopped thundering did she begin to walk. Shade leaned against the wall, chest tight, sweat cooling along her spine. The hound’s voice still rang in her ears.

“Don’t wait too long, Shade. We’d hate for your... attachments to complicate your training.”

No threats. No weapons drawn. No chase through alleys. But the presence she exuded had pressed against Shade’s ribs like a drawn wire. She hadn’t seen a single opening, hadn’t been able to map out a path to escape or fight back. The woman didn’t just carry authority—she embodied it, wore it like a second skin. Shade had stood frozen, fists clenched, until the hound disappeared into the crowd as if swallowed by the city itself. Now, her fingers trembled. She hated that. Guilt knotted with helplessness, but neither would save Leni if she hesitated too long. She took a slow breath and pushed off the wall. Her body still felt coiled, but she needed a distraction, no, a plan. And Gellric might help. He owed her, in his own rough, merchant way.

***

Faeyren’s commerce district was a shifting tide of polished shoes, velvet sleeves, and oversweet perfumes. The Merchant Guild stood at its heart—an opulent beast of stone and stained glass, gilded doors flanked by polished marble columns. Shade approached, cowl up, hands in pockets.

But as she reached the steps, a voice stopped her cold.

“The back entrance is for suppliers. You’re not on the list.”

She looked up to see a young man, barely older than her by appearance, but full of pride in his crisp guild tunic and freshly waxed mustache, blocking the way.

“I’m here to see Gellric,” she said simply.

“And I’m here to keep people like you out,” he replied, crossing his arms. “Didn’t see your name on the roster. Come back with an appointment.”

Her voice lowered, even. “I don’t need one.”

He snorted. “Everyone needs one. Guild policy.”

“Is it also policy to mouth off to someone who’s done Gellric a more substantial favor than you’ve done spreadsheets?”

That made him bristle. “Listen here, alley rat—”

“Step aside, now,” came Gellric’s voice, low and tight with restrained fury.

Both turned to see him standing in the open door. His usual calm was absent—his jaw locked, hand twitching slightly at his belt. Not at a weapon. At restraint.

“Shade. Get in here. Now.”

She moved without hesitation.

The doorman tried to speak, but Gellric raised a hand. “You’re lucky she didn’t bury a knife in your spleen. Next time, don’t block someone with more kill marks than you’ve got brain cells.”

The man paled. Inside the door, Gellric’s expression softened slightly. But there was an urgency behind his eyes now, something sharp and unsettled.

“ I am glad you are here. I need a favor,” he said without preamble. “And this one... might get bloody.”

The favor was simple in words, complicated in tone, and didn’t demand anything from her yet. So Shade did it. She didn’t ask questions. Not then.

***

She returned to the inn just after dusk. Leni was waiting on the windowsill, knees pulled up, chin resting on them. When she saw Shade, she smiled like sunlight. No words were exchanged that night. Just hands finding one another beneath a blanket, warmth shared without demand. And Faeyren, for all its shifting chaos, gave them the illusion of stillness—for a little while. And Faeyren, for all its shifting chaos, gave them the illusion of stillness—for a little while.

***

On the first day, they shared a honeyfruit tart on the roof. Shade had never tasted anything that sweet, at least not in memory. The juice ran down Leni’s chin and made her giggle.

“You have to stop looking so serious when your mouth’s full,” Leni scolded.

“I don’t know how,” Shade replied, but her smile was small and real.

***

Shade taught Leni a basic escape hold on the third, just in case. Leni fell on her back twice but laughed through it.

“You’re scary when you teach,” Leni teased, breathless.

“Good. Fear makes people survive.”

“You’re scary and dumb. You’re the one who needs saving.”

Shade didn’t respond to that.

***

The sweets were gone on the fifth. The days were numbered. The potion still sat where Leni had hidden it in the loose floorboard beneath the bed. Every night, Shade touched the edge of the board, just to make sure it was still there.

***

The morning was cool on the seventh day. Mist clung to the edges of Faeyren’s stone streets, curling around the alleys like fingers reluctant to let go. Shade stood near the inn door, fully dressed in the leathers she had kept hidden at the bottom of her pack. Her shadow flickered oddly in the sunlight.

Leni sat on the edge of the bed, her feet not quite touching the floor, clutching the little bag of sweets with both hands. One remained—a lemon sugar coil she had saved for Shade.

“I could come with you,” Leni said quietly. “You don’t have to go alone.”

Shade knelt in front of her, tucking a loose braid behind Leni’s ear. “You’re strong, but this place isn’t safe for someone like you. Not where I’m going.”

“You’re not a bad person,” Leni whispered.

“I don’t know what I am yet.” Shade stood. “But I’m not going to let anyone endanger you or your smile. That’s a promise.”

Leni’s lip trembled. “Will I see you again?”

Shade paused, heart pulling hard in her chest. She bent and kissed the girl’s forehead.

“You will. I promise. I just have… work to do. For a while.” Her voice softened, almost tender. “Don’t lose that potion. It’s more important than it looks.”

“I won’t.”

Shade opened the door. Light spilled in. She turned once, offered a ghost of a smile, and slipped out before she changed her mind.