Chapter 02 - The Shadow Fox

I stared at the parchment like it was a map to buried treasure. “Thank you, Guild Master. I won’t let you down.”

He leaned back in his chair again, picking up his pipe. “See that you don’t, Mr. Thornwood. You have a long ride ahead of you, and the light won’t wait.”

I nodded, turned on my heel, and got the hell out of there before he could change his mind. The heavy door thudded shut behind me. That had gone better than I thought. Maybe I wasn’t as doomed as I felt. The guild master’s parting words kept going around in my head: You might survive. That was fucking reassuring.

“Mr. Thornwood,” Marcus called after me, his voice smooth as always. I was halfway down the hall. I turned, and he had the door open again and was leaning against the frame, his pipe clenched between his teeth. “Mistress Ashara’s compound is not on the town square. Ride east, toward the outer wall. Most people miss it. That is rather the point.”

He took a slow drag from his pipe, the ember glowing in the dim light. “It is a fair ride. Take the frozen winding streets, cut through the merchants’ district, and keep on until the buildings start looking as if they’d rather see you dead than let you in.”

“Got it,” I said, trying to sound confident. “Frozen streets, falling-down buildings, ominous vibes. Check.”

A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of Marcus’s mouth. “One more thing, Mr. Thornwood.”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

He didn’t say what to be careful of. Did he mean the ride over, or Ashara herself? I had a feeling that with Marcus, you didn’t ask questions. You nodded and hoped for the best.

I did exactly that and went out into the cold to untie Bertha.

The sun was dropping behind the rooftops by the time I set off. My cloak had gone stiff in the wind, and I hunched down into it, climbed into the saddle, and clicked my tongue for Bertha to move. She gave me a judgmental look, but she plodded forward, her hooves clattering against the cobblestones.

The farther east I went, the more the noise of merchants and traders fell away behind me, until all I heard was the howling wind, the clatter of a shutter now and then, and a dog barking somewhere far off. The streets were empty except for the odd figure darting into an alleyway or the silhouette of a guard keeping warm by a fire barrel. I’d have traded places with him for that fire.

As I rode, the buildings around me changed. The polished facades and brightly painted signs gave way to crumbling stone and peeling plaster. Windows were boarded up, and the few that weren’t were dark. The shadows got deeper. Part of me was excited, and the rest of me wanted to turn Bertha around and go home.

I leaned forward, patting Bertha on the neck. “Almost there, girl,” I muttered. “A little farther.”

She snorted, and I took that as a vote of no confidence.

The street narrowed until the rooftops on either side nearly met overhead. The walls were cracked and overgrown with ivy, the stones slick with frost. Bertha’s hooves rang off the walls, and every creak of the saddle sounded loud in the stillness. I kept thinking someone was watching me, but whenever I looked, the street was empty. I told myself it was the wind, or my imagination.

I didn’t buy it, and I nudged Bertha faster with my heels.

Up ahead, the street opened up into a small, circular courtyard. On the far side of it stood Mistress Ashara’s compound.

It was a house behind high stone walls topped with jagged iron spikes that looked ready to geld anyone dumb enough to climb them, and the way in was a thick door in the wall with an iron knocker shaped like a snarling lion’s head. I climbed down, tied Bertha’s reins to an iron ring beside the door, and gave the knocker a solid thump, loud enough to wake the whole street. “Hello, hello,” I grumbled, stamping the cold from my boots. “Anyone home? Or is this place as dead as it looks?”

The door creaked open, and a blonde boy, no older than me, slid out. His outfit was so skimpy it made my leather armor look like a blanket. He had on a few strips of black leather and not much else. I blinked, my brain taking a moment to catch up. “Well, well,” I said, grinning. “You the welcoming committee?”

I took him for a servant. He gave me a cold stare, but the corner of his mouth twitched, and I figured he was trying not to laugh.

He stepped aside, revealing a gloomy inner courtyard. Frost clung to the ground, and the air had a bite that made my balls retreat.

“Shall we go in?” he asked, tilting his head toward a doorway. “Mistress Ashara is expecting you.”

I followed him across the courtyard and through the doorway. His ass cheeks hung out of that outfit, and they were red, either from a spanking or from the cold. Inside, the parlor was warm after the ride over. A fire burned in the grate between two big armchairs, and I itched to drop my cloak on the floor and thaw out.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” he said, his tone friendlier now. “She will be with you shortly.”

The room was done up in crimson with dark curtains, and the whole place made me twitchy. I dropped into one of the armchairs and tried to look casual, but my heart was pounding. “Samuel Thornwood,” I muttered to myself, “what the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

The door creaked open behind me.

I twisted around in my chair and saw Mistress Ashara, and the room got way too hot.

Marcus had told me to be careful, and he hadn’t said one word about what she looked like.

She wore the least practical outfit I’d ever seen. Skimpy black leather hugged her every curve, with a garter belt and a tangle of straps and buckles I couldn’t figure out the use of, and my brain stuttered.

She was a fox-woman, with sleek jet-black fur from the fox ears on her head to the tip of her tail. The fox-women in the stories back home were cackling crones, and this one was a whole lot better looking.

My eyes kept jumping between the curve of her hip, the tail that swayed behind her as she walked, and the piercing gold of her eyes, now fixed on me.

Gods damn, she was beautiful, and she scared the shit out of me. I’d stared at the boy, and he was wearing even less than she was, but next to her I forgot he existed. Everything about her said she could hurt me, and I wanted her to.

Sitting there in my cloak and armor, I was the most overdressed person in the house.

Every step she took was slow and on purpose. She owned this room, and I was pretty sure she wanted me to know it.

I scrambled to my feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Mistress Ashara,” I got out, and at least my voice didn’t crack.

She ignored that and looked me over from my boots to my hair, taking her sweet time about it, and I squirmed.

Finally, she held out a hand, her long, black-lacquered nails gleaming in the firelight, and it took me a second to work out that she wanted the letter and not my throat.

I fumbled with the note from Marcus, my fingers clumsy. I nearly dropped it twice before I managed to shove it into her hand. Her fingers brushed mine, cool, and I jumped.

She cracked the black wax seal and read the note with her eyes narrowed. I searched her face for any hint of what she thought of me. Was I a promising student, or her new toy?

My cock had woken up and decided it liked this.

When she lifted her head, one look pinned me where I stood. She circled me once, slowly, and I stood there feeling naked in my own armor.

“So, Samuel Thornwood,” she said, her voice low and smooth, and the back of my neck prickled. “Marcus says you have potential.”

She leaned hard on the word “potential,” and I remembered what Marcus had said about lockpicks snapping off in shaking hands. I shoved my hands behind my back.

She stopped directly in front of me, close enough that I could smell her: spices, leather, and a wild musk that went straight to my head. I fought the urge to step back.

“But potential,” she continued, “is useless without direction. And direction requires discipline.” She smiled and showed me her teeth. “Something I suspect you lack.”

I bristled at that, but I kept my mouth shut. Arguing wouldn’t get me anywhere.

“I don’t teach half-measures, Samuel. I don’t hold hands. I break down, rebuild, and mold. What you think you’ve learned in that backwater guild of yours... it means nothing here. I will erase it all.”

That backwater guild had mostly taught me what it felt like to get laughed at, so she was welcome to erase it. She stepped even closer and dropped her voice so only I could hear.

“With me, you will become something new. A weapon honed to a razor’s edge. A shadow that moves unseen. A temptation that brings kings to their knees.” She raised her hand and trailed her fingertips along my jaw. She barely touched me, and my skin burned anyway.

“But it will hurt. There will be pain. You will be tested. Your body, your mind, your will... all will be mine to command.”

Her eyes locked onto mine, and she looked hungry. I got the feeling rogue training was only part of what she wanted from me, and I had a pretty good guess the rest involved me without my pants.

Her breath was warm on my face. “Do you understand, Samuel? To be mine, you will give me everything. And in return... I will make you extraordinary. If you survive.”

The sane part of me wanted to run. I stayed put anyway, because some dumber part of me wanted to find out if I could take it.

“Do you have any questions?” she asked, tilting her head.

I could only manage a weak, “N-no.”

She raised one eyebrow. “Good. Because I despise questions. Now, stand still and let me assess the merchandise.”

I stood still. She squeezed my arm through my armor and tipped my chin up with one black nail to look at my teeth, and turned away to a small table before I could tell if I’d passed. “You’ll be staying at the Crooked Nail. The owner, Maple, will take care of you. It’s more than adequate. Go now.”

She didn’t turn around again. I let myself out, untied Bertha with shaking fingers, and only figured out halfway down the street that I’d just agreed to all of it.