The adventurers in the Hall didn’t need to be told twice. They crowded the bar, draining Rowan’s coin pouch with wild abandon.

  Food and drink were brought out in droves, turning a normal night out into a surprise feast. Rowan even took a hundred gold and offered it up as a reward to an impromptu tournament. A clerk quickly took charge, creating a fighting bracket and letting them go at it.

  All the while, Misk and his group were watching it unfold. Observing as Rowan spent more gold than a dozen Iron-rank quests would earn them.

  He was sitting in a booth with Ulio, having a surprisingly pleasant conversation with the boy.

  Once he realized Rowan wasn’t all that bothered by the fifty gold he spent getting his lyre back, he lost some of his shyness, replaced by an eager confidence as he talked about his craft.

  Nemir had somehow managed to herd Omi and Silvia back to their rooms, letting them sleep off their drunken stupor.

  Surprisingly, Zoe had decided to stay, listening to their conversation with an interested expression on her face.

  “You know, you’ve done a whole lot of bragging tonight. But not all that much playing,” Rowan said, a smile tugging at his lips. “How about we change that?”

  He stood up, gesturing for Ulio to do the same. “Come on wonderboy, there’s someone I’d like for you to meet.”

  To his credit, the boy hesitated for barely a heartbeat. He grabbed his case and started to follow him.

  “Where are we going?” he asked as they moved through the crowd.

  Adventurers patted Rowan on the back as he passed, congratulating him on his advancement and thanking him for the free drinks.

  He’d made sure to emphasize it was the Crimson Grove paying the tab, not just him. Effectively buying their favor, but Rowan wasn’t too hung up on that. He might not have interacted with a large majority of them, but after tonight, they’d at least have a positive impression of him, and more importantly, his team.

  “Where do you think?” Rowan called back. “The stage.”

  The Clearwater Troupe had become a staple in the Hall over the last couple of months. They played almost every night, and he'd become somewhat close to them over that time.

  Emros plucked away at his lute with an ease that showcased his years of experience. His brown hair was slicked back, sweat dripping from his brow like he’d just fought a battle. Zahir, his father, stood beside him, his wrinkled hands moving nimbly across the pips of his flute.

  The last member of their troupe was Emros’s daughter, Katrin, a beautiful, raven-haired girl with a voice that put the player’s skills to shame.

  She caught his eye as he got closer and shot him a wink, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

  They stood at the foot of the stage for another few minutes, listening as the troupe played. Ulio seemed transfixed, his eyes following Emros’s fingers as they moved across the strings of his lute, moving to Katrin a moment later.

  “She has a beautiful voice,” he said softly, a touch of awe in his voice. “They’re a skilled group.”

  “They are,” Rowan nodded, clasping the boy’s shoulder. He grinned. “Think you can keep up?”

  He didn’t reply, but the determined expression on his face was answer enough.

  As the song ended, Katrin said something to her father and plopped down on the edge of the stage in front of them, a radiant smile on her face.

  “Our favorite patron returns once more!” she exclaimed. “Have you come to shower us with praise? Pour honeyed words into our ears?”

  Rowan chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe later,” he gestured at Ulio. “I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

  Ulio looked away, a blush coloring his cheeks. “I… It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss,” he took a deep, calming breath and performed a perfectly executed bow. “You have a voice worthy of Syllana’s halls, and a passion to make Ignar envious.”

  Rowan’s eyes widened in surprise, barely managing to suppress a laugh.

  Well, that came out of nowhere.

  Katrin fluttered her eyelashes at him, her own smile growing even wider. “My, what a charmer you’ve brought before me. Thank you, young bard. Your words have made my soul flutter.”

  Ulio’s cheeks got even redder. “I-I… No problem. You... I mean…” he stammered out, quickly glancing away. His unexpected confidence fading away once more.

  Emros made his way towards them, the smile he wore almost identical to the one on his daughter's face. “Jamis, my friend!” He spread his arms. “Who have you brought before us tonight?”

  He glanced at the case in Ulio’s hands, a twinkle entering his eyes. “Oh, a fellow performer!” he smiled. “Let us inscribe this meeting, my young friend. May we remember it through many seasons!”

  “Emros, this is Ulio.” Rowan chuckled, amused by the man’s theatrics.

  The two shook hands, Ulio looking relieved that he had something other to focus on besides the beautiful woman in front of him.

  Zahir, the third member of the troupe gave a small wave, moving to sit at a nearby table and lighting up his pipe.

  “The kid says he’s the best lyre player I’ll ever hear,” Rowan said. “And I’d very much like to put that to the test.”

  Ulio’s eyes shot up, looking at him with a nervous but hopeful expression.

  Emros put on an exaggerated frown, rubbing his goatee. “A heavy claim,” he muttered. “One I’ve heard many times before. Though rarely is it more than a boast.”

  “It’s not a boast,” Ulio stated firmly. “I’ve talent enough to play for nobles without fear of shaming myself. Give me a chance to show you, and you’ll never doubt my word again.”

  If Emros was surprised by the confidence, he didn’t show it. “Yes, your words ring with conviction,” he nodded slowly. “Yet without a showing, they are like a warm wind upon your brow. Pleasant enough, yet without much weight.”

  As if coming to a decision, Emros put an arm around the boy's shoulders and started leading him to a table. “Come! Let us discuss how we may best incorporate you into our performance.”

  Surprised by the sudden acceptance, Ulio glanced back at Rowan, a slightly nervous, but grateful smile on his face. He mouthed a quick ‘Thank you’ before turning away.

  Shaking his head in amusement, Rowan turned towards Katrin. “Is your father always like this?”

  She shrugged, twirling a lock of her hair. “He quiets down when asleep. Though sometimes even that cannot still his tongue.”

  “Comes with the profession, I suppose.”

  Katrin smiled. “That it does.”

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  With a deft hand, she swiped a drink from a waiter’s tray, taking a slow sip. “Tell me Jamis, why help the boy? Is he a friend? Family? Friend of the family?”

  Rowan shook his head, more amused than anything at her constant probing. “No, I just met him,” he arched an eyebrow. “You do know that you don’t have to say my name like that, right?”

  “Like what?” she asked with all the innocence of a rowdy tomcat.

  “Like you’re announcing I’m a wanted criminal and you’re the one clever enough to catch me.”

  Katrin rolled her eyes. “Were it truly your name, I would not,” she shrugged. “But as it isn’t, I reserve the right to point out that I see through your lackluster deceptions,” she said with a playful smile.

  Rowan chuckled, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  She bumped his shoulder, her smile growing more relaxed. “Alright, let us keep the skeletons in their closet for a while longer.”

  “Good. Because that’s exactly where I like them.”

  She snorted, somehow managing to make it sound graceful. “What can you tell me of him?” she asked, glancing at the table where Emros and Zahir chatted with the boy. “Is he hunted? Pursued by forces dark and wicked?”

  It was Rowan’s turn to roll his eyes. “Nothing quite so interesting. The boy got into debt to restring his lyre, and couldn't pay it back.”

  Katrin sighed. “Disappointing.”

  “What? Not the epic tale you were hoping for?” Rowan laughed.

  “No, definitely not,” she muttered, thoughtfully tapping her chin. “Though perhaps… A dashing, mysterious mage, saving an artist down on his luck. Vanquishing the scoundrels that threaten to take away his treasured lyre,” she pointed a finger to the ceiling. “Given to him by his father! On his deathbed no less!” She nodded to herself. “There may be a story here yet.”

  Rowan shook his head. “Alright, no need to overdo it. I paid off some thugs to leave the kid alone, there wasn’t any ‘vanquishing’ involved.”

  “Yes, I saw, even if I was too far away to hear. The men accosting him didn’t seem the merry sort.”

  After a moment, she shrugged, that confident smile of hers returning to her face. “But I guess it depends on your perspective,” she nodded towards the boy. “If you asked him, I think he might disagree with you on that.”

  Rowan sighed. “Just a bunch of two-bit thugs. Nothing to be worried about.”

  “You may be right, though I did not see any other come to his aid.”

  “My ego is big enough as is, no need to stroke it,” he said playfully.

  Katrin let out a soft, melodic laugh, and Rowan felt his stomach flutter.

  “So!” she clapped. “What is it that you wish for us to do with the boy? Have you brought him to us as a fourth to our trio?”

  Rowan shrugged. “Nothing quite so thought out. I don’t think he has anyone in the city. And if he’s as good as he says, he shouldn’t have a problem settling in. I was just hoping to give him a leg up.”

  Katrin nodded. “I do not think my father or grandfather would have a problem with it. Provided his words were not mere boasts. Having someone capable on a lyre would expand our repertoire by much.”

  “Thank you. I couldn’t ask for more.”

  He rummaged through his coin purse and pulled out four golden dragons. “Here, for his room and board.”

  His pouch was already lighter by half, but he’d set out to spend as much as he could. And out of all his expenses, this one made him feel the best.

  Katrin frowned, hesitantly taking the coins. “And where is he to room? In the king's palace?”

  Rowan shrugged. “Then consider it payment for the beautiful songs, and the even better view.”

  Katrin groaned, and Rowan couldn’t help but laugh. “That was absolutely horrendous.”

  That only made him laugh harder. “Yeah, it kind of was, wasn’t it?”

  Shaking her head, Katrin put the coins away. “You should not keep such wealth on you,” she said after a moment. “It invites trouble.”

  “Trouble seems to find me either way,” Rowan replied. “And just between you and me,” he glanced at his table, “and a few others, I might just be looking for it too.”

  Nodding, Katrin stood up and smoothed out her dress, giving him a warm smile. “Well, the troupe once again thanks you for your generous contribution,” she bowed at the waist. “But be warned, if you continue like this, we just might name you our patron.”

  Rowan chuckled. “Not the worst problem to have.”

  He straightened up. “Anyways, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve already stolen enough of your time tonight.”

  “Stolen?” Katrin’s lips quirked into a sly smile. “I think borrowed would be more apt,” she winked, hopping down from the stage and making her way to the troupe's table.

  Rowan watched her go, shaking his head in amusement. He turned and wove his way back through the crowd. When he reached their table, Nemir and Annie were mid-conversation. Zoe sat quietly beside them, radiating an air of calm interest.

  “Enjoying yourselves?” Rowan asked, slipping into an empty seat.

  Annie smirked. “Seems to me like you’re enjoying yourself enough for all four of us.”

  “As a matter of fact, I am.” He grinned. “It’s been a while since I’ve had this much fun.”

  “Good,” she said, nodding towards the booth where four members of the Steel Fist sat. “Because our friends don’t seem all that happy.”

  Misk was tearing into the group, the noise in the Hall drowning out his angry tirade. He kept looking towards Rowan, a perpetual scowl on his face.

  “That was kind of the point,” he shrugged. “But the real show’s about to start.”

  “Think the kid’s got what it takes?” Annie asked, her finger tracing the rim of her mug.

  “Guess we’ll find out,” Rowan answered. “He sure seemed to think so.”

  “Confidence without skill can be a dangerous thing,” Zoe said. “But perhaps his enthusiasm will surprise us.”

  I think it just might, Rowan thought, a smile tugging at his lips.

  If he was right about the kid, he had a feeling he’d surprise the whole Hall.

  It’s been a while since I heard a real bard play.

  Rowan had assumed that Ulio was a mage who liked music. But the more they talked, the more apparent it became that it was the other way around.

  Mana was potential, and there were as many ways to use it as there were people in the kingdom.

  The room began to quiet down as Emros climbed back on stage. He raised his hands and the lively chatter gradually faded, replaced by an air of anticipation.

  “My friends!” Emros called out, his voice booming across the Hall, rich and deep. “Tonight, we have a special treat for you. A young talent has graced us with his presence, stepping forth to share his gift!”

  A polite cheer went up as Ulio stepped onto the stage, clutching his case. His expression was a mix of nerves and determination, but his posture straightened as Zahir leaned down to whisper something in his ear.

  “He’s nervous,” Nemir observed, arms crossed as he watched.

  Rowan leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Nerves are good. They keep you sharp.”

  “Or they make you screw up,” Annie added.

  “And now,” Katrin’s voice cut through the lingering murmurs with practiced ease, “Let us take you on a journey. A story told not with words, but melody!”

  Rowan leaned back in his chair, eager to find out just how good the boy actually was.

  .

  .

  .

  For the amount of food and drink flowing through the Hall, Misk was having a particularly bad night.

  He’s mocking me, he thought, gritting his teeth as he watched the black-haired mage laughing with his team.

  “Hey, how come that healer is with them?” Kiki asked, his hand moving to grab another ale before Misk slapped it away.

  “Stop with the fucking drinking,” he snapped, ignoring the moron’s question. “I need you sober tonight.”

  Killian had asked him to keep an eye on the Crimson Grove, and if he found an opportunity, to squeeze them for what they owed.

  It had seemed like a waste of time once the boss told him they had a mage. Misk was confident in his abilities. He was on the cusp of advancing to Silver, his Aura getting closer to manifesting with each passing day. But even with all that, he wasn’t fool enough to think he’d win if it came down to a fight.

  As his father liked to say, pissing off people who can burn your skin off from two mountains over isn’t a recipe for a long life. And if Misk had his way, he’d live forever.

  He took in the festive atmosphere of the Hall, adding it all up in his head.

  Almost five hundred gold. That’s how much he spent, Misk thought to himself, his fingers twitching by his side. Fifty for the lyre, a hundred to the troupe, another hundred for the tournament, and the rest on food and drink.

  He thought back to how he’d snatched the lyre out of his hands, and Misk felt his anger rising. It was embarrassing to be taken by surprise by someone so much slower than him. He’d always taken pride in his speed, and for a mage to manage something like that wounded his pride.

  That’d never would have happened if he didn’t throw a small fortune in my face, he scowled.

  It wasn’t every day one saw a golden dragon, and having two flicked your way like they were made of bronze had a way of clouding your judgment.

  He had to hand it to the boy. With this one act, he’d bought more goodwill with the adventurers of Litwick than the Steel Fist had in the entire time they’d been here.

  Being one of the biggest teams in the city came with perks, but being liked certainly wasn’t one of them.

  Not that Misk cared all that much about that. Being liked was overrated. It was respect he wanted. Something he found in the Steel Fist.

  Killian was one of only a few dozen Silver-ranks in Litwick, and with four people on the cusp of advancing—Misk being one of them—it made them a group few could look down on.

  But as that infuriating mage once again raised a mug in his direction, a condescending grin on his face, Misk came to a decision.

  The boss said to look for an opportunity, and from where I’m sitting, this sure as hells looks like one.

  With a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he raised his own mug in response.

  He’s the only one not staying at the Hall. The archer and the rogue are already out of it, and with how much they’ve been drinking, the girl and the big fucker aren’t going to last long either.

  The healer was another problem he didn’t want to deal with. But thankfully for him, the temple wasn’t anywhere close to where Jamis lived.

  So if things went his way, the mage would walk home alone. Drunk. In the dark.

  He advanced, and now he thinks he’s the king of the fucking world, Misk snorted.

  Fighting a caster wasn’t something he wanted to do. But right now, Misk had a feeling Jamis would have trouble lighting a candle, let alone anything close to human-sized.

  He’s Bronze I, so he doesn't have any skills.

  Misk’s hands clenched around his mug in excitement, an ominous smile tugging at his lips.

  “Boss, you’re smiling funny again,” Jonan said.

  Misk glared at the swordsman. “Shut up and drink your milk.”

  His eyes returned to the mage, a plan forming in his head.

  He thinks he’s so clever, Misk scoffed. Spending all the gold he has on him like it’s going to change anything.

  But Misk knew something the others didn’t. Something that Killian only shared with his captains.

  Their leader was a perceptive fellow, and during their encounter in the cavern, he hadn’t felt a Core anywhere near them, so he’d assumed that they were telling the truth. That the shaman had drained it during their battle. But when news of the Crimson Grove selling one reached his ears, there was only one conclusion that made sense.

  Misk’s eyes focused on the mage's hand as he raised it, calling for another round. Or more accurately, the unassuming ring adorning his finger.

  There was only one reason a person would spend such a large amount of gold without so much as batting an eye. And that was if he had more of it stored away.

  Misk stood up. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

  He didn’t wait to see if the idiots followed, already moving through the crowd and towards the doors of the Guild Hall.

  There was only one thing on his mind as the cool night air hit him.

  Misk grinned. This time tomorrow, I’m going to be a very rich man.