Candice set her glass of absinthe down on the counter and raised a hand to catch the attention of the man behind the bar.
He walked over a moment later, tall and broad-shouldered, perhaps six feet, with black hair and brown eyes and the kind of face that was handsome without being intimidating. When he spoke, his voice was deep but warm. "Another round for you, Candice?"
"For all of us," Candice said, gesturing at the three of them with a slight tilt of her head. "My guests are new to Mossgrove. Let them try something worth remembering."
The bartender leaned against the counter and looked at each of them in turn, his mouth curving into an easy smile. "First time in the Arc? Well then, you've come to the right place." He spread his hands wide. "I've got drinks here that'll make you forget Eryndral ever existed. Or forget your own name. Depends on what you're after."
Gryan snorted at that, and Candice laughed.
The bartender turned to Raya first, tilting his head. "What about you? Strong, soft, or somewhere that'll knock you sideways and apologize for it later?"
Raya considered for a moment, then said, "Something soft."
"Yellow wine, then." The bartender reached beneath the counter and pulled out a bottle of golden liquid that caught the light from the gas lamps overhead. "Made with peppered ginger, fermented water, more sugar than your teeth will thank you for, and a touch of gold dust for the color." He uncorked the bottle and poured a glass, the liquid bright yellow, almost luminous. "It's what the fine ladies of Mossgrove drink when they want to feel elegant without waking up on the floor."
He slid the glass across to Raya, who picked it up and sniffed it before taking a small sip. Her eyebrows rose slightly, and she swallowed and said, "The ginger is stronger than I expected."
"That's how you know it's the good stuff," the bartender said, grinning. "The cheap version is all sugar and no bite. Tastes like drinking a cake."
Then he turned to Gryan, looking him up and down with an appraising eye. "And you, friend? You've got the look of a man who doesn't order anything that comes with a little umbrella in it."
Gryan set his toolkit down beside his stool and leaned forward slightly. "What's the strongest thing you've got that I can't get in Eryndral?"
The bartender's grin widened, and he reached for a different bottle, this one darker, almost the color of dried blood. "Stag's Wine," he said, holding the bottle up to the light. "Made from Ironvine tree leaves, with almost no sugar. Bitter as a bad marriage on its own, so they finish it with a drop of Clockstag blood." He uncorked the bottle and poured a glass, the liquid settling into a deep wine-red color. "Changes the taste, smooths the edges, and gives it a kick that'll have you confessing your sins to strangers after two or three cups."
He slid the glass to Gryan, who picked it up and sniffed it. His eyebrows rose, but he didn't put it down.
"Fair warning," the bartender added, leaning on the counter. "Some folks won't touch it. They think Clockstags are divine creatures and their blood shouldn't be used for anything, even a drop. Others don't care and love it for how it gets them drunk." He shrugged. "Me, I don't judge. I just pour."
Alucent listened to this, and the name surfaced a memory.
He had seen a Clockstag once, during his first weeks in this world. It had been stumbling through the outskirts of Eryndral near the edge of a Runewell field, hurt, limping on one of its too-long, too-delicate legs. The creature had been about the size of a large dog, with the elegant head of a deer and the sleek body of a fox, and its entire coat had been covered in intricate clockwork, brass gears and copper pieces that ticked like an actual clock. The sound had been loud enough to hear clearly, whirring with each labored breath the creature took.
Raya had been with him then, and she had stopped walking the moment she saw it. Her expression had shifted to something Alucent had rarely seen on her face.
"That's a Clockstag," she had said. "Pure clean energy in physical manifestation. It was only the second time I've ever seen one."
They had watched it limp into the underbrush and disappear, and Alucent had never seen another one since.
At that moment, the bartender turned to him. "And for you?"
Alucent glanced at Candice's glass, the pale green liquid still half-full. "I'll try the absinthe."
"A man after Candice's heart," the bartender said with a chuckle as he poured a glass and slid it across. "Simplest thing on the menu, but don't let that fool you. The local variety is sweeter than what you get in Eryndral. Got an herbal bite at the end that sneaks up on you."
Alucent picked up the glass, took a sip, and found that the bartender was right. The absinthe was sweeter than he expected, with an herbal undertone that lingered on his tongue after he swallowed. He set the glass down and nodded.
Gryan took a long drink of his Stag's Wine, swallowed, and sat very still for a moment. Then he let out a slow breath and said, "That's... something."
The bartender laughed, the sound deep and carrying over the noise of the tavern. "Something is one word for it. Enjoy it slow, friend. That stuff doesn't forgive you for rushing."
They drank in silence for a while after that, Raya sipping her Yellow wine, Gryan nursing his Stag's Wine with visible caution, and Alucent working through his absinthe while Candice finished hers.
Not long after, Candice set her empty glass on the counter and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a handful of Copperweaves and counted them onto the bar. Alucent watched her count out fifteen for his absinthe, twenty for Raya's Yellow wine, and forty-five for Gryan's Stag's Wine.
It's Expensive, he thought as he watched the narrow Ironvine strips pile up on the counter. Forty-five Copperweaves for a single drink. The Clockstag blood alone must account for most of that.
He thought again of the creature he had seen limping through the underbrush, its clockwork coat ticking unevenly, and found that the price made sense.
The bartender collected the payment, gave Candice a nod and a smile, and moved away to tend to other customers.
Candice turned on her stool to face the three of them, and her expression shifted from playful to serious.
"So," she said, picking up the empty glass and setting it aside. "The mission."
She paused, looking at each of them in turn.
"Her name is Joy," Candice said. "She's a Scribe. Thread 3. Works at the Weavefiber production facility in the Runepeaks."
Alucent took another sip of his absinthe and swallowed before asking, "Weavefiber production?"
"Currency," Candice said. "The physical currency that moves through every market and transaction in Senele. Scribes produce it at the Scribe's Towers." She leaned back against the bar. "A Scribe with clearance for Weavefiber production is a valuable asset."
And a valuable target, now the escort mission makes sense. Alucent thought.
Candice continued. "Joy has been working here in Mossgrove on a temporary assignment for the past six months. Now she needs to return to the Runepeaks, and that's where you come in."
She pulled a folded map from her pocket and spread it on the counter. The map showed the Verdant Vale region, with Mossgrove Arc marked near the center. To the north and east, the terrain shifted to rougher land marked as the Hinterlands.
"The route takes you through here," Candice said, tracing a line with her finger while Alucent leaned in to watch. "Mossgrove Arc to the Hinterlands. Through the Hinter Villages, which sit near the border of Shadow Vale and Iron Vale." Her finger stopped at a mountainous region on the far side of the map. "And finally to Runespeak Vale."
Raya set down her Yellow wine and leaned forward to study the map. "Why does she need an escort? Can't she take a Steamwagon through the main routes?"
Candice shook her head. "The main routes through that region have been compromised. Shadebinder sightings have tripled in the past month." She paused and took a breath. "And it's not just Shadebinders. Hex Waros have been spotted in the Hinter Villages."
Gryan's hand tightened around his glass of Stag's Wine. "Hex Waros? Those haven't been seen this far from the Iron Vale in years."
"They're moving," Candice said. "Eloha's forces are expanding their reach. They're looking for Scribes specifically. High-value targets with what they call 'threadweave potential.'" She met Alucent's eyes. "Joy is exactly the kind of person they want to harvest."
Alucent swallowed the last of his absinthe and set the empty glass on the counter. The word sat heavy in his mind.
Harvest.
"What's the timeline?" he asked.
"She needs to arrive at Runespeak Vale within five days," Candice said. "The journey itself takes three if you move fast and don't run into trouble. That gives you a buffer, but not much of one."
"Payment?" Gryan asked, setting his own glass down.
"Sir Vorn is handling that end. You'll get the standard escort rate, plus hazard compensation for the border crossing." Candice folded the map and tucked it back into her pocket. "Any other questions?"
Alucent thought about the route. Mossgrove Arc to the Hinterlands. Through the Hinter Villages near the borders of Shadow Vale and Iron Vale, where Veyris's influence was growing. To Runespeak Vale, the oldest active civilization in Senele.
The cradle of precision and craftsmanship and structured magic, he thought. The intellectual and engineering spine of the world. If Eloha's forces want to destabilize Senele's infrastructure, targeting Scribes headed to the Runepeaks would be an effective strategy.
He looked at Candice. "Where is she now?"
Candice stood and dropped a few extra Copperweaves on the counter as a tip for the bartender. "She's at her Steamcottage here in Mossgrove," she said. "I'll take you to her."
They left King's Groove and followed Candice through the streets of Mossgrove Arc.
---
The afternoon light filtered through the ivy-covered buildings and cast dappled shadows on the cobblestones, and the air smelled of flowers and moss and the faint metallic undertone of steam machinery. Horse-drawn carts passed alongside steam-powered vehicles on the wider streets, and the pipes running along the rooftops were wrapped in vines that had been allowed to grow wild rather than trimmed back. Gears visible on the sides of buildings had greenery growing through their teeth, moss filling the spaces between the cogs.
Alucent walked beside Raya, his cane tapping against the cobblestones with each step. The red gem at the top caught the afternoon light, and he found his thoughts drifting to his father.
Dad walked these streets once, Alucent thought. Before he settled in Eryndral. Before I was born.
The memory was faded, belonging to the original Alucent rather than to Elias Reed, but it surfaced now with unexpected clarity. His father had told him about Mossgrove when he was young, about how it felt like stepping back in time while still moving forward.
They turned onto a quieter lane lined with larger homes set back from the road behind iron fences and hedgerows. The Steamcottages here were grander than the ones in Eryndral, with more elaborate gardens and more ornate brasswork, and the Victorian influence was more pronounced in the architecture. Stone facades were covered in climbing roses, and brass fixtures gleamed beside carved wooden shutters.
Candice stopped in front of a particularly beautiful home. The fence was wrought iron twisted into patterns of flowering vines, and the garden beyond was lush with roses and hedge sculptures and a cobblestone path that wound toward the front door. The Steamcottage itself was two stories of ivy-wrapped stone and polished brass, with Frosted Glass windows that gleamed in the afternoon sun.
"This is it," Candice said.
They walked through the gate and up the cobblestone path. The garden smelled of roses and something earthy and green, and Alucent could hear the faint tick of clockwork somewhere among the hedges, though he couldn't see the source.
As they rounded a curve in the path, a shaded area came into view beneath a large oak tree. A decorative canopy had been set up there, with cushioned chairs arranged around a small table, and gauze curtains hung from the canopy's frame, stirring in the light breeze.
A woman sat in one of the chairs, waiting.
She was perhaps five foot six, in her mid-twenties, with long blonde hair that fell to her waist in lush waves. Her face was beautiful and soft, with high cheekbones and blue eyes that watched them approach from behind a fine gauze veil. Red lipstick stood out against her lightly powdered skin.
She wore a bodice of durable serge in a dark forest green that masked dust well, tailored and boned, with leg-o-mutton sleeves that ballooned at the shoulder and tightened at the wrist. The collar was stiff and high-standing, framing her slender neck. Her skirt was A-line, fitting snugly over her hips and flaring at the hem, hemmed two inches from the ground and lined with stiff buckram that held its shape as she sat. A small-brimmed fedora-style hat sat on her head, secured with two long hatpins, and the gauze veil was tied beneath her chin to keep soot out of her eyes and hair in place.
Her hands rested in her lap, covered in soft kid leather gloves of dark grey, and her feet were clad in sturdy lace-up leather boots with a modest heel.
She looked up as they approached, and her blue eyes moved from Candice to Alucent to Raya to Gryan.
Then she stood, smoothed the front of her skirt, and waited for them to reach her.