What if I lived? ✔️

Change of Character

"You ready?" Callum asked from the door to the inn-room.

I was skimming the crowded fish market below us through my window high above. Messara's ports were booming -the isle-republic mostly port anyway-. People from all walks of life, High Fae, Fae, even some Mortals were flitting about. Though the mortals were probably product themselves, not here to eat fresh fished salmon or purchase spices from faraway countries. Terrible. Neither Vallahan, where I now lived, nor Montesere had outlawed human-slaves and Messara liked to turn a blind eye. A 'Free-Trading-Zone' Messara's people called themselves. A pirate-state is what I'd call them. There would be no way I could understand making someone suffer for your own convenience, not anymore.

"Well, there's a stupid question" I scoffed finally.

The raven haired shapeshifter snorted: "At least I didn't ask if you wanted to turn around."

"As if that is an option" I sighed, facing the tall, lean male.

Callum had been my handler for three decades now, the first one not to treat me like living trash too. Though being a spy had never gotten easier no matter how long I did it, at least with Callum around it had gotten somewhat bearable.

"Come now, aren't you happy to see your family again?" Callum smiled at me.

I just scowled: "You really are in form today, aren't you?"

"Alright, alright, didn't mean to hit a nerve" he held up his hands, "I just came up to tell you that the ship'll be setting out in an hour, so chop chop."

Nodding, I waved him off while he left the room, probably to nag at some very unfortunate sailor or port-sentinel. Poor fella. Having been on the receiving end of a Callum-Rant-Special I could attest to the level of annoyance it could invoke.

My bag was still packed, first rule of being a professional liar? Always be prepared to bolt. Sleeping in fighting leathers had become second nature, thought that would probably have to end when we landed in the Night Court. Getting out of old worn patterns, always the hardest part of a long-term job. But who would ever be fooled if you couldn't even convince yourself?

In this case I would be the hurt little fawn, finally escaping from Vallahan's claws. No matter our blood relation Rhysand wouldn't be stupid enough to trust me right away, neither would his court. The long-lost sister, suddenly resurrected from the dead? Yeah right. It would need a few weeks, possibly months until I could get back. Which meant these were the last hours I could freely think about home.

With both Rhysand and his mate being very powerful Daemati I definitely wouldn't risk thinking about anything discrediting my story. Though it would be especially hard to forget the person I loved the most. Taking a deep breath, I recalled my story again.

As the mistress of Crown-Prince Blaise of Vallahan my security measures were mostly to protect me and not to keep me in, but as the sister of a High Lord they still had a keen eye on me. One night a sentinel had forgotten to give me the drink suppressing my powers. Then, once he had gone to sleep, I ran as fast as I could. Selling all the jewelry I wore made me enough money to get to a port, where I hid in a storage room, reaching Messara as a stowaway. There, no one would ask who I was. From Messara I took a boat to the Illyrian steppe. Everything else? Too painful to talk about. Not actually a lie, not entirely true either.

My assignment was to feel out the Night Court after their marvelous triumph over Hybern. Where their loyalties would lie, what could be used to pressure them. Or at least that's what Blaise thought I would occupy myself with, what I'd really do I could only decide once I'd seen them, concocted my own little investigation off the books.