Page 17 of A Sword of Shadow and Deceit

“That’s for damn sure,” he mutters beneath his breath as he follows me inside.

Once the solid, windowless door shuts behind us, we pull down our hoods and shake the water from the ends of our cloaks. The inside of the shop is dark and musky, smelling heavily of herbs and firewood. The reason for the scent is obvious as there’s a rather fierce fire burning in the brick hearth at the far back of the main room and all around us, dried herbs are hung from twine. I brush a few twigs aside to move farther inside, and behind me, Regis does the same.

“Hello?” I call out. A door slams open to my right, the rusty hinges screaming with the force as a short round woman appears. “Madam Brione?” The woman is older, with gray flyaways hanging in long curls around her surprisingly clean face. With the state of the shop, I’d expected her to be just as dirty and dust-smudged.

“Ah, you must be the girl from the Hinterlands,” the woman says, quickly bustling into the room. Despite her stature and obvious limp as she lists heavily to one side, she is quite fast.

Regis and I exchange a look. Ophelia’s contacts are always the most eclectic bunch. Nothing really surprises me anymore. Madam Brione moves behind a wide counter and casually lifts a book before slamming it down on a skittering bug. I don’t jump, but my lips do pull back in a grimace. I’m simply thankful it wasn’t a spider. While I realize that humans aren’t particularly fond of the creatures, I certainly don’t like seeing them squashed just for existing. They were likely here in this world long before humans and will remain long after them.

One glance at Regis’ horrified expression brings me a small kernel of amusement, though. In fact, he’s had a slowly brewing look of disgust since we entered the poorly maintained shop. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say this whole place is simply for looks. There’s no clear item for sale, just an eclectic mix of junk covered in thick layers of grime and dust—as if the dirt itself is a warding spell meant to scare off potential customers to keep them from looking too closely at a shop that can hardly be called that.

No, Madam Brione’s carefully maintained image as that of a hoarder is likely little more than window dressing for a place meant as a rendezvous point. When Madam Brione lifts the book up and scoots away the smooshed bug as if it’s little more than a piece of lint, I swear I can hear Regis gag a little at the green and brown goo that smears over the counter’s wood. If Madam Brione notices or hears, though, she doesn’t comment.

The book opens and Madam Brione leafs through the pages before stopping somewhere in the middle. She sets her palms down and looks back up at us. “So, is it both of you then?” she asks.

“No,” I answer. “Just one, if you could.”

“A new identity and a recommendation to the Academy?” she clarifies.

I nod.

She clucks her tongue and goes back to the book, flipping another page. “You want to keep your name and just change the surname then?”

“I don’t have a surname,” I tell her. My father never had one and I’d never known of my mother’s actual name much less a surname. Did Gods even have them?

"Oh.” She slaps the book closed. “That makes it easier then. I assume Ophelia erased your existence when you joined the Guild?”

There hadn’t been anything to erase since my birth had never been recorded, but I nod anyway. The chill from the outside versus the heat of the shop is slowly catching up to me. Sweat collects at the back of my neck and slides down beneath my clothes. I reach up and tug at my collar. It’s too hot.

“If you’re from the Hinterlands, they won’t accept you,” Madam Brione says. “We’ll give you a different background, I think. There a region you are particularly fond of?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

“Any surname you’d care to take?”

“Not real—”

Regis locks his hand on my shoulder, stopping my repeated answer as he leans forward. “Can she take Nezerac?” he asks.

I blink. “That would make it obvious that I’m a nomad,” I point out. “It’s not even a real last name.” It would defeat the purpose, too, of hiding my Hinterlands origins since only nomads roam the outer borders of Anatol.

Regis glances down at me. “Nomads are stout,” he says. “They last and it’ll explain … well, if you’re going to be there for a while, I doubt you’d manage to keep up the facade of a helpless little human for months on end.”

A scowl twists my lips. “Are you suggesting that I can’t do my job, Regis?”

He shakes his head. “Of course not, but we don’t want to make this more complicated. A lot of your … mannerisms can be explained by the fact that you’re a nomad.”

“I can act,” I say. “For a time.”

“Not for months,” he repeats. “Besides, the best lies are the ones that are still somewhat truthful.”

“Nezerac is a good name for a nomad. They’re rare in the God Cities, though,” Madam Brione states. “It’s a risk, considering how close nomads are to hinterland backgrounds.”

“Won’t we risk me not getting in at all?” I argue.

Regis meets my angry gaze. “The closer the lie is to the truth, the easier it is to maintain. You’ll get in, I’m not too worried about that.”

I cross my arms over my chest and lean back on my heels, eyeing him. “And why is that? Do you have more information you’ve yet to share?”

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