Page 112 of The War of Four Winters

I understood immediately. "A neutral party caught between two warring factions chooses neither. But when a third threat emerges that endangers them all..."

"Exactly. Self-preservation might compel them where politics cannot."

"Your mother," I said softly.

A muscle tightened in his jaw. "The Mistress of Blades has no children. Only disciples."

I knew better than to press further. Aryn's relationship with his mother was complicated by layers of Shikami tradition and the weight of his defection from their order. That he would even suggest approaching her spoke volumes about the desperation of our situation.

"Go with the healers," I told Elindir, who looked ready to protest despite his obvious weakness. "Recover your strength. I'll organize the siege and speak with Aryn about the Shikami."

"You need me—" he began, but another coughing fit cut off his words.

"I need you alive," I said firmly. "Our sons need both of us to return. That means you have to recover."

My sons. Our sons. The words still carried such weight, such responsibility. Leif and Torsten waited safely in the inner chambers of the Craiggybottom compound, guarded by Taelyn and Captain Yisra's most trusted warriors. I had promised to return to them. We both had.

"I'll be here when you return," Elindir promised, his voice stronger now despite the coughing. "Just end this war. For all of us."

I pressed my lips to his forehead, then watched as the healers carried him toward the infirmary.

I turned to Aryn, resolve hardening my features. "Take me to your mother."

ThePleasureDistrictofD'thallanar existed in a peculiar state of both acknowledgment and denial. Officially, it was the Fourteenth district, beyond the jurisdiction of the traditional thirteen clan territories. Unofficially, everyone knew it belonged to the Shikami. No banners flew here, no clan symbols adorned the buildings, but the shadows themselves seemed to watch from every doorway.

Aryn led us through increasingly narrow streets, each turn taking us deeper into the labyrinth of pleasure houses, tea gardens, and establishments that catered to vices both common and exotic. Despite the chaos gripping the rest of D'thallanar, life continued here undisturbed. Musicians played in open courtyards. Perfumed smoke drifted from incense braziers. Elegant figures in elaborate robes flitted between establishments.

"They're watching us," I murmured to Aryn as we passed a particularly ornate tea house whose patrons seemed unnaturally still, their conversations falling silent as we walked by.

"They've been watching since we crossed the bridge." Aryn scanned the surroundings. "The Shikami know every movement within their territory."

Beside me, a musician stopped playing, the silence more jarring than any discordant note. Across the street, a tea seller turned her back, deliberately avoiding our gaze. The subtle shift rippled outward like a stone dropped in still water. Within moments, the bustling district had transformed into a watchful silence, civilians melting away from our path without obvious direction.

"Is this normal?" My hand drifted toward my sword, despite knowing how futile drawing it would be in Shikami territory.

"No. They're clearing the streets."

"For us or for them?"

My question received its answer as four figures detached from the shadows of a nearby alley. They moved with unsettling grace, their bodies seeming to flow rather than walk, each step perfectly placed. Their faces were covered by lacquered half-masks, revealing only eyes that reflected no emotion. At their hips hung twin daggers in ceremonial sheaths, the hilts wrapped in black silk that absorbed what little light reached them. In the dimness of the alley, intricate silver tattoos glimmered across their exposed skin, designs that would fade in direct sunlight.

Aryn stiffened beside me, his breathing changing. These were his former sisters in shadow, the order that had cast him out when he embraced his true identity as a man.

"I seek audience." Aryn's voice shifted into something smoother, colder—the voice he had used when still a Shikami blade. "For my brother, the king. And for matters that concern all who dwell in shadow."

A silent communication passed between the Shikami and her companions. After several heartbeats, she gestured for us to follow her and turned away, walking deeper into the district.

Aryn followed without hesitation, leaving me with little choice but to do the same. The remaining three assassins fell into position around us—not quite guards, not quite escorts, but definitely ensuring we remained on the path chosen for us.

"Is this a good sign?" I whispered to Aryn as we walked.

"It's neither good nor bad. The Shikami do not operate on such simple judgments. They've agreed to hear us. That's all we can ask for now."

The deeper we moved into the district, the more the architecture changed. Gaudy pleasure houses gave way to more austere buildings. Bright colors faded to subtle shades of black, gray, and midnight blue. Windows grew smaller, more heavily shuttered. The very streets seemed to absorb sound, our footsteps falling unnaturally quiet against stone that should have echoed.

Our guides led us to what appeared to be a grand teahouse set apart from the others, its façade elegant yet understated. Where other establishments announced themselves with bright lanterns and boisterous attendants, this one projected quiet authority. The massive doors were guarded by two women whose stillness betrayed their lethal purpose.

The guards bowed to our escorts, then stepped aside without a word. The doors opened silently to reveal a long corridor lit only by paper lanterns casting a soft blue glow.

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