Before I have the opportunity to fall forward over top of the wall that now seemed iely short for something that was supposed to stop people from tumbling down a thousand-foot cliff, I feel a cool, dry hand around my forearm, and hear a low, even voice speak to me.

  “Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

  Ohe ground feels steady under my feet again, I turn to look at the person who was both the cause of my near death experiend my savior from it.

  He's tall, enough so that I have to look up a ways to meet his eyes, but for a male member of the serpent folk I'd say he's about average. Broad shouldered. Well-dressed but in an uated way. Dignified, but not that old – maybe in his thirties. His scales are a dark gray with yellow markings, his snout is short, and the scales on the back of his head spike up a bit. His eyes are a violent blood red. They stare back at me, level and even, and I immediately sense an aura of calm authority radiating from him.

  "Um. No, it's my fault. I should have noticed there was someone else here," I cede a bit sheepishly. "I was in such a hurry and so out of breath, I just got a bit of tunnel vision, I guess."

  He lets go of my arm, an a that makes me realize he was still holding it. I rub it absentmindedly.

  "What were you in such a rush for?" he asks, gng in the dire in which I had been staring so raptly moments before. "The view is hardly going anywhere. Not anytime soon anyway."

  He doesn't smile, but it's abundantly clear he finds my as amusing. I don't much care for being made fun of – not by strangers anyway. My lips purse.

  "Well, the view might not be going anywhere, but I am," I inform him, trying to be polite but uo keep a degree of defia of my tone. "I'm only in town for a week, and I'll be busy for most of it."

  The man blinks, and his forked tongue flicks out from between his lips. If he's bothered by my rude to doesn't show on his face.

  "I see,” he says. “What brings you to Dimos, then?"

  This question causes the deeply ingrained urge to give our spiel to bubble out of me unbidden. I rattle off the words I've spoken a thousand times in my life with a practiced smile.

  "I'm a member of a troupe of traveling musis and actors, the Restless Warblers. We're in town for the week, putting on a different show every night. Tomorrow night is a cert with food and drink provided by local street vendors. The musid dang goes te into the night, and all are wele."

  He cocks his head and stares at me long enough for my addressing-the-public smile to falter. Then he finally breaks eye tact to gaze out over the painted vista.

  "Yes, I'd heard there was a group that just arrived today. I hope your time here is lucrative."

  The obvious ck of i in his tone and manner really rubs me the wrong way.

  "Of course our time here will be lucrative," I say, uo keep the testiness out of my voibsp; "We're amazing, and if you're not ied, you should at least spread the word to anyone you know who does appreciate art and fun."

  He gives me a strange look that I 't read, and smirks almost imperceptibly.

  "I suppose I shall," he says, though the tone of it sounds more dismissive than anything. He pauses for a moment and looks me up and down in an evaluating ghat makes me bristle.

  "You know," he says, "you're really not supposed to be on castle grounds."

  I scoff. Is he serious?

  "What, are you going to tell someone I'm here and have me thrown out?" I ask.

  He seems to genuinely sider it for a few seds, tilting his head as though weighing his options.

  "I suppose I don't find your preseoo abrasive. I'll keep it to myself this time."

  My face heats up and torts as my anger fres. He doesn’t seem to notice my e at his audacious remark, though, as he just turns bad stares out over the ndscape again, seemingly deg to ignore me. I’m struck with the urge to give him a piey mind and show him how abrasive I be, but then I remember that I’m not here to shout at some asshole I’ve never met. I’m here to enjoy the majesty of nature and light. Screw this guy. I su a deep breath and walk about fiftee further down the wall away from him, then look back towards the su, determined not to let his grating presence ruin this experiene.

  The view is perfebsp; The shadows are blue and purple and everything touched by the light is in pinks and es. The ndscape is all jagged peaks and deep yons, stretg out over an impossible distanbsp; The earth seems barre I know that even in the most improbable ers of this wastend, there is life just beh the surfabsp; It's everything I remember and more.

  And I 't enjoy it at all with this guy nearby.

  I keep sneaking g him, but he's never looking back at me. I might be uo ignore him despite my best efforts, but he doesn't seem to face the same problem. He seems so at ease, which I envy greatly.

  The silehat would have been rexing if I were alone has been made deafening by his presenbsp; I shuffle my feet as I try desperately to rein in the urge to tell him to piss off and find his own lookout spot. Because I ’t say that, I? Strictly speaking, I don’t have any right to be here, aually could get me kicked out if he wanted. I have to say something, though. Ign him isn’t w, and the longer I try to do so, the more my anger is going to build until it bursts out of me like trapped steam. Instead, I opt to blurt out the first innocuous subject that es to mind, in the hopes that saying something at least will help let off a little of that steam. I walk the fiftee ba and start talking.

  "I came here once before, a long time ago," I say. "We got to py in the castle that time. I really fell in love with the sery."

  I gnce over. He's looking at me now, expression inscrutable, waiting for me to tinue.

  "I've wao e back ever since," I go on, "I've been all over the ti and seen a lot of beautiful pces, but nothing has really called to me in the same way."

  He looks out into the distance, a faint smile pying across his lips and a far off look in his eye.

  "Yes," he says reverently, "I feel the same way. In all the years I've lived here, I ire of it. I e here all the time when I o think. It never fails to clear my mind."

  Good, he said something that didn't piss me off. I work with this.

  "Have you traveled much?" I ask.

  He chuckles lightly. "Here and there, but I’ve seen far more of my own try than any other."

  "I've never not been on the road," I say. "I wouldn't have it any other way, and my troupe is my family, but some pces make me wish we could at least linger for a little while. Tell me, as a Dimos native, what should I make sure to prioritize seeing before we leave?"

  He takes a long time before answering, taking deep breaths as he mulls it over. "Holy? It doesn't get much better than this. Prioritize ing up here as often as possible."

  “Is there a public lookout spot?” I ask. “I’d rather not have to sneak across castle grounds."

  “There is on the north side of the castle, but that park is nothing pared to the garden here. I’d advise you to risk it.”

  I hum thoughtfully. If I do make it back up here, no way in hell am I ing back to this spot if this guy says he es here often. He’s already ruining my experiehis time, a problem about which I am still simmering at a steady level of background anger.

  "I just wish that our campsite were closer to the summit,” I ment. “We're all the way baext to the east entrance of town. It was a long here and it'll be a long way back, though thankfully I won't have to go uphill the other way too."

  "You have to go all the way back across town?" he demands with some urgenbsp; "Are you serious?"

  "Well yeah, but it's no big deal," I say dismissively. "My whole life is walking long distances, and I have a great sense of dire."

  My answer doesn't seem to please this guy. His brow furrows deeply.

  "It'll be dark the whole way back," he says as though I don't know this already. "Dimos's crime rate isn't high, but it's far from ent. A woman walking alo night… You could get mugged, or worse."

  I scoff and try to cover it up by coughing, but it's not really ving.

  "Look, I've been out alo night in way sketchier pces than this and still have yet to be effectively mugged," I reassure him smugly. "Don't worry, I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."

  My reassurances aren't ving. His brow furrows deeper still, and I see his tail shing sinuously behind him.

  "I'll go fetch a carriage for you," he says in a definitive tone.

  "That's really not–“

  "I insist," he interrupts with some forbsp; "Please wait here. I will return shortly."

  Aurns and walks away without another word.

  I splutter uselessly at his reg babsp; There is a tiny reasonable part of me that knows that this is a kind alemanly gesture, wanting to make sure my trip bap is safe and without i. My wounded pride, however, is overp all reason, and I'm being more irate by the sed. What, he doesn't think I handle myself? He has no idea who I am and what I'm capable of, and I'm not fond of being uimated.

  So I’m faced with two optioher I run away now and miss what remains of my su, but preserve my pride, or I stay like I pnned, but resign myself to acceptihat I don’t need. I pace bad forth for a minute before deg that I’ve already let this asshole ruin enough of what was supposed to be a serene and individual experience – I’m going to stay and enjoy the fact that he’s not here right now. Maybe he’ll even take enough time to get back that I make a break for it before he returns.

  Unfortunately, I still ’t appreciate the silent stillness, because inside my head it’s loud with all the arguments I’m mentally pnning out with this stranger. I just keep thinking of more things I’d like to say to his stupid fabsp; I’m alsuing with myself, because my reason has found its voice a little, and I’m realizing that strictly speaking, he hasn’t done anything to me besides call me “not too abrasive”, offer me help that I don’t need, a in the same space as me, a space that he actually has mht to be in than I do. If I blow up at him like I want to, it would be pletely disproportionate. And that’s pissing me off more than anything.

  I’m still leaned against the wall fighting with the stranger and myself in my head when I feel a tap on my shoulder. For the sed time tonight, I jump so hard I feel like I’m about to fall forward off the cliff. And for a sed time, a cool, dry hand s around my arm to steady me. I snap back to reality to notice that the sun has already set without me having really processed it.

  “You know,” the stranger suggests gently, “if you startle so easily, perhaps you shouldn’t spend so much time leaning over cliffs before first your surroundings.”

  I yank my arm back this time.

  “Thanks,” I say sarcastically. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  He offers his arm out for me to link with mine, presumably to lead me to the carriage he has prepared for me. I look down at it in distaste, then back up to him, pointedly refusing to take it. He shrugs and turns, waving for me to follow him. I relutly do so, still not sure whether I’m going to accept his objectively generous help, ive into my unwarranted anger and tell him to fuck off. I go bad forth about it the whole way as we walk across the garden in silence, but once we reach the road where the carriage is waiting, I make the decision to be the bigger person.

  I look up at him, trying tle my expression into something other than a vicious gre and failing miserably.

  “Thank you,” I say. “This is very kind of you. I appreciate your for my well-being."

  I mao get it out, but I was aiming for cordial and missed the mark by a long shot. It sounds much more like a death threat than an expression of gratitude.

  At my words, he makes a pained expression that it takes me a mio realize is a rapidly failing attempt not to smile. I feel my face heat up to unpreted levels. He has to break eye ta order to get himself under trol.

  "You're quite wele," he says. "I couldn't very well let you wahe dark streets alone."

  He holds a hand out to help me up into the open carriage seat, and I gre at it for a few seds, but ultimately choose to take it. When I'm seated, he's finally wrestled his smile into something that's more polite rather than openly mog.

  "You know, I think I will e to your cert tomorrow," he says, to my plete and utter shobsp; "I'm finding it hard to imagine you expressing anything other than poorly-cealed hostility, and that's something I'd like to witness for myself."

  My brain short-circuits. Did he actually just fug say that? All the anger I’ve been harb that I told myself was so unwarranted has suddenly bee justified, and all the things I’ve been pnning on shouting at him try to explode from me at the same time. Unfortunately, they run into each other au the way out. My mouth opens and closes but I ’t get any words out.

  "By the way, I don't believe I ever caught your name, Miss…?

  "Catarina," I spit, voice dripping with venom. "And yourself?"

  "Khysmet," he replies amicably. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Catarina. I look forward to seeing you again soon." He signals to the carriage driver, and suddenly he's reg into the distanbsp;

  Khysmet? Through my haze of ahe icks out to me. I've heard it before, I know it, but I 't pce it. Someone politically important, a Veilsung lord or t, or maybe a general. The name nags at the bay head the whole way back to the campsite. It's a long ride, actually. Maybe I should be grateful I didn't have to walk all this way. That doesn’t stop me from stewing the whole way back, though, pnning what to say when I give him a piey mind tomorrow.

  I stomp bato camp with a bck cloud over my head. Folks are gathered around scattered campfires, talking and ughing and singing. I see Portia and Suzating outside our tent pying cards. Portia waves as I approach, swaying a bit, clearly having gotten into the alcohol.

  "Cat, you- you have to e py and help me keep an eye on Suzie, ssshe keeps cheating," she slurs.

  "You're back soohan I thought you'd be," Suzanne says, ign Portia's drunken accusation. "I figure the stars would be out well before you could walk your way across the whole city, but there's still light in the sky."

  "I met this asshole while I was out," I expin irritably, "a me a ride back."

  Suzanne raises a quizzical eyebrow. "Ah yes, nothing more asshole-ish than making sure you get across town safely after dark," she says dryly.

  "He was an asshole," I insist. I don't, however, have anything of substao back up this cim, so I just scowl. "I don’t want to talk about it," I say tersely, grabbing the pte of food that Suzanne kindly set aside for me and st off toward our tent.

  It takes ages to get to sleep that night, partly because I would normally stay up te talking and ughing with everyone else. But my mood is sour in a way that I don't want to talk about it or even really think about it, so once I’m finished eating, after I aurn my pte, I just go to bed anyway, ying there with my jumbled up thoughts for hours until finally slipping into a restless slumber.