Kael'Tun, as it turned out, wasn't just a city of color and creatures - it was a stage. And every beastman on it wore a mask, not of porcelain or gold, but of silence, suggestion, and perfectly timed smiles.
"Do you smell that?" Lavender whispered to Vashir as they crossed a gilded bridge lined with whisper-birds.
He blinked once. "Flowers?"
"No," she grinned. "Power. Perfumed and polished. It's everywhere."
They had come to the Upper Talons, the part of the city that hovered quite literally above the rest - supported by ancient stonework and old enchantments. Here, the buildings shone brighter, the fabrics floated finer, and everyone's eyes looked through you as though appraising your worth... and then deciding you weren't worth much at all.
Lavender was very used to that look.
She met it with a smirk.
---
Vashir had brought her to attend a gathering at the House of Silver Horns, a high council estate run by a powerful noble clan that governed the city's trade routes. It was part diplomatic courtesy, part obligation. Mostly boredom, in Lavender's opinion.
But when she arrived-hair brushed but still rebelliously wild, her lavender dress cinched with a belt of glittering scavenged charms-she noticed one thing:
All eyes were on her.
And not kindly.
"She shouldn't be here."
"A human? How quaint."
"Did she wander in from a circus?"
Lavender smiled sweetly at them all and bowed low enough to show off the dagger strapped to her thigh.
But then came her.
The woman glided toward them like liquid silver - tall, elegant, and unmistakably dangerous. Her hair was snow-white and braided with sapphires. Her ears pointed sharply, her nails were lacquered obsidian, and her smile... oh, that smile.
"Vashir," the woman purred, her voice like honey left out in winter. "It's been too long."
Vashir inclined his head politely. "Lady Serava."
Lavender's smile twitched.
Lady Serava turned to her with the exact amount of politeness one might offer a particularly charming stain.
"And this is your... guest?"
"Companion," Vashir replied simply.
Lavender stepped forward. "Collector, actually. Of wonders. And who, may I ask, do you collect?"
Serava blinked. "I am heir to the Second Horn, Keeper of Skies and Ink. I require no titles beyond the ones I was born to."
Lavender nodded. "Oh, good. Because I collect earned things."
The air between them crystallized. Beastfolk nearby subtly shifted away, sensing an incoming storm wrapped in lace and smiles.
"I'm surprised," Serava said with a laugh too sharp to be sweet. "You're quite bold for someone... without a tribe."
"And you're quite possessive," Lavender replied, "for someone who clearly lost him."
That landed.
Vashir let out a very soft cough, which might've been a sigh or a plea to the gods.
Serava stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You don't belong here."
Lavender's eyes sparkled. "I never do. That's the fun part."
---
Later that night, back in their guest room at the Ember Nest, Lavender sat cross-legged on the windowsill, unbraiding a ribbon she'd 'borrowed' from Serava's gown.
"You didn't tell me you used to dance with deadly butterflies," she teased.
Vashir, standing by the fireplace, gave her a sideways glance. "We were once... acquainted."
"Oh, darling. You were bait."
He raised a brow. "And you?"
She shrugged, curling the ribbon into a bow. "I'm the trap. And she just stepped in."
He stared at her, unreadable. "You're playing a dangerous game."
She grinned. "Isn't it delightful?"