Astel's sharp ears easily picked up the sound of stifled laughter as she passed the tavern, where a cluster of apprentices, just deep enough into their cups to make them brave and stupid, had congregated in the street. She would have recognized the sound even if her senses weren't Enhanced; she'd been the source of endless amusement for her peers at the orphanage.
She grit her teeth, lifting her chin and adopting her most intimidating expression. Her golden collar shifted against her skin, heavy and smooth and warmed by the magic caged within it. A constant reminder of her oath and promise.
"Ambassador!" a voice called to her from the gathering of unwashed males. "Oy, Ambassador, 'ow many men 'ave you fucked?"
Astel stopped walking. Others stopped as well, some to skirt carefully around her, others to eager to see what would happen next.
She turned to face the young men, and every one of them went still.
"Don't." Enver's deep voice rose to carry above the clamor of the street. She could feel him looming behind her, her constant guard and her greatest annoyance. "Don't engage them."
Astel ignored him. She reached out and pointed to the youth who had spoken, a small, dark-haired boy whose face and clothing was stained with soot.
"Step forward, Rorick, fourth son of Osben, and pose your Question to my face." Her collar sang as she intoned the words, humming with the magic of her Truth. The Oathkeepers didn't take kindly to such flippant use of magic, but if it was Truth, it was available to Astel, and she could use it as she pleased.
The boy was shoved forward by his older comrades, and Astel felt a spark of pity at how quickly they abandoned him to face her wrath.
Rorick, to his credit, did not flinch. He squared his small shoulders and stared up at her with his eyes narrowed and his jaw stubbornly set.
Gods and truth above, she thought, surprised. He can't be more than eight. Astel leaned down to examine him at his eye level, careful to keep her expression neutral.
"How old are you?" she asked quietly.
He frowned. "Thought you knew that, already. Don't your type know everything?"
"They certainly like to think so," came Enver's deep, wry voice from behind her.
"Hush, you," Astel said over her shoulder.
Rorick's eyes got very wide. He looked behind her, scanning the street for another threat.
"Who are you talking to?" he demanded.
Astel tilted her head down at him and smiled.
"That's three Questions you've asked of me, child. Do you know the cost of just one of my Truths?"
He was looking around now, eyes darting left to right, gauging the fastest escape route and chances of success.
"I wouldn't, if I were you. Now, let's see..." Astel lifted her hand and held up one finger. "Who am I talking to? My guard, Enver. He is a Shadowmor, one of the dark princes of the sunless lands. He is only visible at night, but he is one of the greatest warriors to walk the Earth. For that Answer, I require the payment of..." She thought for a moment, eyeing Rorick with a sly smile, enjoying the way he squirmed. "A lock of hair. Enver?"
An invisible hand lifted one long, scraggly lock of Rorick's black hair and an invisible blade snipped it clean off. Rorick yelped, and the cluster of young men behind him gasped.
"Hurry it up, will you?" Enver muttered. "It's almost dark."
Astel nodded. She pursed her lips and held up a second finger. "Do I know everything? Yes, I can know the Truth of anything, if it is required. And for that Question, my payment shall be..."
Rorick shook his head. "I don't... I didn't want to know, I'm sorry. I got nothing else to offer."
"You have plenty to offer, child," Astel said with a sweet, deadly smile. "I shall require three of your best Lies. You may give them to me, and may never use them again. And make sure they're your best lies, Rorick. I'll know if they aren't."
The boy bit his lip, glancing around as if hoping for escape. But now that he knew about Enver, the constant, invisible threat, he could not risk running.
"I didn't steal anything," he said quietly. "I'm sorry for my clumsiness, Father. And..." his voice trailed off, and his eyes dropped to his feet.
"Go on," Astel said evenly.
"I'm not hungry," he whispered. "Lisba can have the rest of my supper."
Astel's heart faltered. Her anger shriveled up and faded into nothing.
Behind her, Enver sighed.
"Very good," Astel said, clearing her throat. "As for the third Question... you didn't specify the meaning of the term 'fuck,' so I shall assume you mean 'to thoroughly embarrass and/or utterly humiliated in front of his friends.' In which case, I have fucked seventy-eight men in my life." She lifted her chin and leveled her gaze at him and intoned her voice with a resonant echo of her Oath. "And for that Answer, Master Rorick, I shall require that you dedicate three years of your life to my service. You shall be my new Emissary."
She waited just long enough for her words to sink in, just long enough for him to go utterly pale as he realized the magnitude of his mistake. And then she smiled.
"Report to the Embassy tomorrow morning before the Septus Bell. We'll sort out the details of your pay and lodging then."
"What about my family?" Rorick demanded, voice frantic. "My Pa will never allow me to... and what about... what about Lisba?"
Astel felt a nudge against her back and glanced up at the setting sun. Enver didn't like being visible.
"Your family will be well compensated for your absence, child," Astel said, quietly enough that the crowd of boys behind him would not hear. "The stipend is four crowns a month, and you'll receive pay and lodging of your own, on top of that. Good evening, Emissary Rorick."
As she moved quietly through the bustling streets, she couldn't help but smile.
"You're too soft, ," Enver growled in her ear.
Astel grinned. "Jealous that someone else has my attention, Shadowmor?"
"Hm. Is that a Question, princess? I've got a few payments in mind for you if you ever want an Answer."
Astel's laughter ran above the din of the streets. Beside her, a hulking, protective shadow shimmered to life in the growing darkness.