For a week or so after the incident with Plygiant, Ishtal was more glad than ever for Kosef’s company. After all, they’d just had it proven that she did, in fact, need a bodyguard, and the memory of Plygiant’s predatory not-quite-smile continued to send shivers up her spine. And Kosef, for all that he’d intimidated her so much at first, turned out to be surprisingly good company now that she was beginning to relax around him. Some kind of barrier between them seemed to have come down after the fight in the alley, and now they often talked as they headed to wherever she needed to go on a given day. 

He had lived his whole life in Lozhapad, and would sometimes ask about what it had been like in Bosgarren Herria. Ishtal obliged as often as not, and since it seemed only polite, sometimes asked him about his growing-up and experience with the city. He had apparently been raised by his mother and stepfather, and the latter had taught him to fight in his early adolescence, focusing mostly on preventative intimidation and dwarvish weapons. Ishtal, who could barely remember a time when she hadn’t been training, and whose lessons had all been focused on endurance and defense and giving absolutely no quarter, thought it sounded very strange, but it clearly stood him in good stead.

Even as enjoyable as their enforced time together was turning out to be, midway through the second week after the run-in with Plygiant, Ishtal was starting to feel restless. The lack of time on her own that wasn’t spent holed up in her room at the Salamander was wearing on her to a surprising degree. The fear was starting to fade as no Krakens emerged from the shadows, and boldness was starting to spring up again.

“You know,” she mentioned as casually as possible, while she and Kosef were making their way back from her latest pickpocketing shift, “you probably don’t have to come with me absolutely everywhere at this point. We haven’t had any Kraken problems since that one time, and I’d probably be fine as long as I stuck to main streets in daylight.”

Kosef frowned. “Is my company that onerous? I can always find someone to trade off with for a while.”

“No, no, it’s not that, it’s—” They were briefly separated, as a short, stout man in rich robes shoved between them and strode on down the street without apology, evidently in a great hurry. Ishtal frowned, taking a moment to formulate an argument Kosef would find convincing. “It’s just that I don’t want to waste your time when it seems like everything’s safe and settled down for the moment, and I should get more practiced at roaming around Lozhapad independently anyway.”

Kosef hummed. “I don’t mind, and it’s not a waste of my time. I don’t blame you for wanting your independence, or doubt that you’re capable at taking care of yourself, but I would hate to see disaster strike the moment we both let our guard down.”

Ishtal suppressed a sigh. She would just have to try again some other time.

“Are you sure you should—”

Ishtal folded her arms and sighed, trying to keep from setting her ears back. “Kosef. I’ll be fine. It’s just running out to grab some needles and thread, in broad daylight, and I’ll stay on the main thoroughfares around lots of people. Plygiant won’t get the opportunity to try anything. And you have business to take care of with Mr. Trippingly anyway.” She frowned. “Why are you so invested in this, anyway? There’s professional pride and then there’s…whatever this is; you’re like a hen with one chick lately.”

Before Kosef got the chance to answer, Kleev intervened. “We’re all just concerned for you, dear,” she said, walking by with a tray of empty mugs. “It’s a normal response to have when someone you care about has a target on their back. Look, if you want, I can lend you the supplies you need—or mend that tunic myself; I’ll have time later today.”

Ishtal shook her head. “It’s nice of you to offer, but I want to take care of this myself. You’ve already given me so much charity. And,” she couldn’t quite meet the eyes of either of them, “it’d be nice to get out and about on my own for a bit. To at least pretend like everything’s fine.”

Kosef pressed his lips together in that hard line that humans got when they were holding back an argument, but Kleev’s expression softened. “Well, I can’t blame you for that.” She glanced over. “Kosya, if it’s not this, it’ll be something else, and she’s right that you have other things to do just now. I think you’d better let it go.”

After a long moment, he nodded, and Ishtal didn’t wait around for him to change his mind and decide to babysit her after all. She strode for the door, calling over her shoulder “I’ll be back soon!” before darting out into the street and making for the shop she had in mind.

It was a beautiful day out—sunny, but in the way of the tail end of autumn, without being oppressively warm. A crisp breeze was coming off the river, carrying the scents of the docks and of all the city between her and the water. She didn’t mind the smells as much anymore, or the ever-present noise of the city. Sometimes it could all get to be a bit too much, but today it was pleasant in its own way. Or perhaps she was just enjoying the feeling of being able to go out and about independently, to do what she would for a bit with no one in particular watching her. At home, she’d been able to go into the woods if she wanted that; here, she’d been considering taking up late-night rooftop runs, but had never gotten around to it before the Krakens became an issue.

Soon enough, she reached her destination, and found her enjoyment of the outing heightened when the shopkeeper, a spindly, middle-aged human man, barely did a double-take at her unusual appearance. The items she needed—plain needles and gray thread to mend the tunic she’d worn from Bosgarren Herria—were easily procured and inexpensive. Ishtal scooped up the little parcel in one hand and reached out with the other to hand over the necessary coin—

—and found that, somehow, the money would not leave her hand. She shook it, her palm flat and turned downward, but the coins stayed stuck as if they’d been glued there.

Was this some new extension of the thieving problem she already had? Were her hands no longer satisfied with roving without her permission and making off with people’s valuables, and had now moved on to refusing to relinquish money even for a normal, small purchase? Was she really cursed, as she’d wondered sometimes as a child, and now it was escalating?

“Hey, what’re you playing at?” the shopkeeper demanded. He squinted at her over his spectacles. “Pay up or give the goods back. I don’t want any trouble, all right?”

He was looking, Ishtal realized, at the loose Dragon-green trousers she was wearing.

Well, if he didn’t want any trouble, she wanted it even less. Ishtal moved to set the parcel down, slowly and with an attempt at a reassuring smile, only to find that her left hand wouldn’t seem to relinquish what it was holding, either. It was like both the coins and the parcel had been adhered to her skin when she wasn’t looking.

The shopkeeper was glaring now. “I’m sorry!” Ishtal stammered. “I’m trying, I really am, I don’t know what’s doing this.”

“Are you going to pay,” he growled, “or am I going to have to call the watch?”

Afterward, Ishtal couldn’t have said what went through her mind in that moment. She supposed she must have blanked out in terror, and the only thing she could think of to do was turn and flee, shouldering her way through the shop door and racing down the street.