Someone might ask why I didn’t bring a wagon, despite going as far as to purchase one for the first cache I unearthed.

  Simple. This is supposed to be a hidden armory of legendary weapons. Granted, armory implies multiple items but these are legendary weapons. Those aren’t produced in excess no matter the time, or so I thought. Plus, these were hidden in a time of war, or right after. Not a time when anyone would be happy to bury dozens of weapons, right. Right?

  Sigh.

  So no wagon. I figured I could fit a few swords and knives on the back of my carriage. And anything I can fit on the carriage, I can tie up and carry on my shoulder. Honestly, set myself up for this disappointment. Every time I’ve tried to understand the hunters or predict their responses, I’ve been wrong.

  For some saints’ forsaken reason, there are hundreds of weapons here. Hundreds. Three chests, filled with swords and daggers, as well dozens of polearms lying on the floor, their blades wrapped in dark cloth. What kind of war leaves this kind of surplus? They don’t even appear to be in bad condition; most of them just need to be sharpened to be serviceable to my, admittedy, untrained eye.

  I really want to know what the leaders of that time were thinking, but their questionable decisions aren’t my concern. I need to get the weapons home, preferably without someone doing something stupid.

  I emerge from the hole in the ground to an argument; the men of the Ranch are facing the Jeshau clan, screaming their outrage to an uncaring audience. A part of me sympathizes with them; if I were trying to air my grievances to Shake’s amused smirk, I might be driven to shout like a lunatic as a means of venting the frustration. On another day, I might be amused. Right now? I’m exhausted.

  Part of the reason I was able to muster the strength to decimate the city, aside from my explosive anger, was the hope that it would be the only time I would have to do such a thing. I thought that enough death would be a final end to the city’s struggles, that no one dare to confront me, at least not directly. No one has to commit two massacres…

  Yet, here these idiots are. They seem uninformed, given that they didn’t recognize me, but that is not an excuse for their behavior. Do they think someone simple would come to claim a centuries old treasure? Even if they know nothing about me, the first thing they should have done was ask who I am and what gives me the right to rob them in broad daylight. Maybe I should have told them I’m a citybreaker, but I’m tired of explaining. Tired of posturing. I so saints damned tired of dealing with people’s ugly ambitions.

  Is this how people like me become rulers? They get sick of having to slap down idiots and get others to do it for them? Right now, I’m wondering if I shouldn’t have sent the servants to do this; I can’t shake the feeling that something will go wrong and I won’t be there to save them. But if these greedy bastards are the worse fate is going to throw in my path, Earl could have handled this. Saints, Anna too.

  How far is it from sending a minion to slap around some upstarts to sending an army to put down a rebellion? I’ll never be interested in ruling but the more I’m exposed to the upper echelons of the kingdom, the more convinced I am that it might be the best thing for Harvest if I did kick the king off his thrown. The rampant stupidity and entitlement within our borders is mindboggling. It’s a miracle that we haven’t been conquered yet. I understand the secret organization that ensures we don’t kill ourselves but where is the secret organization to make sure humanity doesn’t stagnate until we’re indistinguishable from apes? That’s the kind of centuries long tradition I can get behind.

  The unrepentant thieves notice me and Angry Son stomps away from the amused horse people. He’s shaking with emotion, probably anger given his scowl. “You won’t get away with this!”

  “Of course I will. Hey, can you sell me a wagon? One with a longer back, something to comfortably hold spear. I’ll do you a great deal.”

  “You…you want us to help you rob us? Are you crazy?”

  My smile feels strained, struggling to stay in place despite my souring mood. “Why not? There is only one way this is going to end; I’m leaving with those weapons. You can stand in my way and get hurt, stand aside and watch, or you help and get some kind of payday. I know what’d I choose.”

  “You forget the option where you get thrown off this rock. We’ve already sent a messenger to the Hall. They’re our biggest clients, you know? We’ve got connections to master casters and high nobles. Let’s see if you can be so smug in front of them.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “So…that’s a no?”

  “Fuck you!”

  I sigh and turn to the group that should be more inclined to help. “Don’t suppose I can convince anyone to run for my carriage? It’s back at Cloud’s camp. I pay in gold.”

  “What if I do not desire gold?” the horse-lady that carried me and Alana calls, shoving aside the others that also speak up. Sway, I think her name is. Wonder what that’s short for.

  “Depends.” I pointedly stare at her lower half. “I may not be the right…shape for what you want.”

  “I’ve gotten more creative with less, cutie.”

  That sounds vaguely threatening.

  “Hey! I was still talking to you.”

  I don’t even bother to look at the idiot. “I’m also married. I can’t do anything that might piss her off.”

  Alana raises her palms, then turns her hands, showing off her lack of a ring when Sway looks at her. “Not me. And yeah, you don’t want to piss off Kii. She’s got to approve the people pulling down Lou’s pants.”

  I turn to her with a raised brow. “People? Not ladies?”

  She shrugs. “I’m thinking lady is less of a hard requirement than lady-shaped.” She pointedly looks at Sway’s lower half. “Maybe even partially lady-shaped.”

  I…can’t confidently deny that.

  Sway licks her lips. “And if I promise no clothes will be moved?”

  “Stop ignoring, you disgusting perverts!”

  I ignore him. “And your hands stay out of them.”

  Ugh. It is so unfair when large women pout. Someone nearly twice my height has no right making cute expressions. But it’s disappears when I remain unmoved; she whoops and takes off, sprinting, or is it galloping, away at a speed that makes a whole lot less confident about my speed. I might be able to pull ahead but it’d be close. She’s fast.

  With nothing to do but wait, I lean against the shed and slide to the ground, unbothered by the dirt staining my outfit. Alana moves to stand beside me; there’s no way she’d really relax with enemies in striking range, even if they don’t count as threats.

  “You’re mad,” Angry Son mutters, gaze bouncing between us. “What is wrong with you?”

  I stare up at him questioningly. “Nothing? Things are going better than I thought.”

  “I just told you you’re making enemies of the Hall. Of Dunwayne. Of dozens of master casters. Do you have a death wish?”

  It’s so sad, I can’t even laugh. “About that. It’s not going to go the way you think it is. They don’t want anything to do with me. Saints, you’ll be lucky if your messenger isn’t the one thrown off the wall.”

  “We haven’t hurt anything but your walls,” Alana scoffs. “They’re not going to be the ones to escalate.”

  “We’ll see,” he pronounces with the most undeserved confidence I’ve ever seen.

  Time passes, the sun casually making its way to the horizon. Spells do not rain from on high. An irate hero doesn’t appear to denounce us. Who does appear? An energetic Sway, leading our carriage and the two horses pulling it, looking quite pleased with herself.

  “Your kin, cutie,” she says, giving me a look that would make me replace my skin if a man directed it at me. “Fed and watered. Brought some rope too.”

  Thoughtful and thorough. I push to my feet and pat the creatures’ neck, ruffling their hair. Then I step towards her. “Deal’s a deal.”

  She wastes no time, grabbing me under the arms and lifting me until our eyes are level. The gesture takes me back to my childhood, the Ironcast brothers lifting me up and tossing me between them. Those heartwarming thoughts are pushed aside by the tongue that boorishly moves past my lips. I shut my eyes as I respond; without the horse half to confuse me, my feelings about this situation are a lot less confusion. She’s just a woman enthusiastically kissing me.

  Really…enthusiastically…

  …

  Is she going to stop?

  A gentle tug on her curls does nothing to slow her down. I bite down on eager muscle making itself at home in my mouth; that only makes the pervert moan. I have to force our lips apart.

  “You taste like wind and desire,” she sighs, looking at me the way others look at Geneva’s cooking.

  “Thanks? You going to let me down?”

  She does so reluctantly. “It’s almost enough to make me wish I walked the path a little slower. Go on, take away your treasure before I am tempted to take you.” She turns me around and slaps my backside. Her smirk tells me she probably meant to follow that with some kind of witty remark, but the expression collapses into confused wonder as she stares at her palm.

  I escape before she recovers, pulling the carriage forward and turning it so the back is facing the shed. Alana pushes off the wall and grabs the bundles of rope on the back.

  “Didn’t think I’d ever meet someone hornier than you.”

  “She makes me look shy.”

  “Would you, you know.”

  “I…maybe? With enough shroom juice in me.”

  “How?”

  “Ooze.”

  “Ah. That’s…” She flushes.

  “Pervert.”

  “You don’t get to say that. You suggested it!”

  “Yeah, but you imagined it.”

  She slaps my shoulder and hides her blush by crawling into the ancient hole of treasure, pulling out polearms a handful at a time. The two of us make short work of the cache, packing it onto the carriage in minutes.

  Just as it looks like we’ll be able to leave without issue, a robed figure steps out of the Lou-shaped hole in the back wall of the house. A familiar redhead. Damn crazy Victorians. Is there no titan they won’t throw themselves in front of?

  “Alyssa,” I greet, doing my best to inject cheer into my tone.

  She doesn’t sneer. She doesn’t grimace. Her lips just press down even more; all traces of her usual aggressive passion are buried under a bone-deep weariness that spills from her eyes as she looks at me.

  “Hey, Lou.”