Throne of Ash and Blood

Chapter 9 Ghost in My Hands

The four of them staggered back into Soilus by dusk, mud on their boots and the stench of wolf spider blood clinging stubbornly to their gear. The streets were already alive with noise—street vendors shouting their wares, sailors calling to one another from the docks, and the drunken clamor of taverns spilling out into the alleyways.

Inside The Red Oar, the party collected their payment from the guild clerk. Heavy pouches clinked as they were placed on the counter—150 silver in total, split evenly between them.

It wasn’t nearly enough to buy passage to Oren unnoticed… but it was one more step closer.

They celebrated, each in their own way.

Salish wasted no time drifting toward a group of merchant guards, her black hair catching the lamplight as she leaned in close to whisper something that made all three men laugh nervously. Her tail, hidden a moment ago, flicked lazily behind her—just enough to brush against one man’s thigh.

Throkreat bellowed in laughter across the room, already on his third tankard, locked in a drinking contest with a pair of towering bear-breed beastmen. Coins clinked on the table as wagers were made, the dwarf’s cheeks red but his eyes sharp.

Thomme sat in the corner with a small ledger, his holy insignia catching the light as he counted their earnings again. His lips moved in silent calculation, and the faint furrow in his brow said he didn’t like how far they still had to go.

Alphonse… drifted.

He sat at the bar, fingers curled around a mug he hadn’t touched, his gaze wandering until it caught on a figure across the room.

She was leaning against a post, watching the room with half-lidded eyes, the dim lanterns painting her grey fur in soft silver. Wolf breed. The sharp line of her jaw, the sleek curve of her tail, the subtle strength in her posture—it all snagged at something in him.

Bright hazel eyes met his. She tilted her head, a slow smile tugging at her lips, then pushed off the post and walked toward him. Her steps were unhurried, deliberate.

"You like what you see?" she asked, her voice warm and teasing.

Alphonse didn’t bother with charm. "How much?"

Her smile deepened. "Ten bronze for a rub and tug, twenty-five for a suck, one-fifty for a fuck." She leaned in close, her breath brushing his ear. "One silver for whatever you want."

He reached into his pouch and let a silver coin clink into her palm.

The coin vanished into her belt. Without another word, she slid her fingers through his and led him toward the back hallway. The noise of the tavern faded as they slipped into a small, dim-lit room.

She moved to face him, but he caught her wrist. "Don’t speak," he said quietly. "And don’t look at me."

Her ears flicked in surprise, but she nodded. She slid her dress off her shoulders letting it pool by her feet and turned around crawling on her hands and knees on the bed.

What followed was a blur of heat, breath, and skin—his hands at her hips, the press of her body against him, the creak of the bedframe as they moved. His eyes stayed shut, the shape in his mind shifting. The fur beneath his fingertips wasn’t grey—it was white, impossibly soft. The faint brush along his chest wasn’t her tail—it was someone else. Her airy gasps and moans not her, but someone else.

"Emiko…" he breathed, the name escaping before he could stop it.

When it was over, he dressed quickly, pulling his shirt over his head as she lay across the bed, stretching like a cat in a sunbeam.

"Who’s Emiko?" she asked, voice still honeyed. "Ex-girlfriend of yours?"

His jaw tightened. "No. It’s… more complicated than that."

She sat up, one brow raised. "Ah. Someone you weren’t supposed to have."

He tugged his boots on, harder than necessary. "Doesn’t matter anymore. She’s dead."

Her ears flattened. "I didn’t—"

But the door was already swinging shut behind him.

The cold night hit him like a slap.

The tavern door swung shut behind him, muting the laughter and music, leaving only the hiss of the wind through the narrow street. Lanterns swayed overhead, their flames trembling in the gusts, throwing jagged shadows across the cobblestones.

Alphonse stood still for a long moment, his breath steaming in the air. He could still smell her—not Emiko, but the girl from the room—cheap perfume, tavern smoke, and something faintly metallic from the spider hunt earlier. But in his head, the scent he wanted was fox fur in the sweet, wild and clean.

He pressed a hand against the wall, curling his fingers into the rough stone. His jaw worked, but no sound came at first.

Six years. Six years of imagining her alive somewhere, of telling himself she was too clever, too fast, too stubborn to be gone. But each day that hope rotted a little more. Now… it was almost a sickness. Seeing her in strangers. Hearing her voice in a crowd that didn’t call his name.

His chest ached, tight and burning.

“You should’ve been here,” he whispered to the empty street, but his voice cracked halfway through.

A drop hit the cobblestones between his boots, and for a moment he wasn’t sure if it was from the sky or from him.

He dragged his sleeve across his face, swallowed the lump in his throat, and forced his breathing even. By the time the tavern door opened again and Throkreat’s drunken roar echoed into the street, Alphonse’s expression was iron again.

The others didn’t need to see this.

The next morning, the table was cluttered with half-empty mugs, crumbs of bread, and the smell of strong coffee trying to fight off the sour haze of the night before. Alphonse sat at the far end, leaning back in his chair, arms folded, letting the others talk.

Thomme was the first to break the quiet. “We’re still about two hundred silver short,” he said flatly, setting down a small leather pouch that clinked far too softly for anyone’s liking. “At the pace we’re going, we’ll be stuck here for another month.”

Throkreat groaned and tipped his chair back dangerously. “A month in this place? I’d rather rip my own beard off.”

Before anyone could answer, Salish sauntered in, wearing yesterday’s smirk like a badge of honor. Her hair was tousled, her blouse hanging loose off one shoulder, and her stride screamed I know something you don’t. She stopped at the table, planted her hands on her hips, and grinned like she’d just rolled the perfect set of dice.

“Boys,” she purred, “I’ve got just the job.”

Four sets of eyes lifted to her.

She took her time before continuing, dragging a chair over and sitting on it backward. “So… while I was having my fun with that group of men I met last night—”

“Fun?” Throkreat smirked knowingly.

“Group s*x,” she clarified shamelessly, “Anyway… in between making them see gods, I got a bit of information out of one of them. Seems there’s a very high-paying job going around.”

Throkreat leaned forward. “High-paying how?”

Salish’s grin sharpened. “Enough to get us the coin we need and then some. It’s a transport job. All we’ve got to do is move someone from Soilus to Juno.”

Alphonse frowned. “Juno? That’s a long way across the Barron.”

“Mm-hm,” Salish hummed, taking a sip of Thomme’s ale without asking. “Oasis in the middle of nowhere, everything costs twice as much because it’s the only speck of water and supplies for miles. We get them there safe, we get paid on arrival.”

Thomme’s brow furrowed. “Why such a big payout for a simple escort? That doesn’t smell right.”

Salish just shrugged and downed the rest of his drink. “No idea. Didn’t ask. Didn’t care. They’ve got the coin, we need the coin. You want to sit here and count coppers until your hair goes gray, or do you want to be on a ship to Oren by next week?”

The table went quiet for a beat. Then Alphonse spoke. “We’ll take it.”

Salish’s smile widened. “Knew you’d see it my way.”