Chapter 7: Romza Crimzane
Crosus meets Romza once again and trades a few choice words with her. Romza sends a warning to those that would mean Crosus harm.
Adlos wished he was honest with Lilia when he told her that Crosus would hear nothing of what happened in the library depths. She'd begged and pleaded to the point that tears rimmed her eyes.
Honor won out in the end, and now Crosus paced in the living room as he knotted a hand in his white-frosted hair. "You're sure it was magic?" Crosus exclaimed, "a voice? Is there anything else?"
To his credit, Crosus had waited until after the story was done to begin the interrogation.
"Nothing. Whatever Lilia saw or heard, I didn't."
"She's not allowed to the library alone after this."
"I know."
Crosus slumped down next to Adlos, sinking into the couch as he leaned his head off the back, glaring at the ceiling. "I have work in thirty minutes."
"I know that, too."
There was something that Adlos didn't know. And it was about time Crosus finally told someone about the nightmares. He carefully laid them out, explaining the recurring three visions he always had.
First, the campfire talk, then his death, and finally the vision of the man calling for him.
Both boys understood the implication if Lilia's experience was anything to go by. If Crosus was correct in his assumptions, that man in the vision wasn't just calling to him, but to his sister, too.
"I think you should tell Nikolai what's happening. If anyone knows what's with all this magic shit, it's him," Adlos proposed.
That may be a good idea. Crosus sighed and nodded with tepid contemplation as his fingers picked at the arm of the couch until he hauled himself up and rolled his neck, ridding away all the pops and cracks. "I will."
Though right now, Crosus had to leave for work.
Crosus reached the Tipsy Tiller ten minutes early from how fast he walked.
Well, at least he could turn his brain off, complete his shift, clean up, lock up, and go home. I can anticipate that, he thought hopefully as he opened the door and welcomed the smell of booze and drunkards, the gold lantern light warming his face.
His hopes were dashed to the stones, though, when he saw who sat smack-dab at the middle of the counter, her platinum braid gleaming in the light as she bent over a bottle and glass.
Romza Crimzane.
Crosus must have looked downright peeved as he passed the tables filled with bounty hunters, laborers, and gamblers, seeing as they all shot him that same "what's he got to be pissed about?" look.
Crosus caught the keys his day-shift counterpart chucked at him and clocked in, donning his bartend garb and brushing his hair back.
"You seem familiar. Have we met before?" Crosus joked as he took his place behind the counter.
Romza looked up from her glass with a spark of recognition. Crosus didn't know what to make of the fact that she remembered him over a week after their initial meeting, however, she seemed as full of piss and vinegar as ever.
"Your hair seems whiter," Romza scoffed back, jerking her pointed chin in greeting.
The smile Crosus returned was nearly leering.
A group of gamblers called him to deliver a tray of beers and he left Romza to stew as he made the orders and chatted the gamblers up–ignoring the poorly hidden cards poking out some of their sleeves.
Why did Crosus have the feeling a barfight was spoiling to be made?
Upon returning to the counter, Romza swirled her bottle, took a swig from it, and said, "so what did you use the Coin for?"
Ah. The gold coin Romza left him.
Placing his hands on the counter and authoritatively squaring his shoulders, Crosus replied, "I gave it to my sister. She likes to read, and you wouldn't believe the cost of books once they start piling up."
"And she didn't buy the whole damn store?"
Crosus snorted through his teeth. If Lilia could have, she would have–he knew that much. "Actually, she hasn't used it yet. I'm hoping she'll spend it wisely."
The impassive nod he earned from Romza didn't key him to what went on in that head. Not in the slightest bit.
Instead, Romza's black hues wandered to the dark scabs on Crosus' forearm, where the indents of the stitches and the stain of that Void's claws marred his ruddy skin.
With no attempt to hide it, Crosus said, "you're not the only one that hunts."
"You're seventeen. You shouldn't even be thinking about Void hunting," Romza warned, pinning him with a surprisingly perturbed gaze. "Especially if you have family to come home to, Crosus."
He didn't like that. He didn't like how personal Romza sounded as she stared at him.
Crosus glared. "That monster was a farmer who slaughtered his wife and three children. Would you rather I let him live as a beast?"
"Don't think you can derail me that easily."
It wasn't every day someone could catch Crosus' tact as it worked to change the direction away from an argument. If Crosus hadn't been so intrinsically irritated by Romza's presence he'd be impressed.
Romza poured herself a drink and swigged it. "I hunt Void for a living," she said simply, "I'm well known for it. Ever heard of the ‘Ace of Spades’?"
The title was familiar, Crosus mused. Something he'd likely heard in this tavern as a whisper amongst Coin and poker chips.
That face as sharp as a razor blade fixed in a bored expression as Romza spoke. "There's a hierarchy to the Tri-Bounty Commission. Three Bounty Lords; commissioners and law enforcers, respected by all. They're the best friends you can have on this damn continent, and the worst of enemies."
"I didn't know the Tri-Commission had laws," Crosus scoffed.
Romza quickly amended, "fine–recommendations. Now shut up."
Crosus rolled his eyes.
The platinum-haired merc ignored it and continued. "Then there's the Ceathrar. The top five bounty hunters, one for each sect or recognized trade in the commission. Each Ceathrar is given a moniker in the form of a poker card."
Wait. What? That would mean-
"Yes," Romza confirmed, smiling wolfishly.
Crosus gawked. "You're a Ceathrar."
"Romza Crimzane, Ace of Spades, at your service." With that, Romza tipped her head back and drained the last of her booze, slapping the bottle down with a loud clunk that snapped Crosus from his stupor. This woman in front of him was practically criminal royalty.
"... What are you doing in Anthropa?"
"I told you. Extended stay."
"I want to know more."
"Why?" Romza's eyes glinted. Why should I tell you?
"... I want to keep Lilia out of it," Crosus confessed. "If I can."
He had no way of knowing if this merc had even a shred of sympathy to spare, considering she killed to pay bar tabs, yet if she did then surely she could spare it for a big brother?
"... I'm trying to see if an old friend is alive," Romza answered.
Crosus' eyes narrowed curiously, though he predicted he wouldn't glean a name if Romza hadn't bothered to speak it. He instead asked, "are there places a thirteen-year-old and her big brother should avoid?"
Romza shrugged and said, "keep out of the Underbelly."
No. Shit.
Before Crosus could press for more, another table called for a round of beers.
Romza Crimzane was grateful she'd decided to show herself again.
Not thirty minutes in, she'd affirmed exactly what she needed to know, at least where the Woodcrofts and their guardian were concerned. That boy had a good head on his shoulders, too. Good.
He'd need it.
Although, Romza wished she hadn't finished her liquor so soon. She lost the guise of being here to drink, and sadly, she hadn't withdrawn enough from her coffers after her earlier expenditure.
That gold coin, though, wasn’t a waste judging by how loose-lipped Crosus was this time. And he didn't go running for the hills after learning who she was.
She watched him while he did his job. His movements were deft and his smile a natural bribe to drunkards to stay for another shot or two. He seemed to belong in the bronzing candlelight as he wove between rickety tables while carrying a tray piled high with fizzy pints. His hair was like a deep red wine, with strands of white fire hidden until the light caught. Those silver eyes of his shone like stars. Judging from his lean muscle, he'd been hunting Void for some time now.
Many thoughts ran through Romza's mind during her observation. Most of them left too fast for her to remember them, and those that stayed, she didn't want to think about.
Damn it.
Romza wished she hadn't drunk all of her liquor yet.
Just to be sure, she dug deep into her coin pouch, hoping to scrounge enough for at least a few glasses. She found a wad of lint.
Crosus returned to the bar and cast her yet another wary look he thought she wouldn't notice.
"... Have you noticed changes in Void activity in the Forest of Zerkos?" Romza asked, kicking the leg of her crumbling barstool as she watched Crosus count off the balance of the tips he'd made.
Crosus pursed his lips, those starry eyes looking at her with a hint of suspicion. Why should I tell you?
She deserved that much, she supposed. "I'm a Void hunter. And if I'm being entirely honest, I've been spoiling for a fight."
"And you chide me for hunting Void?"
"Just answer the question." Bile almost coated her tongue as she added viscerally, "please."
She wanted to smack him for even taking a moment to consider her request. He said, "they've been grouping up as of late. A friend and I hunt every other week, and the Void are getting more aggressive."
"What about numbers?"
"Increasing."
Romza knew what she would be doing for the next couple of days. The idea of going on a "forest jaunt" made the steel in her blood whisper in anticipation.
Judging by the sharpened look from the bartender, he was onto her. She merely sent a leering smirk, laying herself across the surface of the bartop, hanging her hands off the end with feline grace.
Then she sobered up a fraction and said, "it's worse up north, closer to Velizem."
Velizem. The nation of shadows, where the Void originated. Most didn't dare speak its name, deeming it a curse, and judging by how taut Crosus' jaw became, he may be one such believer in that nonsense.
"Void cross the borders and spread their blight," Romza grumbled, feeling herself grimace. "Though no nation likes admitting it, if it weren't for the East and West Bounty Commissions and us mercs, Void would be running even more rampant than they already do."
"What about the Shadow Bounty?" Crosus countered.
A stain on the bounty commission, in Romza's opinion. Cohorts and kowtows to Velizem's king. Code breakers, murderers, and worse. An entire third of the Tri-Commission, filled with the world's sickest individuals.
Unable to hide the snarl in her tone and the black fire in her eye, Romza said through her teeth, "scum."
"... On that, we can agree." The look Crosus gave her softened before he glanced away.
There was too much to do and not enough time to do it Romza realized. There was too much to say, not enough in the way of words.
Just when she sat straight and opened her mouth, a bottle of Everclear scraped across the countertop, and she caught it at the very edge before it would have toppled and shattered on the floor. Crosus’ eyes flickered as he mumbled, "on the house."
Romza deadpanned and said, "you want something. Getting me drunk won't get it for you."
"... I do have a question." Crosus' lips thinned. "If you'll have it."
"Ask."
"... What do you do when you're afraid?"
Romza understood almost immediately. She had noticed it the first time she saw Crosus; how pale his skin was, save for the dark circles around his eyes. A haunted look sometimes surfaced on his face when he thought nobody saw. A glimpse of whatever kept him awake at night.
She knew that feeling all too well.
Crosus must have thought that a bounty hunter like her would have faced enough to know how to stand against such terrors. In some ways, he was correct.
Romza popped the cork on her Everclear and drank long and deep, appreciating the burn in her throat spreading through her veins like wildfire.
"I fight. I've found that steel is the bane of fear."
"What if it can't be cut down or killed?" Crosus pushed, and Romza could swear she heard the desperation in his tenor.
It almost saddened her, to think that this boy was so young and already so haunted. The best she could do was hand down wisdom an old friend had once gifted her. "I'm not just talking about a sword, Crosus. Swords can break. But a steel will cannot falter, even against the darkest shadows."
She wasn't blind to the shudder that went through Crosus' body as he held her gaze. Perhaps it wasn't the answer he wanted, though it was the best she could give.
Silence pervaded the space between them as he split away first, walking around the counter, collecting all the used pints, mugs, and glasses from the other tables, and escaping to the washroom.
Away from Romza.
She let him.
Sliding off the too-tall barstool, Romza stalked past leering male stares and slumped on a booth in the far corner, hiding and pretending to ignore Crosus when he came back out.
He found her and visibly relaxed when he realized she'd let him alone.
It wasn't long before something in the bar changed, starting with the poker game near the center of the venue taking a turn as one man roared at another in fury. Tension pulled taut, though Crosus kept an eye on the table for future reference.
As did Romza.
The afternoon light outside the fogged windows dimmed, and turned violet, blue… and finally black. Romza spared small sips from her bottle to chase away the building headache.
As warm as the liquor lay under her skin, the air felt cold.
Crosus had transported another tray of pints to the poker table. Every gruff bastard there was red in the face, drunk to the nines. Once again, louder than before, one man leaped to his feet and spat, "cheater! You weighed the damn dice!"
The man who yelled was a brute of chorded muscle, his skin dirty, beard matted with rotting food and alcohol, his eyes beady and dumb.
Crosus was already circling the counter as Romza grazed her hand across the leather of her favorite dagger instinctively, that steel in her veins singing again.
"Break it up," Crosus ordered, stepping between one man and the next, strategically breaking eye contact to stop the fight. "If you're that bothered, exempt the bet and start over. I have a spare poker set under the bar counter with unused dice."
The meaner of the two men–the one who yelled–sneered down at him. "Fuck off, boy."
Those silver eyes flashed as Crosus curled his fists and squared his shoulders. He glanced between both men and said professionally, "both of you, please sit down. Fights aren't allowed on the premises."
The brute swung. At Crosus, no less, for daring to keep the peace.
Quick as a wink, Crosus ducked, wrapped his arm around the junction of the man's wrist and thumb, and twisted. The drunk roared in pain all the way to the front door that Crosus shoved open.
He threw the man out, patted his hands, and slid out of the way as he shot a chilling look at the other poker players and said, "either settle down or get out."
The other men sank back to their seats with grumbles and glares.
Impressive, Romza thought.
Right that moment, the man Crosus had thrown out shouted from the street, "damned whiteblood! You'll be sleeping in the gutter tonight!"
Crosus paid no mind, slammed the door shut, and returned to the counter, Romza choked the neck of her bottle.
Whiteblood.
Not bothering to be subtle, she strode outside and hopped off the Tipsy Tiller's porch, scanning the cracked cobblestone road and sparse crowds wandering the night streets for that man.
She glimpsed him turning off into a street on her right.
Gripping her dagger, Romza yanked her hood over her head and stalked him, keeping to the shadows as nothing more than a whisper.
Romza didn't even bother to wait for the shit stain to reach the Underbelly proper before she attacked him. In a flurry of movements, she slammed him into the shadows of an alley and flipped him so hard he couldn't breathe, let alone scream.
With a blade against his throat and a boot pinning his ribs, everything paused as darkness walled them off in the hidden squalor.
The fear in his beady eyes. Romza relished it, knowing how she looked, her hood obscuring her face in shadow as her ragged clothes made her naught but a withering wraith.
"Don't kill me-" the man begged as he pissed himself.
All she gave was a scoff as she moved her knife to slice down his shirt. As expected, a tattoo splayed across his pectorals, depicting an eclipse held in the palm of a chained hand.
Velizem's coat of arms.
"You should watch your tongue," said Romza, feeling the tenor of her voice rake her throat like hot coals. "Not many know the term of "whiteblood", though enough do to label you a gods-damned traitor."
The blood drained from the drunkard's face as he writhed underneath Romza. Pressing steel on his jugular made him still as she flipped off her hood and let him suffer with the knowledge of who he’d tangled with.
"Who do you work for?" Romza demanded.
The man shook his head, eyes bulging as the blade pressed harder against the flesh, drawing up a small trail of red. "He'll kill me-!"
"I'll kill you. However, you get to choose if it happens quickly, or if I get to skin you alive and make you eat your cock first."
As if a single brain cell with intelligence was finally doing its job, the man looked at the knife on his throat fearfully and said, "he didn't give a name. He looked like you."
Shit.
Shit.
"Is he here?" Romza asked as she kept her voice level against the quake of her chest at the revelation. If he was here, then things were worse than she thought.
The man shook his head. Romza flicked her wrist, shredding a strip of skin. The man screamed, "Yes! Yes, please–"
"You're pathetic." Romza shoved herself off him with a grimace. He rolled over, choking on air. When he reached his knees, she grabbed the back of his neck and wrenched his face to look at hers as she spoke.
"You tell him this," Romza snarled, "that boy is safe. That Romza Crimzane stakes her claim on that boy's life, and if anyone kills him, I will hunt down and slaughter every fucking shadow hunter in this city. If you make an enemy of that silver-eyed boy, you make an enemy of me."
The man scrambled through the alley's putrid-smelling rubbish and rot when she freed him. She saw his eyes glint as he viewed what came up behind her. Heavy footsteps filled the air.
Four–no–five. The poker friends from before judging by the body count and murmured scoffs they traded upon seeing Romza. The sound of steel ringing from sheaths bounced off the stone walls, and the looming figures crept into the narrow passage, languid, playful like cats.
"Who's the hunter now?" one scoffed behind Romza. "You're a pretty little bag o’ holes, too. Maybe we'll have some fun with you, first."
Well, Romza thought, I had been spoiling for a fight anyway. Eyes dark as an abyss, Romza's fingers furled up as she said, "... it only takes one man to deliver a message, doesn't it?"
She waited for one of them to make the mistake of attacking her. And when one did, he barely saw the shine of steel before his head rolled in a spray of red mist that splattered the alley walls
Two more died after that, with daggers through their eyes while Romza pounced on the fourth. He opened his mouth to scream, Romza hooked her fingers past his teeth, the viscous muscle of his mouth making her cringe as she pivoted her body weight to throw him against the fifth.
They collided in a mess of limbs while Romza stalked toward them.
She crunched her heel down on the throat of one while she drove her last blade into the chest of the other.
That had been nothing. Romza hadn't even broken a sweat, and all five were dead, while the man she'd originally accosted quivered in the back of the alley, praying to gods that had forsaken him long ago.
Romza pulled her hood back over her head, retrieved all her blades, and strolled out of the alley, hands in her pockets to hide the blood on them.
The smell and taste of iron followed like a trail of death as the mercenary returned to the Tipsy Tiller and hid in the shadows of an alley across the cobbled path. Drunkards left the establishment as the night wore on.
It was the witching hour when Romza saw the boy she'd been waiting for come out and lock the tavern door after his shift.
Keeping a distance, Romza followed Crosus home, a hand on her sharpest blade as she patrolled his wake. Not a single step out of place to reveal he was being followed, not a sound or glimpse. Bitterness welled in her heart, to think he was so unaware not to notice her. If it were someone else… However, another part of her was grateful that a shred of innocence remained to be found, though it did not belong to her.
Crosus reached the humble home he belonged to, and even Romza felt her nerves settle as the house looked back at her. He arrived at the squeaky garden gate that murmured in greeting, then the sage green front door. He walked through it, closed it, and disappeared from view.
For safety's sake, Romza stayed, hidden in the darkest corners of Anthropa's squalors, until the first ray of sunlight struck the East horizon and stained the spires coral and pink.
Satisfied. Romza sheathed her steel and disappeared.
As nothing more than a shadow.