Chapter 9 Jysarra 🌙

Jysarra led the way through the secret exit, keeping a few strides ahead of Kyra. She couldn’t face her. Kyra hadn’t said a word since Jysarra had rebuked her.

All you know how to do is hurt people.

Her jaw tightened. Jysarra braced a hand against the wall as she descended the stone staircase. Her head was pounding.

They exited into the alley behind the House of Earthly Delights. The moon hung overhead, full and bright. Jysarra mumbled something about staying out of sight and walked off around the corner of the building. She reappeared several minutes later with her sword strapped to her belt and Kyra’s bow and quiver in hand. Kyra took them without a word, her hand lingering on Jysarra’s for a moment too long. Her eyes caught Jysarra’s and held. Jysarra exhaled, her lips pulling into a thin line, and turned away from Kyra again.

The Nightingale was all that mattered now. Find Mairen. Kill the Faceless. Forget this ever happened and disappear all over again. She stepped out of the alley, Kyra’s footfalls following close behind. Each one broke through the silence, steady and unavoidable.

You’re nothing more than a weapon.

Her chest tightened.

It’s all I was to you.

They hadn’t made it a block before Jysarra stopped. She leaned against a building and pinched the bridge of her nose. The pressure built. Sharp. Insistent. Too loud. Gods, the noise. Her eyes snapped shut as if that might quiet it. Then, a touch light as a feather on her hand. Jysarra stilled. Her eyes flew open, locking onto the point of contact. Kyra’s hand rested over hers.

“Are you all right?”

Those words cut through the noise. Not just cut through it, silenced it. Jysarra felt the tension drain from her body, even as something sharper sparked at every point Kyra touched her. She swallowed and looked over.

“It’s nothing.”

Kyra’s fingers wrapped around Jysarra’s and gave a gentle squeeze.

“If this is about what happened upstairs–”

Jysarra’s gaze dropped.

“It’s not.”

Kyra’s hand settled under Jysarra’s chin and lifted it.

“I was going to say that, if it is, it’s all right. And you don’t have to explain.”

Why is she being so kind?

“We should keep moving. This is not the place to linger.”

Despite the shuttered windows and closed doors, the street never felt empty. Kyra’s hand slipped from hers and she felt the absence of that warmth immediately. They started down the street once again, side by side now. The darkness pressed in this far out, streetlamps and wall lanterns being scarce. Kyra caught her foot on a loose stone, stumbling before she caught herself. Jysarra reached for her.

“Take my hand.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need a moment to acclimate to the darkness.”

Jysarra rolled her eyes and took hold of Kyra’s hand. Her breath caught.

“I can’t have you stumbling around in the dark. You’ll alert the entire district at this rate.”

A few minutes later, they reached the Nightingale. Two torches burned low on opposite sides of the only door. The building itself was nondescript save for the obvious signs of upkeep compared to its neighbors. Nothing about it suggested what it was. A stone foundation gave way to wooden walls. Windows on the first floor were shuttered and those few on the second floor were blacked out.

Jysarra glanced down both ends of the street. No one. She took a step toward the door, but Kyra tugged her by the hand.

“What are you doing? We can’t just go in through the front door.”

“Why not?”

Kyra shook her head. “We lose the element of surprise.”

“We’re past stealth and surprise, sunshine. Our problem is through that door.”

She tried taking another step, but Kyra’s grip was firm.

“Can we at least have a plan? Do we even know what’s inside? Or who?”

Jysarra smirked.

“The plan is I walk through that door and if anyone inside has issue with that, well…”

Her hand settled on the hilt of her sword.

“That’s a shit plan.”

Jysarra’s hand slipped from Kyra’s and she took a few steps backward into the street.

“You say that because you’ve never seen a sword dancer.”

Kyra started after her, muttering under her breath. Jysarra turned. They crossed the street in a few quick strides. She began digging in her pouch for a lockpick, but then thought back to the warehouse. She tried the door and, to her surprise, it opened into a small entryway lit by two torches on opposite sides of the door. A plain wooden bench was set against the wall to her right, and a row of empty coat hooks were to her left. The space was clean. Undisturbed.

Jysarra pulled one of the torches free and handed it to Kyra. She pushed open the reinforced door and they stepped into a moderately sized rectangular space. It gave every appearance of a business office. Several desks were scattered around the room, neat stacks of parchment, ink pots, quills. Kyra studied each desk – the placement of the chairs, the spacing, everything.

“It’s too perfect. The ink pots are unclotted, quills unused, all the ledgers and documents are gibberish.”

“Like someone’s memory of a workplace, not a real one.”

Jysarra slipped into the side office. It was the same. A single desk, a few shelves and boxes filled with meaningless items. A map of Laurentia hung on the wall behind the desk, common trade routes marked. One of the desk drawers was locked, but easily picked. Inside was nothing. Not even a false bottom.

“Jysarra.”

Kyra’s voice floated from somewhere out of sight. Jysarra followed it to a windowless back corridor that ended abruptly.

“This wall’s off.”

Jysarra raised an eyebrow.

“It stops short. From the doorway to the wall is fifteen paces. In the great room, it’s twenty.”

Jysarra ran her hands along the wall.

“Would you show me what you’re looking for?”

Jysarra hesitated, then stepped in behind her.

“Fine. Pay attention.”

Her hands closed over Kyra’s, guiding them to the wall.

“Don’t look. Feel for it.”

She moved Kyra’s hands slowly along the stone, fingertips brushing over seams and shallow grooves.

“Anything that doesn’t belong.”

Kyra went still. Jysarra was close – closer than she needed to be. The line of her body along Kyra’s back, the warmth of her breath just behind her ear.

“Like this,” Jysarra murmured, adjusting her grip, shifting Kyra’s hand slightly higher.

Kyra swallowed.

Her fingers traced along the wood, slower now. More deliberate.

“Stop.”

Jysarra’s hands tightened over hers.

“Right there.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Kyra pressed. A hidden door drifted open with a soft click. She turned her head, just slightly. Their lips were inches apart.

“T-thank you,” Kyra said, a touch too quickly.

An obvious blush came over Kyra, but heat rose in Jysarra’s face as well. This girl – fiery hair, gemstone-bright eyes shaped like almonds, that attitude – was maddening. The kind that made her want to slap her. Or kiss her.

Jysarra shook the thought away and stepped back.

“You're welcome.”

Kyra pushed the door open. A stone stairwell descended into complete darkness. Jysarra stepped past Kyra and padded down the stairs. Kyra followed, the torch held out before her. The air grew colder with each step. Jysarra’s foot touched the stone at the base of the stairs. A soft chime answered, faint, almost delicate. She froze.

“What was that?”

Kyra stepped down beside her. The sound came again. Not loud. Not sharp. Just… wrong. Kyra lowered the torch. The floor was set with small, dark tiles, each one etched, fitted with unnatural precision. At first it looked like nothing more than a pattern. Then it shifted. Not truly, but enough that her eyes struggled to settle on it. Wings. Dozens. No. Hundreds. Layered, overlapping, all angled just slightly differently. Every step drew another quiet note from beneath their feet. Not quite music. Not quite noise. A chorus trying to be something more.

Jysarra’s jaw tightened.

“A nightingale floor,” Kyra said quietly. “Used in Xi’An to guard against intruders.”

The door up the stairwell slammed shut, bathing them in complete darkness save for the torch Kyra carried. Stone scraped against stone, the sound filling the chamber. Jysarra and Kyra both winced. A pillar of moonlight pierced through the black at the opposite end of the chamber. It illuminated a steel cage and someone within it. Jysarra swallowed hard.

“I think we’ve walked into a trap.”

“I told you it was a shit plan.”

They started walking toward the cage, the chimes echoing through the room. Another sound cut in. It was faint, almost imperceptible amid the din from the tiles. A whistle.

“Well, look what the kitten dragged in with her. The ghost in the darkness.”

Jysarra went cold.

“Mairen.”

“That’s me!”

A figure dropped through the pillar of light onto the top of the cage—black skin, white hair streaked with blue, red eyes, a black leather bodice beneath torn scraps of blue and red that might once have been a skirt. Jysarra barely recognized her.

“Mairen… what happened to you?”

“What happened to me?” A shrill laugh echoed through the room. “You. You happened to me.”

Jysarra’s lip quivered. The chimes from the floor rang out, rising into a discordant chorus. Shapes resolved in the darkness – featureless faces, dozens, then hundreds. Kyra dropped the torch, pulled her bow from her back, and knocked an arrow.

“If I die here, I’m haunting you.”

Jysarra’s hand moved to the hilt of her sword.

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

The words carried a tremor. The sharp tap of metal on metal brought her attention back to Mairen who was tapping a narrow, cruel-looking dagger against the cage.

“You weren’t supposed to be here, Jessie. We only prepared dinner for one.”

Mairen dropped down to the floor and drove her heel into the cage. The figure in the cage flinched, shrinking back against the bars like a frightened animal.

“Time to wake up. Jessie, you remember our honored guest, don’t you?”

Slowly, it began to stir. It was a man dressed in rags. He had a mop of disheveled hair with a beard to match. The face was weathered, scarred, and weary.

“Ragnar,” Jysarra said.

He looked up at Jysarra eyes wide, pleading.

“Jysarra, what is going on?” Kyra asked.

Jysarra turned back to Kyra. She had every intent of reassuring her, but the words never came. Behind her Ragnar’s body seized, convulsing. Kyra’s grip tightened on her bow. Mairen snatched something from one of the masked figures and tossed it into the cage.

“That… that’s my jacket.”

Ragnar bent down and drew in a deep breath.

“Just letting him know who’s on the menu.”

Jysarra drew her sword and stepped between Kyra and the cage. Ragnar’s gaze fixed on Kyra, hungry. His skin grew taut and a growl rumbled out of him.

“Jysarra… Jysarra, what is happening?”

Kyra’s voice was shaking. Her breath came quick and shallow.

“He’s a werewolf.”

Ragnar snapped back and howled, long and loud, at the pillar of light. Bones snapped and reformed. Fur tore through his skin. A muzzle pushed from his face, claws splitting from his fingers. Mairen scrambled back up the cage and through the hole where the light was piercing through.

“After Ragnar has his snack you and I can finally have a proper reunion.”

The chimes rose again as the masked figures melted back into the darkness. Stone scraped against stone and the beam of moonlight disappeared, leaving only the faint light of Kyra’s torch. Jysarra closed her eyes for a moment, took a steadying breath, and opened them. The room was empty except for the three of them. Ragnar let loose a frenzied growl and slammed against the bars. A moment later, the cage tore apart.

Ragnar staggered forward, sniffing, and let loose a growl. Kyra shrank back and Jysarra brought her sword up. Ragnar snapped at it, his gaze shifting between the two of them. He lunged forward at Kyra. Jysarra stepped back, pivoted, and cut in a wide arc, catching him beneath the chin. A sharp cry of pain rang out and Ragnar slinked away into the darkness beyond the dying light of the torch. He stalked around them, snapping and growling. Jysarra turned with him, keeping herself between him and Kyra.

“Jysarra, I'm scared.”

“I know. I'm scared too.”

She turned towards Kyra as the light was fading.

“Kyra, look at me. No harm shall come to you while I draw breath.”

Kyra was shaking. A fierce, protective fury rose in Jysarra.

“Do you trust me?”

Kyra didn’t have time to answer. An angry howl echoed all around them followed closely by quick footsteps.

Jysarra’s hand slipped into her pouch and came away with a small silver mirror. She caught Kyra’s reflection in it for the briefest moment. Wide eyes. Torchlight flickering across her face. She drew a tight arc in the air from Kyra’s face to her heart.

“Ingen hand må röra dig.”

The words fell from her mouth like a silent command. The mirror flashed and something settled over Kyra. Not visible, not solid, but present.

“What was that?”

“A ward.”

The last embers of the torch went out and they were left in total darkness.

“Stay with me,” she murmured.

Kyra grabbed blindly before finding Jysarra. Jysarra caught her, arm wrapping tight around her waist, pulling her in against her side. Kyra’s next step faltered. Jysarra corrected it instantly, matching her, guiding her, keeping her anchored.

Claws scraped across stone. Heavy footfalls closed in. Breath, wet and hungry, filled the dark. Jysarra didn’t wait. She shifted her weight and drew Kyra with her, one smooth step back and aside as Ragnar lunged from the darkness.

Steel flashed. Jysarra’s blade shot forward, not to meet him, but to cut across his path. Ragnar’s claw slammed into it and glanced off. Jysarra didn’t resist. She turned with the force, letting it carry her arm through. The return cut came clean. A sharp line opened across Ragnar’s chest.

Kyra gasped. Jysarra tightened her hold and moved again, guiding her through a pivot that set them out of reach of his next swipe. Ragnar lunged for Kyra. He faltered. Something unseen caught him—his strike stuttered, twisted, failed to land.

Jysarra moved on the hesitation. She stepped through him, not away—turning her body between Ragnar and Kyra, pulling Kyra with her in a tight half-spin that left Ragnar striking empty air.

“Eyes on me,” Jysarra said.

Kyra barely managed a nod.

Ragnar snapped again, frustrated now, circling.

Jysarra moved with him.

Each step measured. Each turn deliberate. Kyra shifted when she shifted, turned when she turned, drawn through the motion like a partner who didn’t know the steps.

Another lunge. Jysarra dipped Kyra low, her arm firm at her back as claws tore through the space where her head had been. In the same motion, Jysarra rose, her blade cutting upward beneath Ragnar’s jaw.

He recoiled with a snarl. Jysarra didn’t pursue. She reset. One breath. One step. Always between him and Kyra.

Ragnar circled again, testing. Short snaps, feints, waiting for an opening. Jysarra turned with him, step for step, her body always angled between him and Kyra. Each retreat measured. Never rushed. Never blind.

“Stay behind me.”

Ragnar lunged. Jysarra was already moving. She slipped inside the strike, blade rising just enough to turn it aside. Not a block. A redirection. She pivoted through the motion, her return cut opening his side before he could recover.

He barely slowed. Another strike—faster this time. Jysarra stepped back, turned, cut again. Clean. Precise. He kept coming.

The rhythm broke. Ragnar roared, loud enough to rattle the stone, and surged forward in earnest, abandoning the feints. Jysarra gave ground, one step, then another, guiding Kyra back with her, never breaking the line between them. His claws tore through the space where she had been a heartbeat before. She turned with it, blade flashing. Cut. Turn. Slip. Each strike landed. None of them stopped him.

“Jysarra—”

“Stay with me.”

He drove forward again, heavier now, forcing her back faster now. Jysarra planted her foot, caught his next strike on the flat of her blade, and twisted with it, letting the force carry past her shoulder. Her counter came low, carving across his ribs.

Still he came.

Kyra stumbled. Her heel struck something that rang dull and wrong beneath the chime of the floor.

Iron.

She glanced down. A grate, half-set into the stone, its edges slick with damp. Beneath it, black water slid past in a slow, silent current. A sour smell rose up from below.

“Jysarra–”

Jysarra saw it. Good. She didn’t slow. Ragnar lunged again. Jysarra stepped into him this time, not away. Her blade snapped up, forcing his head aside as she turned through him, slipping past his reach and buying space. Her free hand rose.

“Vaka och stå.”

The words fell like a quiet command. Light gathered. Not sudden. Not violent. It took shape. A shape emerged between them and Ragnar. Tall, indistinct, its edges shifting like mist caught in moonlight. But the sword was real. The shield, too. The crescent and blade burned softly at its center.

The guardian held the space. Ragnar struck. The blow met something that did not yield. The impact rang out, deep and final. He recoiled with a snarl, circling now, uncertain.

Jysarra didn’t watch. She turned and crossed the distance to Kyra in three quick steps, dropping to one knee. Her sword slid between iron and stone with a hard scrape.

“Hold it,” she said.

She braced, then drove upward. The grate groaned. Didn’t give. Jysarra shifted her grip, set her weight, and forced it again—every muscle in her arm tightening as she pried against it. Behind her, steel rang out again as Ragnar tested the guardian. It held. For now.

The iron grate screamed as it finally gave way and lifted from the stone surrounding it. Jysarra and Kyra hauled it aside. Jysarra dipped her head into the opening, scanning both ways, and an orb of soft violet light sprang into being in the tunnel.

“In you go.”

Kyra slung her bow across her back and quickly lowered herself into the narrow opening. Light flared behind them, bright and sudden, then vanished. Jysarra didn’t hesitate. She pushed Kyra down, reached for her blade, but claws were already on her.

She screamed as pain tore through her. Warmth spread across her back, blood pouring from jagged cuts. Ragnar flipped her onto her back and raised a claw to strike again, but Jysarra drove her heel into his groin. He stumbled back and Jysarra scrambled away toward the opening. Her fingers clawed at the edge of the opening. The acrid stench of it filled her lungs – salvation, but Ragnar was upon her again. She turned onto her back, her head just next to the opening. One claw rose as Ragnar loomed over her, his eyes burning with fury. Jysarra took a breath, let her eyes flutter closed, and said a silent prayer to the Dark Dancer. A tear slipped free.

Then a whistle cut through the air. Ragnar howled in pain. Her eyes shot open. An arrow was embedded in his right eye.

“Jysarra!”

Kyra’s voice was thick with worry.

Jysarra forced herself to sit up. She grabbed the lip of the sewer and gave a swift pull. She dragged herself over the edge and dropped headfirst into the tunnel below. Her vision swam. Pain flared across her back, worse than she’d thought. She would deal with that later.

She felt a gentle hand on her cheek. Jysarra looked up at Kyra. Her face was tight with worry. Unshed tears welled in her eyes. Emeralds. Beautiful. Kyra pulled Jysarra’s arm over her shoulders and helped her to her feet. She squeezed Kyra’s hand and gave a weak smile.

“Are you okay?”

Jysarra didn’t answer.

Kyra’s grip tightened.

“Jysarra, look at me.”

Her head lolled.

Kyra’s breath caught.