"What are you?" Erin nearly fell out of his chair as the satyr woman leaned over and placed her face next to his, sniffing the air curiously. Her loose robes did nothing to prevent her otherwise naked breasts from flopping forward, and he ended up losing his balance as he leaned backwards.

He hit the ground with a crash and it was only his instinctive use of magic that prevented the splintered chair seat from poking him in the back. Instead, the wood temporarily liquified, flowing around his torso in a flash before freezing him in place.

His heart thudded in his chest so loudly he could barely hear S̆ams̆ādur's snort of laughter as the girl leaned, her eyes wide and curious. "You do not look like kin, but you smell like kin. What are you?" She repeated herself.

"Azzatêna!" Panic flitted through her eyes as a disappointed voice shouted behind her, and the satyr jolted upright and turned to face the older satyr that trotted them.

"Abūmī," she began plaintively. "I was just-"

"Azzatêna," the older Fey's dismay was obvious. "You know better than this. You assured me you were ready to meet Corsyths-"

"Ah," S̆ams̆ādur stopped laughing long enough to gesture for the satyr to calm down. "There's no harm done, Mar-" he fished for a name.

"Gadîlat."

"First trip out of the village," the prince responded brightly, and the grey-haired satyr nodded hesitantly.

"Aye, though I assured you she was taught better than this. And I'm afraid harm has been done." The merchant's eyes turned to the broken chair, whose twisted wreckage held Erin frozen in position. "I will make sure the inn knows that it was my daughter's fault. Perhaps…" he swallowed heavily, "perhaps with enough coin, they can be persuaded to allow us to stay."

"There's no need for that." S̆ams̆ādur gestured at him. "My friend here can fix the chair as good as new."

The durgu's words jolted him out of his inaction and, grabbing hold of the table, Erin lifted himself out of the odd bucket seat he'd formed around him. With a quick flex of his mana, he twisted the wood back in shape, reforming the chair into a perfect copy of the others around the table.

He heard an odd chuffing sound as he finished fixing the broken piece and turned to find the older satyr leaning away with a rather mortified expression. "Were you…sniffing me too?" he asked incredulously.

"Of- of course not," the man blustered but S̆ams̆ādur laughed lowly.

"Ah, there's no point in denying it, old man. But don't feel bad. Erin here is barely a Corsyth, and you know we durgu are used to your ways. Come, have a seat, you and your daughter." He gestured to the empty chairs next to him.

"Oh, we can't impose," the man began to object, but S̆ams̆ādur persisted. "You can have my pastry if you stay," he offered generously.

The offer seemed to mean little to the older satyr, but the girl perked up immediately and grabbed her father's arm. "Please, the inn told us they were out of them."

"I-" The satyr clearly wanted to turn them down, but as he gazed into his daughter's pleading eyes, the battle was lost. "You lured us over here, didn't you?" Despite the accusation, his words lacked any real heat as the man surrendered to his daughter's plea with a begrudging nod and reached for the chair next to the prince.

"Guilty," S̆ams̆ādur admitted without an ounce of shame.

"So what do you want? You're clearly well-acquainted with our kind."

Erin struggled to pay attention as the girl slipped into the chair next to him and snagged the pastry from his plate. "Hey - he's the one who offered," he protested, but it was already too late. Her eyes closed in an expression of pure delight as she took a bite out of the pastry.

"And then there's him." He was dragged back to the conversation as the old satyr turned to look at him. "I apologize again for my daughter's rudeness, but she was right. You smell almost like one of us, but appear to be a Corsyth."

"Lots of Corsyth have Fey heritage," the durgu replied dismissively, but the satyr shook his head.

"Not like this," he insisted. "Aye, it's easy to tell those who have a bit of Fey in their ancestry, but the smell of their magic is weak. But not yours." His eyes bored into Erin's. "Your ancestry is much more recent and, yet, slightly strange. I cannot tell which race of Fey you are descended from. What are you?"

"Leave the boy alone," S̆ams̆ādur finally came to his rescue. "Surely you have better things to do than worry about who his ancestors buggered."

"Buggered?" The satyr's cheeks colored. "We were talking of ancestry, not-"

"Tis the same thing," the prince shrugged dismissively. "Now," he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. "Will you stop trying to distract us - my friend may be distracted by your daughter's little show-" Erin jumped guilty, jerking his eyes away from the oddly sensual satyr - "But I am not so easily led astray. You will answer my questions or my friend here will re-break the chair and make sure the attendants know who to blame."

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The satyr sucked in his breath. "You wouldn't," he gasped, and even his daughter paused in devouring the pastry to look up with horror. "You don't know how hard I worked to be allowed in here-"

"I would," Samsadur replied grimly. "And believe me, I do know how hard you must have worked to be allowed to stay in this tavern, even if you are hidden away in the corner. That's why I'm here."

"How many years have you traded with Abāya? Ten? Twenty? You must be well-acquainted with the durgū and the other members of your kind who visit this city - I want information on them."

The satyr fell silent, his face an inscrutable mask, but a tic of nervousness was betrayed as he toyed with the napkin tucked beneath his plate. "You're looking for the king's emissaries," he said at last. "But why?" The last phrase was spoken more to himself than as an actual question, but S̆ams̆ādur leaned forward anyway.

"I think you know why," he said softly.

The man swallowed hard. "You're the exiled prince, aren't you?"

"Alive and well, despite my father's best efforts." Though S̆ams̆ādur tried to pass it off as a joke, the pain in his voice bled through.

"Do you plan to oppose him?" the old goat's brow furrowed.

"He has tried to kill me thrice, and I have it on good authority he'll try again," the prince shrugged. "So if I choose to inconvenience my father slightly, he hardly has room to complain. So tell me, satyr, who are my father's emissaries?"

"I-I can't tell you that," the man twisted the napkin into a knot, no longer able to contain his fear. "If your father were to learn-"

"And how would he learn? I certainly shall not tell him," the prince interrupted him.

"Of course not, my prince, but-"

"You know," S̆ams̆ādur spoke over him again. "I think you're afraid of the wrong person. My father is half a continent away, and his movements in the Empire are…limited at best. But I?"

An involuntary shiver ran down Erin's spine as the durgu smiled, the wide, toothy grin belied by the cold rage in his eyes.

"I'm right here. A few words in the right ear is all it would take to have you banned from this establishment. This is where you do most of your business, right? In the exclusive club that only the best in society are able to buy their way into?"

"You couldn't," the satyr blurted out. "You've barely been in the city for a few weeks. My friends would protect me-"

"Are your friends higher than the city lord? Because I personally know Lord Bahrê. Perhaps I thought too small," he stroked his chin in mock contemplation. "Maybe I should have you banned from the city altogether. I'm sure he'd agree to that in a heartbeat; it's like not there's any love lost-"

"Stop." The pastry dropped on the ground as the girl leaned forward and grabbed her father's arm. "Just tell him, abūmī."

"Daughter-"

"If you don't, I will," she threatened, and the satyr slumped back in his seat, defeated.

"I might know who the emissaries are," he admitted wearily. "Mind you, prince, I'm not certain, but-"

"That's alright." S̆ams̆ādur's grim mood was suddenly banished by a cheerful smile as he lifted the pastry off his plate and offered it to the woman. "Since you dropped yours, it's only fair you have mine."

"Wh-what?!" The two of them spluttered in confusion,

"I know who the emissaries are now," the durgu continued serenely. "So there's no need for you to tell me. If, by any chance, my father does learn you spoke with me, you can now honestly say you told me nothing. So, eat up, enjoy," he gestured at the table, which was still filled with their barely touched feast. "I've covered everything with the attendants already."

"But, my lord, I don't understand?"

S̆ams̆ādur winked. "It's better that way." He stood up abruptly and waved at Erin. "Come on, we have the lead we need now." The satyrs moved to follow, but he pushed them back into their seats gently. "As I said, enjoy the feast. But, Azzatêna, was it?" he lingered beside the female satyr's chair a moment longer. "If you want to indulge your curiosity, I suspect my friend," he slapped Erin on the back, "could be persuaded to tell the story. We'll be staying at the inn in Samsa's temple."

"I-" Her cheeks colored, but the durgu didn't wait for her response as he grabbed Erin and dragged him toward the exit.

"What was that?" Erin asked in exasperation as the door of the Mute Swan closed behind them.

"What?" S̆ams̆ādur shrugged. "You couldn't keep your eyes off her. Don't feel bad," Erin shrugged the man's arm off as he attempted to pat him on the shoulder. "Many a durgu lad has felt the same curiosity. Tis a curious mix - a beautiful woman on top and a shaggy beast below."

"Not that," Erin snapped, though he couldn't deny that a part of him was curious. The satyr woman had a wild beauty that was practically intoxicating, if one could only get past the fact that she had furry legs and hooves in place of proper legs. "I meant that whole show back there. First, you acted like you were best buds with them, then you started threatening them. And then, when you finally got them to agree to spill what they knew, suddenly you didn't want to know?"

The prince's grin faded slightly. "Come on, scout, surely you have more brains than that? Did you really forget what I can do," he added, tapping his temple lightly.

"Oh…I kind of had forgotten," he admitted with a touch of embarrassment. "But then why the whole charade? Couldn't you just read their mind?"

"I'm not that kind of mindreader," the durgu shook his head. "Maybe someday I'll be strong enough to do that, but for now, I can only sift through surface-level thoughts. I needed them to think about my father's emissaries, but there was no need for them to actually tell me."

"So you are worried your father will retaliate," Erin concluded.

"Honestly? Not that much," S̆ams̆ādur scoffed. "Like I told you, the satyrs are not technically his subjects. The tribes would not receive it well if he tried to punish them, so I doubt he would deem it worth the hassle, but it is better not to tempt him." His smile turned bitter. "I never thought he'd send assassins after me either, so it seems I didn't know him as well as I thought."

"Now, he'll have no reason to punish them. Even if he interrogates them, they'll be able to answer truthfully that they told me nothing."

"But you learned their identities anyway?"

"Aye. Now we just need to hunt them down."

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