Lady Isabella Ravencrest was exactly as advertised. She wore a whirlwind of colorful fabrics, jingling jewelry, and effervescent laughter that filled the Steinfeld manor's usually somber halls with unexpected vitality. Her gown was a dazzling confection of teal and gold that seemed designed less for practical wear than for maximum visual impact.
"Evangeline, darling!" she exclaimed upon arrival, embracing Lady Steinfeld with dramatic enthusiasm. "You look positively radiant! Country life clearly agrees with you!" Her gaze fell on Lore, who stood at his mother's side with perfect posture. "And this must be the prodigy I've heard whispers about even in distant Portside!"
Before Lore could offer a proper greeting, he found himself enveloped in a cloud of exotic perfume as Lady Ravencrest scooped him into an embrace. "Absolutely precious! Those amber eyes! That silver hair! He's the very image of a Steinfeld, but with your warmth, Evangeline!"
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Ravencrest," Lore managed when she finally released him, suppressing the urge to straighten his now-rumpled formal attire.
"And so well-spoken!" Lady Ravencrest exclaimed, clapping her bejeweled hands together. "Evangeline, you've accomplished a miracle—a noble boy with actual manners!"
Breakfast proved to be an exercise in patience as Lady Ravencrest dominated conversation with a stream of gossip about various noble houses, most concerning scandals that would have been inappropriate for a child's ears had Lore actually been an ordinary five-year-old. He ate methodically while cataloging the potentially useful information embedded within her chatter.
'Duke Harmond's youngest son caught with a kitchen maid—potential leverage. House Arventis experiencing financial difficulties despite public prosperity—valuable intelligence. Church of the Luminary Flame expanding influence in coastal regions—relevant to primary mission.'
After the meal, the party departed for the market district—Lady Evangeline, Lady Ravencrest, Lore, and two Steinfeld guards following discreetly behind their carriage. The market square bustled with activity, commoners bowing respectfully as the noble party passed.
"I simply must visit Tailor Matthias first," Lady Ravencrest declared. "His work with imported silks is unparalleled, even compared to our coastal craftsmen."
For the next several hours, Lore found himself trailing behind the two women as they swept through various establishments, leaving a wake of flustered shopkeepers and rapidly depleted inventories. Lady Ravencrest's approach to commerce seemed to involve acquiring as many items as possible in the shortest time, with minimal concern for practicality or cost.
Their third stop was a charming pastry shop nestled between a bookbinder and a milliner. The warm aroma of fresh-baked goods and caramelized sugar filled the air as Lady Ravencrest practically bounced with excitement.
"Oh, Evangeline, you simply must try Master Cornelius's honey almond tarts!" she gushed, selecting an assortment of delicate pastries displayed behind glass. "They're absolutely divine—nothing like them exists in all of Portside!"
She purchased a small box of various confections and immediately offered one to Lore. "Here, darling, you must taste this apricot cream puff. Tell me it isn't the most heavenly thing you've ever experienced!"
Lore accepted the pastry with polite grace and took a careful bite. The cream was indeed exceptional—light, perfectly sweetened, with a subtle hint of vanilla that complemented the apricot's natural tartness. The pastry shell was crisp yet tender, clearly made with superior technique.
"It's quite remarkable," he said truthfully, though his mind immediately began analyzing the components. 'Superior to the manor's kitchen staff, certainly. The cream shows proper temperature control during preparation, and the pastry indicates understanding of gluten development. Still...'
His thoughts drifted to a year he'd spent in his previous life, deep undercover in the merchant quarter of Valenhall. He had posed as a baker's apprentice to monitor a target who frequented the shop daily. What began as mere cover had evolved into genuine skill as he found the precision required in baking oddly soothing—a counterpoint to his usual profession's chaos. By the operation's end, he had mastered techniques that elevated simple ingredients into art.
'The cream could benefit from a touch of orange zest,' he mused, finishing the pastry. 'And the shell would achieve better texture with a slightly higher fat ratio in the dough.' Even now, in this child's body, his hands occasionally itched to knead dough or fold delicate layers of pastry—muscle memory from a craft he'd surprisingly grown to appreciate.
"Absolutely divine," he agreed aloud, earning a delighted laugh from Lady Ravencrest.
"See? Even young Lord Lore recognizes true artistry!" she proclaimed to the beaming baker.
At their fourth stop, a jeweler specializing in gemstone setting, Lore surprised both noblewomen by interrupting Lady Ravencrest's immediate acceptance of the stated price.
"The craftsmanship is exquisite," he observed, examining the sapphire necklace she had selected, "but surely such quality deserves fair valuation. The setting appears to be standard silver rather than the white gold claimed, which would justify a thirty percent reduction at minimum."
The jeweler sputtered in protest, but Lore merely raised a small eyebrow. "The acid test would resolve any confusion, of course, if you'd prefer to demonstrate..."
"Perhaps we could reach a more reasonable arrangement," the jeweler conceded hastily.
When they exited the shop with the necklace at less than two-thirds the original price, Lady Ravencrest regarded Lore with newfound respect. "Where did you learn to haggle like a seasoned merchant, young lord?"
"One should understand the true value of things," Lore replied with a slight shrug, "whether they be gemstones or lives."
Lady Ravencrest laughed delightedly, clearly interpreting his comment as childish philosophy rather than the literal statement it was. "Evangeline, your son is absolutely fascinating! So serious, yet so clever!"
"He's always been an old soul," Lady Evangeline agreed, beaming with maternal pride.
They continued their shopping expedition, now with Lady Ravencrest occasionally deferring to Lore's assessment of merchandise and it was a development he found both practical and vaguely amusing. 'The deadliest assassin of one world, reduced to evaluating the quality of silk ribbons in another,' he mused. 'The goddess must be enjoying the irony.'
As the afternoon waned, they made their final stop at a perfumer's shop, where Lady Ravencrest became engrossed in sampling various exotic fragrances. She had just selected an expensive vial of something called "Midnight Orchid Essence" when the transaction was violently interrupted.
A hooded figure darted through the shop doorway, snatched Lady Ravencrest's ornate coin purse from her momentarily unattended shopping basket, and bolted back into the crowded market square.
"Thief!" the perfumer shouted belatedly. "Stop, thief!"
The Steinfeld guards moved to pursue, but the market crowd had already closed behind the fleet-footed robber. Lady Ravencrest shrieked in dismay, clutching Lady Evangeline's arm. "My grandmother's locket was in that purse! A family heirloom!"
Before anyone could react further, Lore was already moving—slipping through the shop doorway and into the crowd with serpentine agility. His enhanced perception tracked the thief's passage through the throng by the subtle disturbances in movement patterns, the glimpses of a gray hood bobbing between market-goers.
'Amateur,' he assessed. 'Opportunistic rather than planned. Retreating toward the eastern alleyways where market security is minimal.'
He cut through the crowd with easily, his small size allowing him to slip between adults who would have blocked a larger pursuer. Within moments, he had closed half the distance to the fleeing thief, who remained unaware of the diminutive hunter on their trail.
The thief was a gangly youth perhaps sixteen years of age. He ducked into a narrow alley between a tannery and a cooperage. Lore followed, instantly noting the alley's dead end some forty paces ahead. He slowed his pursuit deliberately, allowing the thief to realize his predicament before revealing himself.
The youth reached the brick wall terminating the alley and spun around, breathing heavily. His eyes widened in confusion at the sight of the silver-haired child standing calmly at the alley's entrance.
"What the hell?" the thief muttered. "Get lost, rich boy, before you get hurt."
Lore tilted his head slightly, assessing his target with detached interest, "The purse, if you please. Lady Ravencrest is particularly concerned about the locket within."
The thief barked a harsh laugh, drawing a crude knife from his belt. "You've got nerve, I'll give you that. But you should've waited for the guards, little lord." He advanced a step, blade extended. "Now you're going to turn around and forget you saw me, or I'll open your fancy jacket and see what color nobles bleed."
Lore sighed softly—a sound so at odds with his childish appearance that the thief faltered momentarily.
"Do you know," Lore said conversationally, his voice dropping to a register no five-year-old should possess, "I've killed men with their own knives precisely two hundred and seventeen times?" He took a step forward, amber eyes gleaming with something ancient and terribly cold. "The first few were messy—learning experiences, you understand. But by the fifteenth, I'd perfected the technique."
The thief's bravado wavered, confusion warring with instinctive unease on his face. "What—what are you talking about?"
"The human body contains so many vulnerabilities," Lore continued, advancing another step. "Particularly around the neck and abdomen. Your knife, for instance, could pierce your femoral artery with minimal pressure applied at the correct angle. You'd bleed out in approximately ninety seconds." His small lips curved in a smile entirely devoid of childish innocence. "I've timed it."
The thief's face drained of color as something primal recognized the predator behind the child's eyes. "Stay back," he warned, voice cracking. "I'll—"
"You'll what?" Lore interrupted softly. "You've already made two critical errors. First, you stole from nobility, which carries a hanging offense rather than the standard flogging for common theft. Second..." His smile widened fractionally. "You threatened me."
He took a final step forward.
"The purse," he repeated quietly. "Now."