It was almost sunset when Alistair swept in the tower window, onyx feathers rustling with either excitement, anxiety, or a combination of both. The raven coveted gossip nearly as much as shiny trinkets, but he also had the tendency to assume the worst. 

He arrived as he often did, in a tizzy, and Mari had to soothe him, stroking his glossy head and cooing at him for a few moments before she could coax anything intelligible out of him. She settled him onto his favorite perch, a battered and ink-stained oak escritoire that some noble or other had gouged with a dagger. 

She gestured, and a mug of aromatic tea blinked into existence in her hand amidst a swirl of amber smoke. Then she settled herself into an overstuffed armchair, its once deep purple velvet worn to a soft, dusky mauve. There was limited seating in the tower, by design: her comfy chair (filched from one of the Citadel’s three parlors, which seemed excessive for a city their size anyway), a wobbly wooden stool, and a stone bench. 

Mari did not encourage visitors to linger. The kind of visitors who marched themselves up a hundred stairs to have a word with her typically weren’t bearing any kind ones. 

"Whispers in the wind, Mistress. A troublesome faction is gaining traction,” Alistair squawked. 

She really wished he’d stop trying to speak in verse. He thought it made him sound portentous. Unfortunately, it usually made him sound pretentious - or worse, like an alehouse bard trying to spin bad limericks into coins.  

She sighed. “It’s the Red Derby Society, isn’t it?” She took a long sip of tea as Alistair bobbed his head in the affirmative. “They’re becoming quite a persistent nuisance.” 

The group had started out as a working class social club, or something like it anyway. But somewhere along the line, during the playing of cards and downing of pints at the Red Derby Inn, a consistent conversational theme had emerged. That theme being, the decadent and depraved state of government affairs in Riverbend. 

The Red Derby Society leadership (such as it was) had become convinced of three principal “facts.” Namely, they believed that a cache of gold lay hidden somewhere in the Citadel, that Mari, the vile, wicked sorceress, had enchanted good Sir Cedric into doing her bidding, and that if they could free the latter from the former’s evil wiles, he would surely disperse some of that loot to his liberators in gratitude.    

The exact nature of their proposed “liberation” had been left deliberately vague. Up until now, she suspected. 

Alistair nodded once again, his head bobbing up and down in a quick succession. "Yes, Mistress. One way or another, they mean to eliminate you. They've been spreading vicious rumors hoping to turn Sir Cedric against you." 

Mari's brows furrowed in consternation. She had always known that the Red Derby Society was a troublesome lot, but she hadn't realized just how organized and determined they had become. She doubted very much they could sway Cedric - he wasn't the brightest taper on the chandelier, but he was a good man. And more than anyone else, he knew how earnestly she worked. He also knew there was no secret treasure left over from the days of Elric and Anya.

Standing up from her chair, Mari began to pace back and forth in front of Alistair. "You said one way or another. I think we can assume the 'convince the Knight Commander to execute the woman who does ninety-percent of his job' way is going to be a dead end. And their other way?" 

The raven's beady eyes shone with understanding as he hopped off his perch and joined Mari in her pacing. "A good old fashioned assassination, from the rumblings I heard outside the tavern. With or without Sir Cedric's cooperation."

As Mari continued to pace, she gazed out of the window at the setting sun casting a warm orange glow over the bustling city below. People went about their daily lives unaware of the looming danger that might throw all their lives into unexpected chaos.

No matter how much she had done for Riverbend, there were always those who refused to see her efforts. As she paced before the fire, Mari couldn't help but wonder if it was all worth it. The constant battles and attacks on her reputation left her drained and weary. 

The soft crackling of the fire mixed with the steady thumping of Mari's footsteps as she paced, the distant sounds of the bustling city a persistent reminder of the people she was responsible for. The scent of burning logs and herbs filled the air, comforting yet somehow suffocating in the small room.
Everything felt that way. Like being swaddled in a thick blanket almost too tightly to breathe.
She placed her cup down with a clink on the battered wooden writing desk (which held a small collection of inky quills, much like the raven). Her dark skirts and long sleeves swirled theatrically as she spun around to face the door.

(It was a bit dramatic, which she secretly loved).

"Thank you, Alistair. I'll handle it from here." 

She wasn’t exactly sure how. But also, she was beginning to wonder why. 

The raven fluttered off his perch and alighted on the window sill, scanning the darkening streets for the glint of metal. She knew she needed to check on the wards, but a part of her wanted to escape from it all.

As she made her way to the door, Mari paused and turned back to her familiar. 

"Do you ever think about leaving, Alistair?" Her voice wavered slightly as she struggled to keep her composure. 

The raven looked at her with concern, unsure of how to respond. "Leaving? But why would I want to leave your side, Mistress? I am content here with you." 

Mari nodded, but deep down she wondered if anyone truly stayed because they wanted to, or if it was just because they felt obligated or trapped. 

"But... what if you could be with me, and not here?" she whispered. "What if we just ... left?" 

Alistair cocked his head to the side, considering her words. He had never considered such an idea before, but he could see the appeal of it.  

Mari took a deep breath and spoke with sad resignation, "Anywhere would be better than staying here." 

Alistair ruffled his feathers and cawed in concern, "But what about Cedric? He would be left to face the Red Derby Society alone." 

Mari shook her head, "Cedric is more than capable of handling himself. He doesn't need a sorceress; he needs a City Manager. And maybe it's time for me to prioritize my own happiness for once. Or at least take a long break." 

The raven let out a croaking laugh, "And let's not forget, you're no helpless traveler. I'd love to see anyone try to rob you. A wave of your hand and they'd find themselves locked away in the nearest dungeon." 

A small smirk tugged at Mari's lips. It was true - she could easily defend herself. She could curse the Red Derby Society with all sorts of embarrassing maladies or enchant their minds so they never even thought of treason again. It would be effortless. 

She could give them a reason to fear and hate her. 

Suddenly, a cold wind swept through the room. Mari shivered involuntarily. Without even thinking about it, the fire in the fireplace grew larger and warmer. 

"Hmm," she mused to herself. "The more I consider it, the more escaping this place sounds like an ideal plan."