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?" Kieran 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."
The thief lunged with desperate abandon, knife slashing in a wild arc. Kieran's body responded with muscle memory honed through decades of combat, side-stepping with fluid grace despite his diminutive size. The strike missed him by mere inches.
"Disappointing," Kieran murmured. He felt a flicker of something within—a warm current of energy pulsing just beneath his skin. The Force essence, responding to his need.
'Let's see what I can do with this,' he thought, focusing on the sensation. In his previous life, he'd relied solely on physical prowess, but now...
As the thief pivoted for another attack, Kieran extended his small hand. The energy surged through him, manifesting as an invisible wave that slammed into the thief's chest with unexpected power. The young man flew backward, colliding with the brick wall with a pained grunt before crumpling to the ground.
"Fascinating," Kieran whispered, examining his palm. The Force had responded more powerfully than he'd intended—like a bow drawn too far back before release. Something to refine with practice.
The thief struggled to his knees, gasping for breath, eyes wide with terror. "W-what are you?"
"Currently?" Kieran approached calmly. "I'm an impatient noble child waiting to retrieve my friend's property."
The thief scrambled backward, pressing against the wall. "It's just a purse! Take it!" He tossed Lady Brightwater's embroidered coin purse toward Kieran, who caught it deftly with one hand.
Kieran weighed the purse, confirming the presence of the locket within. "Thank you for your cooperation," he said, reverting to a more childlike tone. Then his expression hardened again. "Now, about your attempt to stab me..."
The thief raised his hands defensively. "Please! I've never actually hurt anyone—I just needed the money for my sister. She's sick and the healers won't—"
"Stop talking," Kieran said, raising a small finger. He studied the young man critically. The threadbare clothing, the desperate but unskilled approach—it matched the story. An amateur driven by necessity, not malice.
For a flash, Kieran considered the most efficient solution. A sharp upward strike to the throat would end the matter permanently. No witnesses, no loose ends. The thought came with mundane detachment, a calculation made countless times in his previous life.
But something stayed his hand—something new. A recognition that in this life, in this moment, he had choices beyond mere efficiency.
"The northern herbalist," he said instead. "The one with the green door near the tannery. Tell her Lord Kieran Nightshade sent you. Your sister has consumption, I presume?"
The thief's eyes widened. "How did you—"
"The distinctive cough tincture stains on your sleeve. Go before noon tomorrow. She'll provide medicine. And if I hear you've stolen again..." Kieran let the silence fill with implicit threat.
The young man nodded frantically. "Never again, m'lord. I swear it."
"Good. Now run."
The thief scrambled to his feet and bolted past Kieran, who watched him disappear around the corner with a thoughtful expression. Sentimentality, he mused, was a luxury he'd never afforded himself in his previous life. An interesting indulgence to explore in this one.
He turned and walked calmly back toward the market, purse in hand.
---
When Kieran emerged from the alley, he found Lady Brightwater in a state of agitated distress, surrounded by concerned market-goers and the Nightshade guards who had been searching the area.
"Kieran!" Lady Isolde cried, rushing toward him with genuine maternal worry. "Where have you—" Her eyes dropped to the purse in his hand, and her expression shifted from concern to stunned surprise.
"Your property, Lady Brightwater," Kieran said politely, offering the embroidered purse to the noblewoman. "I believe you mentioned a locket of sentimental value?"
Lady Brightwater stared at him in speechless wonder before accepting the purse with trembling hands. She quickly opened it to confirm the locket's presence, then looked back at Kieran with bewilderment.
"How did you—" she began.
"The thief dropped it while fleeing," Kieran lied smoothly. "I simply picked it up."
One of the guards frowned. "Young lord, that's not possible. We saw you chase after—"
"Regardless," Lady Isolde interrupted with a pointed look at the guard, "my son has returned Lady Brightwater's property, which is cause for celebration rather than interrogation."
Lady Brightwater finally recovered her composure. "Absolutely extraordinary!" she exclaimed, sweeping Kieran into another perfumed embrace. "First a master negotiator, now a hero of the marketplace! Isolde, your son is positively magical!"
Kieran caught his mother's eye over Lady Brightwater's shoulder. Lady Isolde's smile was warm with maternal pride, but he noted the calculating assessment beneath—the professional assassin recognizing another predator's work.
"He certainly has his talents," Lady Isolde agreed mildly.
---
The carriage ride home passed with Lady Brightwater alternating between effusive praise for Kieran's bravery and detailed descriptions of how she would recount the tale at every salon from here to the capital. Kieran responded with appropriately modest demurrals, playing the role of the precocious but humble child to perfection.
Lady Isolde said little, but her glances toward her son carried messages only another assassin could read: 'Impressive. Risky. We will discuss this later.'
Back at Nightshade Manor, Lady Brightwater insisted on Kieran helping her organize her purchases, a task he accepted with fabricated enthusiasm.
"Such a helpful young man," she cooed as they arranged packages in her guest chambers. "So unlike other noble children who can barely dress themselves at your age."
"I enjoy being useful," Kieran replied, carefully unwrapping a bottle of exotic scent oil.
Lady Brightwater sighed dramatically. "If only my cousin's son had half your sense. The boy is nearly eight and still can't identify which fork to use at formal dinners." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Of course, his father is a devoted servant of the Luminary Flame, so the entire household is dreadfully somber. No wonder the child is stunted."
Kieran's interest sharpened. "You don't share their devotion to the Church?"
Lady Brightwater waved a bejeweled hand dismissively. "The Church has grown far too powerful for my taste. Did you know they've doubled the tithe requirements in coastal regions? 'To better prepare for the Heroine's sacred mission,' they claim." She snorted delicately. "Meanwhile, Cardinal Vorath builds another manor while fisherfolk starve."
"The Heroine," Kieran said carefully. "You mean Lilith Fireheart?"
"The very same. A sweet girl, by all accounts, though I've only glimpsed her from a distance during ceremonial processions." Lady Brightwater's expression softened. "I don't blame her, of course. She's merely a tool of the Church's ambitions."
"A dangerous tool?" Kieran asked innocently.
"Dangerous?" Lady Brightwater laughed. "I suppose any woman with divine blessing and a magical sword could be considered dangerous. But Lilith seems gentle as a lamb—for now, at least." Her voice dropped again. "Though between us, there are whispers that the transformation is already beginning."
Kieran's pulse quickened. "Transformation?"
"Oh, just idle gossip," Lady Brightwater said, suddenly remembering she was speaking to a child. "Nothing for young ears to worry about."
Before Kieran could press further, he noticed an interesting combination of ingredients among Lady Brightwater's purchases—rose extract, carmine powder, and beeswax. An idea formed.
"Lady Brightwater," he said, gesturing to the items, "have you considered combining these to create a personal lip color? The shade would complement your complexion beautifully."
The noblewoman's eyes widened. "Create my own lip stain? Is such a thing possible?"
"With your permission?" Kieran requested, and when she nodded eagerly, he began measuring small amounts of each ingredient into a porcelain dish. With deftness—the same hands that had mixed countless poisons in another life—he blended the components with a few drops of almond oil.
"A touch of heat to bind them," he explained, holding the mixture near a candle flame. Minutes later, he presented Lady Brightwater with a small pot containing a shimmering rose-gold tint.
"Try it," he suggested.
Lady Brightwater applied the mixture with reverent care, then gasped at her reflection in her hand mirror. "It's perfect! The exact shade I've been searching for in Portside for months!" She stared at Kieran with renewed amazement. "You created this just now? From my purchases?"
Kieran shrugged modestly. "A simple combination of compatible elements."
"Genius!" she declared. "Absolute genius! Isolde must teach me how she raised such a prodigy!"
---
Later that evening, as Kieran passed his parents' chamber on the way to his own room, he overheard his mother's voice through the partially open door.
"...most remarkable thing, Thaddeus. He returned with the purse as if it were nothing! The guards told me he disappeared into the alley alone, pursuing a man thrice his size armed with a knife!"
"And did anyone witness what happened in that alley?" His father's voice was measured, professional.
"No one but the thief," his mother replied. "Kieran claimed the man dropped it while fleeing, but that's clearly fabrication. Our son subdued an armed criminal, Thaddeus. At five years old!"
"The goddess did not exaggerate his capabilities," his father commented.
Kieran moved quietly past, processing their words. 'Goddess? Do they know her? They for a fact know more than they reveal', he thought. 'Perhaps the goddess spoke to them as well.'
He had barely reached his chamber when a knock sounded at his door. His father entered without waiting for response, tall and imposing in his formal attire. Lord Nightshade closed the door carefully before fixing his son with an assessing gaze.
"I understand you had an adventure in the market today," he said without preamble.
Kieran nodded. "The opportunity presented itself."
"And the thief? What became of him?"
"He lives," Kieran answered honestly. "Though quite terrified."
Lord Nightshade's expression remained neutral. "I see. And did you consider the alternative?"
"I did," Kieran admitted. "It would have been efficient."
"Indeed," his father agreed. "He's a witness to your capabilities now. Someone who knows the heir to House Nightshade is more than he appears."
Kieran met his father's gaze evenly. "Should I have eliminated him?"
His father was silent for a long moment. "In our profession, efficiency often dictates such actions," he finally said. "A dead man tells no tales."
"But?"
"But discretion requires judgment as well as skill." Lord Nightshade moved to the window, looking out at the estate grounds. "The elimination of a common thief raises questions. Bodies demand explanation. Terrified survivors spread confused rumors that can be dismissed as fantasy."
Kieran nodded, absorbing the lesson.
"However," his father continued, "restraint sometimes is necessary in order to..." He paused, seemed to reconsider his words. "We'll discuss this further during training. Tomorrow at dawn."
"Yes, Father."
Lord Nightshade moved to leave, then hesitated at the door. "Your mother is very proud," he said, his formal demeanor softening momentarily. "As am I."
The words settled in Kieran's chest with unexpected warmth.
---
Dinner that evening was an elaborate affair, with Lady Brightwater regaling Lord Nightshade with ever-more dramatic retellings of the market incident. By the fifth recounting, Kieran had apparently faced down three armed thieves while performing acrobatic feats.
"And the lip stain he created!" Lady Brightwater exclaimed, displaying her colored lips proudly. "Isolde, you must share your educational methods. Perhaps there's a book I could purchase?"
Lady Isolde smiled demurely. "I simply encourage his natural curiosity."
"What do you think of the coastal trade disputes, young lord?" Lady Brightwater suddenly asked Kieran, catching everyone by surprise with the abrupt change to serious politics.
Lord Nightshade frowned. "Lady Brightwater, such matters are hardly appropriate for—"
"Oh, humor me, Thaddeus," she interrupted. "Your son has proven himself uncommonly perceptive. I'm curious about his perspective."
All eyes turned to Kieran, who carefully dabbed his mouth with a napkin before responding.
"Trade disputes often mask deeper conflicts," he observed. "The coastal merchants complain about taxation while the Church demands increased tithes. Both sides claim necessity while the Crown attempts to maintain balance without alienating either power. In such situations, I wonder who truly benefits from the continued tension."
Silence fell over the table. Lady Brightwater's eyes widened while Lord and Lady Nightshade exchanged glances.
"Remarkable analysis," Lady Brightwater finally whispered. "He speaks like a seasoned statesman."
"He reads extensively," Lady Isolde offered by way of explanation.
"Indeed," Lord Nightshade added somewhat stiffly. "Though perhaps we should return to more age-appropriate topics."
Kieran suppressed a smile as he returned to his meal. The role of precocious child offered certain advantages—people revealed more to those they underestimated, a lesson he'd learned well in his previous life. Lady Brightwater's casual comments about the Church and the Heroine had already provided valuable context for his mission.
'Lilith Fireheart', he thought. 'Sweet as a lamb for now. But the transformation is already beginning, according to whispers.' Another piece of the puzzle falling into place.
He caught his father watching him with knowing eyes. Lord Nightshade gave an almost imperceptible nod of approval before returning to his conversation with their guest.
Kieran felt an unfamiliar satisfaction that had nothing to do with his mission. In his previous life as Gregor, approval had meant nothing—only the successful completion of contracts had mattered. Yet here, as Kieran, the quiet pride in his parents' eyes awakened something new within him.