be beaten

Anna leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, fingers absently twisting the hem of her skirt—where she kept her fireballs at the ready. The mercenaries' jeers died down as she entered; even the burly man loosened his grip on Houshao'nao's collar, Adam's apple bobbing nervously. 

"Miss Anna, this runt kicked me—" the man growled, though his voice wavered. 

"Oh?" Anna arched a brow, pacing forward, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. She circled Houshao'nao's form, brushing a splintered table leg, then spun to face the man, eyes blazing. "Do you know who he is?" 

Houshao'nao wriggled free, (hid) behind the bar to catch his breath, only to see Anna wink at him—the same sly wink she'd used last night by the river when she'd lied about a "ghost behind you." His heart skipped a beat; he stared at his tattered shoe tips. 

"He's… just some nobody—" 

"*My father's new attendant.*" Anna leaned in, voice sickly sweet, fire dancing on her fingertips. "What do you think he'll do when he hears someone was waving knives in his tavern, smashing tables?" The flames licked higher, casting her face in flickering gold. 

The man's (dagger) clattered to the floor, sweat beading on his brow. "I was drunk, Miss! Just fooling around—" 

"Drunk?" Anna's tone turned icy, flinging a fireball at the ceiling. Charred wood chips rained down. "Drunkards don't get to *hurt people*. (Dier), note his tab—he'll pay for every splinter." 

Dier nodded briskly, (secretly) signaling Houshao'nao with a "safe" gesture. In the shadowed corridor, Master Sheffield smirked—his daughter's fireball had missed the man's eyebrow by inches; she was still too soft. 

"Get out. And don't let me see you again." Anna flicked her, the fabric brushing Houshao'nao's cheek. He caught a whiff of rose perfume—the same scent he'd smelled this morning when she'd stolen her mother's fragrance in the stables. 

The man scrambled away, and the crowd dispersed. When Anna turned, Houshao'nao was staring, (woodchips) clinging to his . Her face heated; she kicked his (butt). "What are you gawking at? Clean this mess!" 

"Yes, Miss…" He rubbed his behind, noticing the flames still dancing on her fingertips, as if she were hiding something. Their eyes met, then darted apart—the kiss by the river felt suddenly (scorching) in the sawdust-filled air. 

"Father," Anna turned to Sheffield, reclaiming her haughty tone, "you'd let mercenaries kill in your tavern?" 

Sheffield shrugged. "I was waiting for *you* to intervene, my little flame princess." His gaze lingered on Dier, who was scrubbing the bar, her (fingertips) leaving faint blue streaks on the wood—gone in an instant, but not from his notice. 

As Houshao'nao carried broken boards past, he heard Sheffield murmur to Anna: "Lend me your lizard dragon tonight. I want to study its scales." Anna stamped her foot in protest, but he kept his eyes on Dier's (bar)—those blue streaks matched the "ancient elven seals" Kerry had mentioned in his letter. 

At dusk, Houshao'nao knelt in the stable, adding hay to the donkey's trough, when it kicked his back with a hoof. "You and the witch worked well today, huh?" 

"Shut up." He tossed a handful of straw, recalling the warmth of Anna's on his hand. In the distance, her voice rang out: "Houshao'nao! My riding boots are dirty—polish them by dawn!" 

He sighed, pulling a half-hardened bread from the hay—Dier had slipped it to him during the chaos. Biting into it, the flavor of wheat and sawdust, he felt a strange peace. 

In his study, Master Sheffield watched Dier's lamp through the window. A crystal ball glowed on his desk, showing her weeping over her palm, where blue light pulsed—the healing magic of elven royalty, used to mend Houshao'nao's bruised ankle. 

"Kerry, Kerry," he chuckled to the void, "you sent me more than a memory-less magician. This game just got interesting." 

Outside, Anna practiced fireballs in her mirror, but her mind kept wandering to Houshao'nao clutching his behind after her kick. The flame slipped, singeing her hair, and she cursed, splashing water on her face. In the ripples, she saw her ears burning red. 

In the stable, the donkey chewed hay, overhearing Houshao'nao mutter to the stars: "Durade, which is worse—burning or drowning?" 

It snorted—soon enough, the answer would come in Anna's fire and Dier's tears. After all, in a world where magic tangled with mortal hearts, curses and cures were always two sides of the same inferno.