Cinnamon Rolls and Villainy

Chapter 12

Chapter

Twelve

T he innkeeper of the Pink Elk Inn introduces himself as Vidar, pronouns he and him. He’s a stout human with ruddy skin and biceps the size of tree trunks, who proudly wears both a bushy red beard and a floral pale green dress covered in a cream apron. He has a thundering brogue that tells Ayc he’s originally from the northeast province of Aluina. Ayc likes him immediately.

His cooking? Not so much.

The amount of salt in the porridge makes Ayc’s eyes water, but Vidar has lingered at the table. He levels a fierce expression on Ayc, his eyes almost disappearing behind bushy eyebrows.

Ayc swallows. “It’s good,” he lies.

It must be convincing, because Vidar moves away from the cluster of tables Lora and her Five pushed together. Maps now cover the surface, Tavish leaning over them, his finger brushing over Saga’s leash. His dog sits in a chair next to him and stares down at the paper. Bowls rest near everyone, but neither Lora and Bronwen have lifted their spoons. Xylie and Peregrin must have noticed, because they don’t attempt to consume their own porridge.

“You could have warned me,” Ayc hisses across at Lora, who scribbles in her notebook, line after line of notes.

Her pen pauses, and her focus shifts toward him. “And miss the look on your face?” she asks, her mouth a taut line. She returns to her book.

Ayc grabs his mug of coffee to wash the salty taste from his mouth and to keep his hands from throwing her some offensive sign language he knows she’ll understand.

“Vidar is not known for his breakfast,” Bronwen says with a snicker. In her hands, she cradles a teacup that Vidar brought her, the hand-painted cup almost completely swallowed in the palm of his massive hand. Bronwen dumped the contents of a small package into the tea, and Ayc suspects it's the blend of herbs that make her body adhere more closely to her true gender.

“Lunch and dinner are…passable, though,” she adds. “As long as you throw your porridge out the window behind you as soon as he isn’t looking.”

Ayc glances to where Vidar now stands behind the front counter, which is painted an eye-watering pink. A fierce-looking falcon perches on a stand on the counter’s edge. Ayc almost thought it was stuffed when he first arrived, but every so often, it flaps its wings indignantly and glares at Ayc in a way that makes him believe the bird might be considering pecking out his eyeballs just for sport.

“How did you all become such good friends with an innkeeper?” Ayc asks.

The inn isn’t close to any major village. Instead, it’s situated off a road that passes through several Bromalis farms and an impressively large nursery that fills the air in the tavern with the smell of a dozen types of flowers. But the inside of the inn speaks more of Aluina than of Everadyn: the great stone fireplace and the wood-paneled walls and the busts of long-dead animals. On the mantle, there's a statue of a woman holding a coin and a four-leaf clover, with a fox curled at her feet. Ayc can’t remember the name of the deity but recognizes the image as the goddess of good fortune and mischief. It’s the type of irony he saw in most of Aluina’s gods and goddesses, a contradiction of powers that made them useless at best and untrustworthy at worst.

This place strikes him with a deep longing for a place he hasn’t seen for ten years. It’s tampered, however, by the pink fabric and jewels that drape from antlers of the mounted elk heads and cross through the ceiling beams. Those elements do not resemble Aluina and speak entirely of Vidar’s own personality.

Bronwen looks to Lora, who sets her quill down and looks around the table.

“Any thoughts on the quests?” Lora asks.

And subject changed, Ayc thinks and adds it to the mental note of all the questions Lora has avoided lately.

Everyone remains silent.

“Come on,” Lora presses. “Any ideas at all?”

“Well, they’re all a little…” Tavish pauses, cocking his head as he considers the right word.

“Vague as fuck,” Ayc supplies for him.

“Thank you for that, Ayc," Lora says flatly. "Elegant and well-spoken, as always.”

“I’m not wrong, though.”

She doesn’t argue, which is a mistake, because Ayc definitely takes it as a victory.

“I mean,” Bronwen says, “he isn’t.” She holds out her hand toward Lora, and Lora sets her wrist in her First’s palm. Bronwen runs the finger of her other hand along the gems on the bracelet. Delight lights up her face. “The magic in this, it feels old. Maybe the oldest magic I’ve felt. It almost feels…” She hums as though trying to find the right word. “Well, it feels alive .”

Lora withdraws her arm and eyes the bracelet quite like a snake has coiled onto her wrist. “Does anyone know how the quests are chosen? Does the reigning Sovereign play a role or does the magic decide for itself?”

Xylie signs an answer, and Ayc translates, “No one knows for certain. But what I found in the Archives suggests it’s a bit of both.”

“Interesting,” Bronwen murmurs.

Xylie goes on, “Some of the wording sounds odd. Like ‘Reveal a long-concealed lie’. You would think it would say ‘Reveal a long-hidden truth’. But it doesn’t.”

Ayc fumbles over the last few syllables of the translation. A shiver crawls down his spine. He glances at Peregrin only to find their focus already boring into him. But no, surely, Yris wouldn’t have willed ancient magic to make a quest just to set up Ayc, would she?

He tries to push the unease away, but it lingers, burying itself beneath his skin.

Lora makes a note of what Xylie said in her journal. Ayc glimpses a big ‘Lie’ and a flourishing question mark, before she looks back up. She taps her pen on the page, leaving flecks of black ink on the parchment. “Maybe we should focus on the first quest. It’s the clearest. ‘Unearth a priceless treasure’ .”

Tavish rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Damn. I was afraid you’d say that. ”

Lora straightens. “Why? Have you thought of something?”

“Yes, but you won’t like it.”

“Show me,” Lora insists.

Tavish fumbles through the papers, almost knocking over a few bowls of porridge. Peregrin catches them and begins dumping them out the window beside the table, glancing to make sure Vidar is still in the kitchen. Outside the window, Tempest bends their head to sniff at the now-dumped contents of the bowl and then raises her head to glare accusingly at Peregrin.

Tavish pulls out a map of Everadyn and lays it at the top. A single X has been drawn on it, and Tavish taps it with a finger. Ayc can’t see exactly where it is on the map from his place at the table. “I sense something here. I have for a long time, as far back as when I sailed with the Maiden’s Tears .”

Lora stiffens as she stares down at the map.

Bronwen’s face drains of the little color it possesses. “Somnia Ignis?”

Ayc splutters on the coffee he’s sipping. Peregrin nearly drops another bowl of porridge out the window. Xylie maneuvers onto her knees to lean across the table and get a better look.

“The Isle of Nightmares?” Ayc says. “Are you seriously suggesting we go to the Isle of Nightmares?”

The island off the western coast of Everadyn is a place no one desires to go. Horror stories whispered at night tell of endless, deep caves where dragons make their nests and old, dark magic that turns nightmares into realities. Many people who dare to go there never return.

Tavish shakes his head quickly. “I’m not suggesting anything . ”

Lora spins the map around to face her. Ayc doesn’t like the way she traces her finger from where the Pink Elk would be on the map to where the X is marked. “But you feel something there? Something that could be a priceless treasure?”

Tavish nods.

Xylie taps Ayc’s shoulder to gain his attention. “ Translate for me,” she says. And then her hands are spinning in the air so quickly Ayc struggles to watch them and talk at the same time.

“Xylie says there are legends about a great treasure on Somnia Ignis. Some say it’s— What? Slow down, please. Don’t speak to me in that tone of sign. All right, all right— Some say it’s an artifact to communicate with the dead. Other sources say it’s a jewel the size of an adult skull. But to get it requires facing the worst things imaginable.” Ayc lets out a low whistle and fakes exuberance, “Well, that sounds fantastic! When do we leave?”

Xylie’s eyes narrow, and she exaggerates her next signs.

“Go fuck yourself,” Ayc translates, then winces. He clears his throat. “Actually, I think that was just for me.”

Tavish snickers beneath his breath, his head still bent over the map.

Ayc squints down at the paper, then reaches across to press his finger to a spot on the opposite coast of Everadyn. “What about Somnia Vera? The Island of Dreams? That sounds much better.”

The island east of Everadyn is the mirror to Somnia Ignis. Instead of fog and mountains, Somnia Vera bares lush forests and tropical plants and waterfalls that flow into sapphire pools. He’s heard it called a paradise on earth. “No dragons,” he adds, with a wistful sigh. “Just merfolk and fauns and?—”

“The oldest and deadliest sorcerers that have ever lived,” Bronwen says over the lip of her teacup. There’s a contradiction in her voice, a tone both wistful and bitter.

Ayc lifts his finger to see the sketch of a castle with twisted, spiraling towers set on the island. Velphin, School of Sorcery, the map reads. “Didn’t enjoy your experience there?”

Bronwen shrugs. “On the contrary, it probably saved my life. And also almost ended it on at least thirteen separate occasions. Many of the master sorcerers at Velphin are determined to turn prospective sorcerers into the most powerful of beings, or to kill them trying.”

“Like Adamant,” Lora says. “But with children.”

Warmth drains from Ayc’s face. No sorcerers he’s met have ever discussed their experience at Velphin, but he’s heard a few drunk elite warriors report what Adamant is like. Only the very best survive to graduate. But no one goes to Adamant until they are eighteen. The first testing at Wyntra, which searches for those with an affinity to magic, occurs at only seven years old. Ayc can picture all the kids he’s seen through the years from his kitchen window. They’re all so very tiny.

“Fuck,” Ayc says, with a whistle that serves to release the horror building in his chest. “Maybe they should rename it the Island of Nightmares, the Sequel.”

“Oh, shut up, Ayc,” Lora says without emotion, but Ayc’s jaw snaps shut.

Fuck.

“Can I see your arm again?” Bronwen asks, holding her hand out to Lora. Lora extends her arm. “Perhaps it could take out two quests at once. Forge a new path. If no one has been on the specific path to the treasure, maybe it’ll work for both.”

Xylie signs. Ayc doesn't translate, Lora’s order lingering. He’s having a bad enough day without adding anymore discomfort. Xylie gives him a pointed look and signs again. Ayc shakes his head.

“Except for whoever put it there,” Lora translates, a line forming between her eyebrows as she looks between Ayc and Xylie. “You’re right, Xylie. And there have been many books written about the dragons on Somnia Ignis. That path wouldn't be new.”

“But that’s the question, isn’t it?” Peregrin says, dumping the last bowl of porridge and setting it back in front of Ayc. “Does the path need to be new for anyone? Or only new for you ? Many of those quests are vague. We can’t assume even the ones that seem obvious are as straight foreword as they seem. I imagine it’s designed that way. Seven victors with seven quests and a multitude of ways to complete them.”

“Nothing can ever be simple.” Lora grits her teeth, the frustration standing out sharply for a second before she schools it into place. “Is there anything else you are sensing, Tavish? Any other great treasures we can try for instead?”

“Maybe,” Tavish says, smoothing a hand over the map, no longer touching the leash. Saga cocks his head toward the window, distracted by something outside. But once again, Tavish’s hand stills over the Isle of Nightmares. “But nothing feels as strong or as right as this.”

Lora stares at the map for a long moment. At last, she says, “Then that’s where we should go. If you are all in agreement. ”

Bronwen and Peregrin nod without much hesitation, Xylie following right after. Tavish turns ashen, but mumbles, “Yes.”

“Ayc?” Lora prompts.

Ayc blinks at her and says nothing. He thinks about signing to her, but signing is talking and he thinks it might violate the order. Peregrin’s gaze shifts to Ayc’s face, their eyebrows knitting together.

“What’s wrong with you?” Lora demands. “Is this because I told you to shut up? For divine’s sake, you can talk.”

Oh, thank fuck.

“Sure? Why not?” Ayc says sarcastically. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“We all get eaten by dragons,” Tavish mutters.

“We’re not going to be eaten by dragons,” Bronwen says, good-naturedly.

Xylie’s eyes sparkle, and she smiles much too brightly for this situation. Her hands move in broad, frantic motions. “Did you know that, when dragons consume prey, they like to keep them warm and alive for as long as possible. They start with their nonessential parts like the arms and lower legs before moving on to more essential places. The process can take hours before the prey bleeds to death or loses something vital enough to kill them.”

Ayc is suddenly very, very glad that his stomach is empty. “For fuck’s sake, Xylie. I didn’t need to know that.”

“What did she say?” Tavish asks, his eyes wide. Saga’s attention is still focused on the window, ears perked.

“I’ll tell you if you really want,” Lora replies with a grimace of her own, “but trust me. You really don’t want to know. ”

Saga growls, startling them all. His ears lay back against his head, and Tavish picks the leash back up from the table. “We’re about to have company.”

Bronwen and Xylie rush to flip over the maps. Peregrin draws a dagger and hides it beneath the table. Lora’s hand drops to her own sword. Ayc is still deciding what he should do, when the door to the inn flies open and a tall, cloaked figure barges in.

The clang of the bell hanging above the door summons Vidar from where he disappeared into the kitchen. He’s drying a pint on his apron and scowls at the figure. The falcon now perches on his shoulder.

“I need a room,” says a deep, resonating voice. And fuck, Ayc has a suspicion on whom it belongs to.

Lora confirms his suspicion. Her hands arise from her sword hilt and strangle together on top of the overturned map. Peregrin doesn’t sheathe their blade.

Wylder.

“No vacancies,” Vidar says.

“It’s not even noon, and there’s barely anyone here.” Wylder searches the room and freezes as he takes in the group at the back. He’s dressed in the same dark armor that Bronwen and Lora wear. Splatters of blood mar his face. His dark eyes lock on Lora, who stares down at her hands, pointedly not looking at him. He lingers far too long, before he looks back to the innkeeper.

Vidar slams the pink mug down on the counter, his face turning redder. His rage suggests he doesn't know that the male he’s talking to could turn him inside out at a second’s notice. “I said no vacancies! The lady paid me well for the use of the establishment. If you would like to stay, take it up with her, or you can fuck off. ”

His falcon flaps its wings and emits a series of calls that demonstrate its solidarity with its owner.

Wylder’s hands curl into fists at his side. But after hesitating, he flings himself around and saunters toward them.

Saunters, Ayc thinks. Like a fucking peacock.

Wylder stops beside the table and grants Lora a smile as if it were a gift. “Hello, Lora.”

Her hands tighten together, and she doesn't return the greeting nor look at him.

Wylder moves his smile on to Bronwen, as though hoping for a warmer greeting. “Bronwen, good to see you.”

Bronwen brings her teacup to her lips, but it's her middle finger she delicately lifts instead of her pinky.

Wylder’s smile flicks off like a light. He searches over the others, his eyes narrowing as he notices Ayc at the other end of the table. A muscle in his jaw spasms as he draws his attention back to Lora. “Lora?—”

Lora finally snaps her head toward him. Ice is warmer than her gaze. “No,” Lora says, and the word echoes with heavy command. “You cannot stay here.”

Wylder sets his hands on the table and leans closer, lowering his voice. “Is this how it’s going to be between us now? Are you going to bear hard feelings for the tournament forever?”

If possible, the tension in Lora’s shoulder tightens. Ayc catches Xylie’s eye and lifts a single eyebrow in question.

She signs, “ He played dirty.”

Ayc rolls his eyes. Of course he did. Wylder, as son of the Noxumbra regent, couldn’t afford to lose.

Lora returns his question with a harsh one of her own. “ Did you know the other victors were going to attempt to kill me on that stage?”

Wylder scoffs. “Of course n?—”

“Don’t insult me by lying to me. You’re bad at it.”

Wylder draws a long breath between his teeth and ducks his head, his hair sliding forward to cover his eyes. “I knew, but I didn’t play a hand in it.”

“Your silence was helpful enough,” Lora hisses, lightning crackling under her tone, the first emotion she’s allowed in her voice.

Asshole. Ayc swallows down the word with some coffee. Ayc hates himself a little, that his silence almost assisted them, too. But he, at least, hasn't been—presumably—sharing Lora’s bed for the last four years.

Lora’s bed.

Heat rises up Ayc’s neck, and he drowns that too with the rest of the coffee, wishing it was something stronger.

Around the table, no one else speaks, but all wear a slightly murderous expression.

Wylder removes his hand from the table and straightens to his full height. “This is a game, Lora. I thought we’d agreed to put our feelings aside and play it.”

“I suppose I didn’t realize that you could put your feelings far enough to the side to simply watch me die. But thank you. I understand the game-board far better now.” She nods toward the door. “You can leave.” She snatches her pen from the table and resumes scratching in her book.

Ayc nearly smiles. Fuck, he could live for a century off the pink-tinged rage on Wylder’s face.

“Dammit, Lora,” Wylder curses. “Ryker was hurt getting out of Wyntra. I need a place to put him, so I can find a healer. ”

Lora’s pen halts.

“Ryker?” Bronwen repeats, her eyes widening.

The name rings like a bell in Ayc’s mind, but he doesn’t quite know why.

“I know you’re furious with me,” Wylder continues, “but surely, you won’t hold it against him .”

Lora’s eyes shutter closed. Bronwen presses two fingers to the back of her elbow, a silent signal.

“Fine,” Lora spits. “You can stay. For your brother’s sake. Not yours.”

Brother. That’s right. Ayc forgot Wylder has a brother. Unlike Wylder who frequently visited Wyntra with his father, Ayc only met Ryker during his Final Testing, two years ago. Ayc nearly called him a liar when he said Wylder was his brother. His personality was light to his brother’s dark: all blond hair, polite manners, and a flirtatious smile. Still, Ayc kept his distance, not wanting to be too close to Wylder, even by association.

Lora snaps her book closed and adds, “Your weapons and the rest of your Five stay outside. I’m sure Vidar has room in the stable.”

Wylder grunts. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Those are my terms. You can abide by them, or you can fuck off. I frankly don't care which.”

Wylder opens his mouth and then snaps it shut. He storms to the door, growling something unintelligible under his breath. He pauses only long enough to talk to Vidar, who gives him a key.

A heavy silence lingers. Lora’s sigh should have been silent, too, but in the stillness, it echoes so loudly Ayc feels it in his bones. Something passes over her face, a crack in the stone, there and then gone so quickly he can almost pretend he didn’t see it.

Pain. Wylder hurt her.

Bronwen glances at Lora, her face twisting in sympathy. As though knowing Lora wouldn’t want the attention, she says nothing. Doesn’t reach out a comforting hand. Ayc finds himself longing to reach out too, but he’s quite attached to his hand.

Instead, he swallows down a lump in his throat, leans over the table, and grins. “Hey, Lo- ra .” He practically sings the last note, so she’ll know what’s coming.

She snaps her head in his direction. “Must you?” she says in a low warning tone.

“I must, and this one is good.”

“They’re never good.”

“What did the ocean say to the shore?”

“That’s ridiculous. The ocean can’t talk.”

“Exactly. It just waved.”

Lora glares at him, but Tavish laughs loudly. Peregrin rolls their eyes.

“I’m going to kill him,” Lora whispers to Bronwen, strangling the pen in her hand. “I swear I’m going to kill him this time.”

Bronwen pats her cheek sympathetically. “I know, honey.”

Ayc only lifts his coffee to his lips to hide a triumphant smile. The villainess is murderous once more. All is right again.

The door to the inn flings open again. Wylder reenters with a fae’s arm slung over his shoulder. His brother’s feet stumble with each step, barely holding him upright. Blood mats his hair and face, pouring from a jagged wound that gapes from his temple to his scalp. He, too, wears dark armor: an Adamant warrior, like his brother.

Bronwen springs up and hurries to Ryker’s other side.

Through the mask of blood, Ryker grins at Bronwen. Unlike his brother, it lights up his face. “Well met, Bronwen,” he says, his words hitched at the edges, like it hurts to speak. “I’ve missed you. Adamant isn’t the same now that you’re gone.”

“Always the charmer,” Bronwen says. “Let’s get you in a bed before you fall down.”

They move toward the stairs. Xylie grabs her pack and rifles through it. She grabs two bottles with tonics and shoves them into Ayc’s hands. One is carefully labeled Pain Tonic . The other is labeled Wound Cleansing & Healing .

She nods toward where they are ascending the stairs. “ Give them to him. And tell them to hurry with the healer. If his wound isn't healing yet, that blade had to be tipped with something.”

Ayc could name thirteen things he would rather do than follow Wylder up those stairs, including being mauled by a dragon for three days before succumbing to blood loss. But if Ayc doesn’t agree, she’ll ask Lora, who will do it and have to spend more time with the man who betrayed her. Ayc reluctantly shoves to his feet.

By the time he catches up, they’re in a room upstairs—what Ayc suspects is the smallest room at the establishment. He lives in a modified pantry, and this room is smaller, barely leaving room for the bed that Bronwen and Wylder are helping Ryker into. The blood from Ryker’s head stains the white of the pillow.

Wylder swings toward Ayc as soon as he enters, and his face twists into that face . The one like Wylder has smelled something foul. A look of profound hatred. Some students who came through Wyntra disliked Ayc because he was human, some because of Yris’s game. But for Wylder, it was more personal.

“What are you doing here?” Wylder demands.

Ayc holds out both hands, a bottle in each. “Xylie sent these. One’s for pain. The other is for wound healing.”

When Wylder hesitates, eyeing the bottles wearily, Bronwen takes them from Ayc. She sets the one for the wound on the small stool beside the bed and uncorks the pain reliever. She hands it to Ryker. It seems to take all his strength to prop himself up on his elbows and drink it down.

Ryker slumps back onto the pillow with a sigh. Ayc knows that feeling of relief well. “I don’t know who Xylie is, but they’re my new favorite person. Tell them thank you for me.”

“I’ll tell her,” Ayc says, heading toward the door.

“And thank you , Ayc,” Ryker calls after him.

Ayc halts and turns back, surprised Ryker remembers his name.

“I hope you’ve been well,” Ryker says, and he’s grinning again, a dimple flashing. In that moment, he looks far younger than his twenty years. Younger and more innocent than anyone related to Wylder has a right, and Ayc almost wishes he hadn’t written Ryker off as soon as he met him.

Ayc grants him a smile in return and teases, “Could be worse. I could look like you do at the moment.”

Wylder shoots him a glare, but Ryker snorts a snippet of a laugh. “False. I’m handsome even looking half dead. Bronwen, tell him I’m handsome.”

From where she kneels beside his bed, she pats his arm. “ Yes, yes, you’re quite splendid.” Bronwen cuts a sharp glance at Ayc and Wylder. “Now, if you two would stop standing there and be useful. Ayc, ask Vidar to send up some clean water so I can wash this wound out. Wylder, time to haul ass to get a healer.”

Wylder doesn’t budge. “Bronwen…”

The mistrust hangs thick in the air. Bronwen draws herself upright and squares up with him, nearly matching him in height. Silver crackles in her eyes. She looks so fierce and vicious, that even Ayc takes a step back. “I may be furious enough at you that I want to curse your asshole to always be itchy, but you know I’d never harm Ryker. My loyalties don't disappear as easily as yours.”

“You don’t understand?—”

“You poisoned Lora before your final match, Wylder. Nothing could make me understand that.”

“You what?” The two words echo through the small room, first from Ayc and then from Ryker.

If looks could wield knives, Wylder would have embedded one in Bronwen’s gut. She doesn’t even flinch.

Ayc can imagine it clearly: Lora and Wylder toasting each other before the match, a tradition they would have learned during their testing at Wyntra. Lora feeling the effects, growing weaker, getting sicker, but stepping into the ring anyway—because she’d never back down. Lora, being defeated, perhaps in an embarrassingly easy way. Did she know how her mother would react to the news? Did she think about that as she yielded?

Ayc forces his jaw to unlock and releases the anger threatening to crack open his chest with a low, mocking whistle. “Fuck, Wylder, I used to think you couldn’t be a bigger bastard, and here I am, proven wrong. ”

“I didn’t ask your opinion, cinnamon roll,” Wylder snaps.

Ryker lets out a deep sigh. “I know it’s difficult, Wylder, but try not to be an ass and just go get me a fucking healer, all right?”

Wylder hesitates, looking from Bronwen to Ayc and then at last to his brother. He curses under his breath and spins on his heel. “I’ll be back soon.” On his way out the door, he shoves Ayc in the shoulder. “You don’t need to be here. Out.”

Ayc doesn’t argue. They step out into the hallway, where garlands of pink lights drape across the top of the walls. Their rosy glow is too merry for the otherwise dim hall. Ayc hurries for the stairs, Wylder right at his back. Maybe if he can get out of here fast enough, Wylder won't have time to do anything to piss Ayc off more.

“Why do you have a sword, anyway?” Wylder asks. “What are you going to do with it? Stir some frosting?”

Damn. Not fast enough.

Ayc shrugs. “I’d say I’d shove it up your ass, but it’s much too tight for that.”

Wylder seizes Ayc’s arm and whips him around. He fixes him with a murderous look that four years ago would have made Ayc run away. But Ayc isn’t that boy anymore. He stopped being afraid long ago.

“Listen here, you waste of air,” he hisses, hushed enough that his voice won’t carry past Ayc’s ears. “Insult me again, and I promise you?—”

“Wylder,” Ayc interrupts, in that voice he so rarely uses, the one that comes from a place deep within him. A dark place. His voice growls like a monster. “Take your fucking hand off me. ”

Wylder yanks his hand back, his eyes widening in shock. Ayc turns and descends the stairs two at a time.

He finds Lora waiting for him at the bottom. She’s rocking her weight from her toes to her heels, like she’s anxiously doing some form of exercise. She stills as soon as she hears his footsteps.

“Everything good?” she asks.

Ayc is just about to respond when Wylder pounds down the stairs, shoves past them, and slams the inn door on his way out. Ayc nods, then slips around Lora and approaches Vidar at the counter to relay Bronwen’s request for fresh water.

“I’ll take it to them,” Vidar says and heads into the kitchen. Still perched on Vidar’s shoulder, the falcon swivels its head to Ayc and lifts one foot in what Ayc swears is an attempt at a vulgar gesture. Its talons, Ayc notes, are painted pink. Then the door swings shut and blocks the bird from view.

From behind Ayc, Lora blurts, “I need your help with something.”

Ayc turns around slowly. “ You need my help?”

She nods stiffly, like the motion hurts.

Ayc leans against the counter. “And what do you need help with?”

She pauses again. At the table, Tavish tosses a ball to Saga, and the dog woofs happily as it jumps down from the chair to get it. Xylie squints at a scroll. Peregrin rests their head on the wall beside the open window, their eyes shut, but Ayc knows better than to assume the warrior isn’t aware of everything that's happening.

“I’ll tell you when we get there,” Lora says at last .

“There?” Ayc repeats, looking back to Lora. “Shit, you’re really going to murder me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she says, without hesitation.

She is still stone, and Ayc doesn’t know if she’s joking or not. “Can I at least know how ?”

“A slow, flesh-eating bacteria implanted in your tooth that slowly spreads to the rest of your body and kills you by consuming you from the inside out.”

One side of her mouth tilts upward. It’s not a smile, but it’s something close to it. Ayc is too mesmerized by that little motion to think of a comeback. So he only says, “Fantastic. Let’s go, then.”