29. Chapter 29
R en lounged at her usual corner table in The Iron Bridle, turning her coin purse over in her hands. Her fingers adjusted twice. The purse dipped lower in her palm than she expected, coins shifting with a heavy clink .
She wasn’t used to it having this much inside.
The tavern’s interior wasn’t pretty. It was filled with splintered tables, uneven flagstone floors, but Ren liked the place.
It was gritty, and most importantly the food was cheap.
Better yet, the cooks made the best bread rolls in the city, warm enough to steam in your hands and buttery enough to make you want to sell your soul for more.
Old, battle-worn saddles hung along the walls, relics from fae warriors long dead or long retired.
Ren dragged a fingertip through the crumbs left on her plate, swiping it through a streak of olive oil before bringing it to her lips and savoring the lingering taste. The bread had still been warm from the oven.
“Hey, you,” Elira called as she slid up behind her. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long. I got slammed with work orders.”
Ren barely heard Elira at first because her attention was fixed on the far corner of the tavern, where a small crowd had gathered around the Iron Bridle’s prized attraction: an enchanted wooden horse .
For a few coins of silver, anyone could ride it. If they managed to stay on for a full minute, their bet doubled. If it bucked them off, they lost. Simple as that.
It was Ren’s favorite source of entertainment so far.
Tonight, a lanky young fae strutted toward the enchanted horse. His friends whooped and hollered, shoving him forward.
Ren snorted. “Look at him.” She jerked her chin toward the spectacle as Elira sat across from her. “He’s got five seconds before he eats floorboards.”
“Five? You’re generous.”
“No, I’m bored,” Ren muttered, propping her chin on her hand as the cocky fae mounted the enchanted horse with all the confidence of a warrior king.
The horse’s eyes flared with a pulse of blue light.
The fae grinned at his friends.
One… two…
The horse lurched upward, bucked sideways, and launched him off like a sack of potatoes. He crashed into the railing with a breathless oof .
The crowd roared with laughter.
Ren smirked. “Called it.”
“Ren, please. A child could’ve seen that outcome.”
Ren shrugged, then gestured to the empty plate. “Sorry I didn’t wait on you. I was starving.”
Elira laughed. “Clearly.” Her eyes snagged on the coin purse Ren was still palming. “Pay day, huh?”
Ren hummed and shoved the purse back into her cloak. Then she pushed to her feet, patting Elira’s shoulder as she passed. “I’m getting us drinks. And tonight?” She leaned in, grin crooked. “Everything’s on me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Hell yes.” Ren sauntered toward the counter. “I’m celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?” Elira called.
Ren only whistled. She returned with two glasses of whiskey. When she set them down, Elira gawked. “Starting off strong?”
“Like I said.” Ren lifted her glass. “I’m celebrating.”
Their drinks clinked and Ren welcomed the familiar burn as it slid down her throat .
Movement near the door caught her eye. A small group of fae males filed into the tavern, Lucan Brightbane among them. They were speaking loudly, shoulders thrown back in that irritating way all highborn males carried themselves.
Ren braced herself for the usual sneer when Lucan’s gaze found hers. Instead, his stare brushed hers and then flicked away. Ren’s lips twitched.
A quiet victory. She didn’t need his approval. But his silence? That was its own kind of triumph.
“Don’t keep me waiting,” Elira said, nudging her knee under the table. “What are we celebrating?”
Ren leaned in, lowering her voice. “Today, I wasn’t last.”
“In what?”
“Our morning run. I wasn’t the last to finish. First time ever. I was second to last, but today I finished before a fae.”
Elira’s brows shot up. “Wow. That is impressive.”
“Hell yeah it is.” Ren lifted her whiskey again. “So like I said, everything’s on me tonight. No arguments.” She winked and took a swig of her drink.
Elira swirled her whiskey, studying Ren with renewed interest. “How many soldiers were in that run? You beat out one fae, sure, but out of how many?”
Ren grimaced, dragging a hand through her hair. “Enough that it still counts,” she muttered. Then, waving the topic away, she added, “Besides, there’s going to be another ball next week which means the palace will be crawling with more soldiers.”
“How many guards does it take to babysit a ballroom?”
“Fewer than you’d think. Even with more coming to oversee the balls, most of the soldiers are stretched thin these days.”
Elira tilted her head. “Doing what? I thought palace guard duty was a cushy assignment.”
“Half of them are stuck running convoys to the villages. The crown decides whether they need them elsewhere or at the palace. The end of autumn means tax season, and apparently every noble wants their coin hauled in yesterday.”
Elira let out a low whistle. “So that’s where the manpower went.”
“Yep,” Ren said, lifting her glass. “And here we are, toasting to the chaos of it all. ”
Elira hummed thoughtfully. “So, excellent food, stiff drinks, fancy outfits, and only a handful of guards on duty? Sounds like a recipe for disaster.”
“Please. Fae love to pretend they’re invincible. Sure, they’re powerful, but take away their magic and I wonder how tough they’d really be.”
Elira snorted, but her expression shifted. She traced a finger along the rim of her glass. “Maybe,” she murmured. “But power’s funny, Ren. Half of it’s appearances. So long as they play the game, they get to keep looking untouchable. Until someone reminds them otherwise.”
Ren stilled, the words settling.
Elira tossed back the rest of her whiskey and stood. “Anyway, you said everything’s on you tonight. So let’s make sure it hurts your coin purse.”
Ren barked a laugh and followed her into the noise and warmth of the tavern.
A week of drills and sparring had left Ren’s body aching, but she could feel her muscles growing stronger.
When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she thought she saw more life in her eyes than when she first arrived, as if a spark was returning piece by piece.
Tonight was another lavish ball. Ren didn’t even know the purpose for this ball; it seemed Kaelin just enjoyed the opulence.
Ren tugged at the dark red satin of her gown, wondering if this was what passed for responsibility among the fae nobility – dressing in frills, drinking endless wine, nibbling cheeses she couldn’t pronounce, and dancing until dawn.
She had lost count of how many of these gatherings she’d been gently obligated since her arrival. At least five, maybe more.
There were other balls she hadn’t even bothered with, nights she’d remained curled in her room amidst satin blankets, either savoring the rare solitude or trading whispers with Mirella, whose scandalous tidbits from around the realm proved far more entertaining.
Just last week, Mirella confided that a certain fae councilman’s son had dyed his hair silver to look more ‘regal,’ only for the rain to wash it all down his neck during a public procession.
Or, “The Duke of Merrow? Caught with not one mistress, but two. At the same time. And the fools still argued about who he favored most.”
The ballroom glittered, just as it always did. Kaelin moved through her guests like a wraith of charm and calculation.
But never once did her eyes seek Ren. Kaelin had been avoiding her for the past week. And that was fine. Good, even.
Ren took a deep swallow of wine that was honey-sweet and far too rich. She was done with the push and pull that came with Kaelin, along with the veiled insults, the games. Maybe Kaelin had realized Ren wasn’t a piece on her board worth moving anymore.
There were more in attendance tonight than usual. There were new faces – fae with lean builds and scar-lined grace of those who lived far from the gilded walls of the capital. Their shoulders were squared in a way that didn’t speak of dance lessons or politics, but of battlefields and fighting.
She caught snippets of conversation drifting between clinking glasses.
“...from the northern outposts, I heard…”
“Returned last night. The fighting near the outposts has worsened – ”
Some nobles gave the newly arrived warriors wide berth, while others fawned with over-sweet compliments.
Ren set down her empty glass and slipped toward the quieter halls, where the smoke hung heavy and the conversations carried teeth.
Here, small groups gathered in corners, nursing wine and smoke dried local herbs through clay or wood pipes, voices low and intentions lower.
The kind of place where masks slipped and alliances were born.
Or broken.
Ren lingered by the hearth, sinking into one of the worn velvet chairs as the quiet hum of distant conversation faded behind her.
For several long minutes, she simply watched the fire, its golden tongues dancing lazily over blackened logs.
The flames crackled softly, a sound that once made her flinch with memory.
Even now, the brittle crinkle of burning wood sometimes curled her stomach with dread.
She let herself stare, the heat brushing her cheeks like a familiar hand, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t recoil .
She looked up when a shadow crossed her path and froze. She swore even her heart stopped beating for a second.
The male fae from the wagon was unmistakable – the one who’d ridden ahead of her that first day in chains, looking down from his sleek midnight horse like they were something stuck to the bottom of his boot.