Chapter 4
The common area of the inn is abuzz with patrons finished with their day of praying and eager to make offerings to Bastin, the god of revelry who delights in drink and pleasure.
A fire roars in the corner hearth, enveloping me immediately in a sweet, welcomed warmth as I cross the threshold.
I ache to shed my thick wool cloak but I don’t dare remove it.
Hidden underneath the hood’s emerald fabric, I am faceless—and I need to remain that way for as long as I can.
Soon, word will spread that I’m traveling with the infamous captain rather than with the expected carriage and full entourage, but until then, I can simply be another unknown Emerald noble. The less I’m recognized, the better.
I make my way across the crowded room, carefully zigzagging between the tables to avoid swinging mugs of ale, when a hand reaches out to grab my wrist.
“You.”
My head snaps to find the owner of the hand, a man dressed in the cavalry uniform of Corinth, gray fabric trimmed in deep golden cords. I try to yank my hand from the asshole but his grasp only tightens. He leans in, pulling me closer towards his body, hatred etched into every line of his face.
Captain Murphy steps into view over the man’s head, the sight of the black-clad warrior causing everyone around him to pause.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Instead of cowering, a defiant smirk blooms on the soldier’s face.
He rises slowly, readying himself for a fight he won’t win.
Before he can swing, he turns his head to see the face of his competition.
The realization of who stands behind him cuts through his anger-filled haze and hits harder than any punch.
“Captain!” The man drops his hold on me and steps back, palms skyward in submission. “My apologies, Captain Murphy,” he stumbles.
“Don’t apologize to me.” Murphy grabs the man by his collar and forces his face towards me. “Apologize to her.”
The soldier glares at me again, eyes even harder than before.
Shit.
He’s about to make sure everyone in this place knows who I am.
“I’m not apologizing to that poisonous bitch,” he spits.
“Soldier.”
A single barked word sends the entire tavern into silence, even the fiddler stopping mid-song. Murphy’s hold on the man’s collar tightens, his toes just barely brushing the floor under the captain’s grasp. The man’s face, already reddened from drink, begins to turn a shocking shade of purple.
“Apologize to her or I’ll stand by while she runs that sword through your heart,” the captain commands in a near growl, his eyes flashing black before returning to gray.
A drop of blood leaks from the corner of the man’s mouth as he struggles to breathe. Seconds tick by like hours as the realization of who stands in their midst settles amongst the patrons.
“Sssss…sor…sorry,” he finally squeaks out.
Captain Murphy drops the soldier to the floor and callously steps over the heap. The soldier gasps for air, a dark spot creeping across the front of his gray breeches as he writhes on the floor.
“Carry on,” Murphy’s voice booms to the crowd, motioning towards me with a sweeping hand. “Your heir commands it.”
If they didn’t know for certain who I was before, they do now. I lower my cloak hood and lift my chin as a familiar scene unfolds.
Men throughout the common room openly scoff into their cups. Women turn their faces as if a single look in my direction will blind them. No one bothers to bow, salute, or clap. Not for the poisonous heir who is destined to ruin their beloved region with her hatred for their gods.
Whispers turn into chatter, filling the tavern again, though I’m positive the topics are different than when we walked in. With Poison Ivy and the Captain of Corinth present, there are better things to gossip about now.
“Both gods-cursed if you ask me,” one scoffs.
“Nobus save us,” another prays.
“Why did you do that?” I chide as I follow in Murphy’s footsteps towards a small table in the back of the room. “I could have handled that myself.”
He hails a serving girl with the lift of a single finger and three of them nearly fall over themselves in their haste to serve him.
“My soldiers, my responsibility.” The rickety wooden chair groans as he sits.
“At least they respect you.”
“They fear me,” he corrects.
“What’s the difference?” I ask, the trio of serving girls arriving before he can respond.
Each carries a single item so that they can justify their presence. One flagon of wine. Two cups. Three giggles.
Captain Murphy never acknowledges them, pouring wine for both of us as he speaks. “There is a big difference. People do not fear you, they fear what you represent … a world that looks nothing like the one we live in. These men, they fear me and what I’m capable of.”
“What are you capable of, Captain?”
He lifts the glass to his lips, gulping down the red liquid as I brace myself for the bragging that’s sure to follow.
Bragging about the legion that supposedly fell to his blade, his renowned battle strategy, his female conquests, or maybe some sick combination of all them.
The typical stuff cocksure men choose to flaunt.
“I’m capable of shouldering the burden of being their villain until a better one comes along,” he says, wiping the wine from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “They need someone to hate, so I let them hate me.”
It’s not the response I expected, but his non-answer provides a sliver of hope. A chink in his armor that I can exploit.
“And if you had a chance to change their opinion of you … would you take it?”
“Would you?” he counters.
“Not if it requires bowing to someone who doesn’t deserve it,” I reply.
There’s a gleam in his gray eyes, a spark of something that wasn’t there before. Captain Murphy reaches under the leather armor and into his shirt pocket, dropping a folded piece of blank parchment on the table.
“Then make sure they deserve it, princess.”
The messenger owl leaves just before sunrise, my missive gripped tightly in its claws.
With the Ascension Vote three weeks away, there’s still a chance my letter can get to the Topaz heir before his father departs for Amale.
Though his father cares little for the woman I became, Silas Wilson still has a soft spot for the girl he used to play games with at the annual governors summits.
We might appear to be rivals publicly, but ever since his mother’s passing two years ago, Silas has drifted further and further from his father’s oppressive rule.
Maybe he will be willing to convince his father to at least hear me out—especially since my letter claimed that I have Captain Murphy as my formidable ally.
A claim I now need to solidify.
Turning the Lord General’s commander against him will prove to both the Topaz and Sapphire governors how serious I am about keeping Marks off the Amethyst Throne, but in order to do that I need to be less poison and more … Ivy.
Whatever the hell that looks like.
A decadent smell wafts from the kitchen as I wait in the common room for Captain Murphy. A petite, older woman emerges a few moments later with a pan of fresh pastries, their golden brown tops and bright red filling calling me toward one last indulgence before the journey ahead.
“I’ll take a half-dozen, please,” I say, placing a few coins on the counter. Her eyes lift from her creations and I know she recognizes me. “I’m sorry for the disturbance last night.”
“No matter. There’s always a fight on the holy day. Bastin prefers his offerings that way,” the woman replies as she loads up a paper bag with the crumbly tarts.
Heavy footfalls pound down the wooden stairs and a smile blooms across her thin lips as the captain strides across the room. She leans across the counter, her eyes scanning me up and down as she muses, “The best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, you know.”
“Actually it’s between the fourth and fifth rib.” Captain Murphy, voice gruff from sleep, takes a pastry from the innkeeper's outstretched tongs. “Thank you, Suzette,” he winks, vanishing out the door nearly as fast as he appeared.
“He’s a charmer, that one,” she giggles.
“Him?” I ask in disbelief. “Do you know who that is?”
“Oh yes,” she replies, placing a bag of pastries in my hand. “The captain has been stopping here for years and he’s always just the sweetest young man.”
The old woman turns and disappears behind the swinging kitchen doors leaving me standing with my mouth agape. The Captain of Corinth is a sweet, young man, who apparently has a soft spot for kind old ladies.
Maybe I can use that.
Captain Murphy waits outside the inn, mares already saddled and ready to depart. He holds their reins in one hand and a half-eaten pastry in the other.
“Between the fourth and fifth rib, huh?” I ask as I approach.
“It’s the most efficient way,” he says, handing the reins of my mare over to me. “But I think you already knew that.”
“Oh these blades are just for show. Princess, remember?” I joke, lifting myself up into the saddle and settling in.
A chuckle escapes from his lips. “You’re funnier than they make you out to be.”
“Laughing in the face of the gods requires a substantial sense of humor, Captain. Jokes are all you have when there’s likely to be no afterlife in the Eternal Meadows for you.”
A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face as he swings a muscular leg over his mare. “And here you thought we’d have nothing in common.”
“Ah, but the real question is: do you also want to stop Marks from taking the Amethyst Throne?” I ask, biting down the nerves that skate under my skin. If I’ve misjudged, this could all blow up in my face.
Sunlight fills the streets as merchants and tradespeople begin their morning routines. Murphy circles his mare, turning around to come up beside me and leaning down so only I can hear his hushed words.