24. Phoebe
24
PHOEBE
H e was married. Or… whatever Urr’ki do. They had a child. What am I doing? How can I think…
“Careful,” he growls, his hand tightening on my shoulder and pulling me out of my tumbling thoughts.
I stumble over a raised section of the stone path but he keeps me upright.
“Sorry,” I murmur, acutely aware of the stares.
I keep my own eyes downcast, the way Vapas told me to. Don’t draw attention, he said. Walk with purpose, but don’t look too confident.
Every step feels like a test I’m bound to fail. The uneven stones beneath my feet shift, making me stumble again. His hand on my shoulder is steady, grounding me, but it also feels like a leash.
“Stay close,” he whispers, his voice low and sharp. “We’re being watched.”
I don’t need him to tell me. The sensation of eyes boring into me makes my skin crawl. The shifting figures in the shadows blur together, each one a potential ally or an enemy waiting to strike. My chest tightens, the air feels heavy, and a cold knot twists in my stomach as if danger could pounce at any moment.
Ahead, a faint glow spills into the street from an open door. The sign above it sways in the faint breeze, painted with the image of a creature I don’t recognize. Vapas slows, his grip on my shoulder tightening briefly before he lets go.
“The Fallen Beetle,” he says, his tone unreadable.
“What is that?” I ask softly.
“A saravam,” he says, nodding toward the door. “Food, drink, community, or it was before…” he motions around us instead of finishing the sentence. “We’ll start here.”
The smell of stale drink and sweat hits me as we step inside. The room is dimly lit, the air thick with smoke from the fire and the low hum of conversation. It’s crowded, but not in a lively way. The weight of the atmosphere makes it clear that this is no place for celebration.
Vapas moves with purpose, guiding me to a corner table where we can sit with our backs to the wall. He motions for me to slide into the bench first. He takes the outside seat and then leans in close.
“Do not speak unless I say otherwise,” he murmurs. “Let me handle this.”
I nod, clasping my hands tightly in my lap to keep them from trembling.
A server approaches, an older Urr’ki female with a missing tusk and a wary expression. She doesn’t speak, just raises an eyebrow.
“Two kaphi,” Vapas says.
The server frowns and grunts then moves off.
Vapas’s eyes scan the room, lingering on each group of patrons in turn. There are Urr’ki here of all shapes and sizes, some scarred, others cloaked. A hulking lone male sits in the opposite corner with his hood pulled tight. There is what looks like a crutch resting against the wall beside him.
When the drinks arrive, Vapas slides one in front of me. He doesn’t drink his though, instead focusing on the server.
“I hear this is a good place to find... news,” he says, his tone casual.
The server’s eyes narrow slightly.
“Depends on the news,” she replies.
Vapas leans back in his chair, lifting his drink and taking a slow sip.
“The kind that doesn’t come from the Maulavi.”
The room feels even quieter now, as if everyone is suddenly listening. The server’s expression doesn’t change, but her grip on the tray tightens.
“You’ll want to be careful who you say things like that to,” she says in a low voice. “Not everyone is what they seem.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Vapas says, meeting her gaze without flinching.
The server studies him for a long moment before giving the barest of nods.
“Enjoy your drink,” she says, then turns and walks away.
I let out a breath in a sharp exhale.
“Was that wise?” I whisper.
Vapas doesn’t answer immediately, instead continuing to scan the room.
“We’ll find out,” he says at last.
A figure approaches our table. It’s a different female Urr’ki with sharp features and a cloak that seems to swallow the light around it. She sets a hand on the edge of our table, her fingers tipped with blunt claws.
“You’re looking for something,” she says, her voice low and gravelly.
Vapas doesn’t react outwardly, but I can feel the tension radiating from him.
“Perhaps,” he says.
Her eyes flick to me, narrowing slightly before returning to Vapas.
“The Fallen Beetle isn’t a place for idle curiosity.”
“I’m not curious,” Vapas replies. “I’m determined.”
She tilts her head, studying him for a moment. Then she nods toward a door at the back of the saravam. “If you’re serious, follow me. But leave the human.”
My heart skips a beat, and I open my mouth to protest, but Vapas speaks first.
“She comes with me,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The woman’s eyes flash with something—annoyance, maybe, or respect.
“Suit yourself,” she says, turning and striding toward the door.
Vapas stands, offering me a hand. I take it, my palm clammy against his, and together we follow her into the unknown.