Chapter 33 Ginger
Ginger
Surprisingly, Erebus, Shade, whatever his name was, had agreed to remain in the cell while we figured out what to do with him.
I brought out a pitcher of cider—we certainly needed it.
The group sat at a table in the corner of my pub, everyone nervous and nursing a beverage to soothe their worries.
I felt better just being back in my element.
The pub had been kept running in my absence, sure, but it wasn’t the same. The pub needed me.
I refilled goblets and then poured one for myself and settled for a moment. My other patrons were served, and if they needed anything else, they could wait.
My eyes darted to every corner, every shadow, every darkened crevice as though the god himself would be lurking in them.
I could almost swear I sensed his shadowy presence, felt the hairs raising on the back of my neck and my baser instincts kicking into overdrive.
I struggled to focus.
“We have to send for the King,” Tommins said. “It is the only option.”
“Do you think His Majesty knows what he is?” Tandor asked as he ran his thumb over the stem of his goblet. “His missive was rather… vague.”
“Does the King even have jurisdiction over the Old Gods? That seems backwards,” Kizzi mused.
Tommins shrugged. “I do not know. But I do not want to face the King’s wrath if the truth escapes, either. The whole town is aware of Shade’s presence—they saw him compete in the trials. Anyone could string the details together.”
“What if the King kills him?” I asked quietly.
“Is it possible to kill a god?” Tandor added. “Kizzi?”
She shrugged. “I don’t fucking know. Why are you looking at me?”
“You held his hand,” Fiella said. “Did you feel his power? His weaknesses? What did you do to the poor sap, anyway, making him bleed like that?”
Kizzi tensed. “I don’t really know. My magic just wanted to seek… something. The truth maybe? But it was locked down tight. I really had to push for it.” She swallowed. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
Tandor brushed off her concern. “He’s fine. He got up so he clearly wasn’t harmed too badly.”
“It’s hard to explain,” Kizzi continued. “No, I don’t know if he can be killed. But he was clearly gone for a long while. Maybe he’s weakened in his absence. Something about the magic returning pulled him back… I think I did something at that ritual.”
“Hallow’s eve?” Fiella asked.
Kizzi nodded. “You remember that weird dream I told you guys about? Apparently, that wasn’t just a dream. The sprites were on to something with the whole Godsblood nonsense.”
“Holy shit.”
“Right. I almost pissed my pants when I realized the truth.” She flexed her fingers.
“I was holding his hand and all of a sudden, I realized I was clutching pure darkness. I could already sense his magic, the dungeon was absolutely drenched in it, but the pieces didn’t click together until I pushed through that block in his mind. ”
“Can you tell if he’s a danger?” Redd asked.
“He’s been here for weeks now, and he hasn’t hurt anyone. Why would he start now?” I asked.
“Now we know his secret,” Tommins suggested. “Maybe that changes things. We must consider every outcome.”
It was clear to me that the god had just learned the secret about his identity himself, but I didn’t say that part out loud.
“Is there another option?” I asked.
Tommins shook his head slowly. “Not one that doesn’t put everyone in jeopardy.”
I sighed. “You’ll send a missive out tomorrow, then?”
“You can use my mailbox,” Fiella offered. “It’s speedy.”
“It’ll send the message instantly,” Kizzi agreed. “Magic.”
My throat tightened. “That’s that, then? We send a message and let the King’s men come take him away?”
“That’s that,” Tommins agreed.
“Wait,” Tandor interrupted. “The King warned of powerful, dangerous beings popping up around the realm. Do you think all of the Old Gods have returned?”
“Oh, fuck,” Redd muttered. “I’ll bet so.”
“I feel woozy,” Fiella said as she rubbed her forehead.
“I might be sick again,” I agreed. I hadn’t considered that major detail.
“We will be fine!” Kizzi insisted. “They seem more like folk than I expected. Surely, they’ve changed in the thousands of years they’ve been gone.”
“But they’re mysteriously strong and powerful and we don’t know if they can be killed,” Tandor added unhelpfully.
“And they don’t eat or drink much,” I said.
“They don’t need to eat?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t seem like it. At least, Shade doesn’t.” We’d all reverted to calling him Shade instead of Erebus. I was secretly glad for it—his true name was too intimidating.
“Gods,” Tommins uttered. He straightened. “Feels wrong saying that now.”
“Blasphemous,” Fiella agreed. “I kind of like it.”
“You would,” I said, humor creeping into my voice.
“Should we make him stay in the dungeon? Let him out?” Kizzi asked.
Tommins considered this. “Where has he been staying?”
I tilted my head. “I sent him your way weeks ago when he asked for accommodations. Did he ever rent a cottage?”
“No,” Tommins said. “He never rented anything.”
“So where has he been staying?” Kizzi asked.
“In the woods?” I guessed. The idea made me sad.
“Did he break in somewhere?” Tandor asked.
“This is a mess,” Redd mumbled.
“Do you think he’ll stay in the dungeon if we ask nicely?” Fiella suggested.
“I bet he would stay if Ginger asked him,” Tandor said matter-of-factly. His cheek twitched.
I glared at him. “Why don’t we just give him a choice? If he flees, he flees, and then he’s not our problem anymore. And if he does something evil, we’ll… we’ll deal with it. And hope he really has weakened in his time away...”
“Not a bad idea,” Linc agreed. I’d nearly forgotten the human was here.
“Cheers to that.”
I stood from my stool, grabbing the empty pitcher of cider. “I’ll ask him after I close up today. Tommins, Fiella, send the missive to the King. And the fates will take it from there.”
“Fair.”
I left my friends to finish their drinks as I returned to the kitchen, hoping that the flow of normal work would distract me from the conflicted thoughts churning in my mind and the bizarre, lingering smell of jasmine.
As the temperature of the air tugged in the direction of warmth, Brambleby began to spend more time outside.
The freeze season was drifting away slowly, and with it, the small dragon seemed to have more energy.
He still napped an absurd amount, and was outrageously sleepy, but he played more. Wandered further. Wrestled with his siblings with more fervor.
I was so proud of him it nearly brought a tear to my eye.
He even ate more, constantly begging for more stew when I served him some. I had a suspicion that the dragons also hunted small critters in the woods, but I tried not to think about that too much—I didn’t like to think of the tiny, adorable dragons as carnivorous beasts.
“Let’s go see the god,” I urged as I tucked Brambleby into the sling Fiella had knitted while I was comatose. Apparently, Bram liked to be carried by whomever was willing, and she had fashioned a sling to keep her hands free while she hauled him to and fro.
It was rather convenient. It was a bright red color that reminded me alarmingly of the mushrooms that had nearly taken me out, but it was pretty, nonetheless.
Brambleby grumbled but complied, only wriggling a little once I settled him deeper into the sling and hoisted him over my shoulder.
I tried not to notice how much heavier he felt.
“We just need to talk to him one last time.” My stomach squeezed. “And then, he’ll be out of our hair. Forever, maybe.”
Brambleby snorted out a hot gust of air. It fluttered my hair where it hung over my neck. “What’s got you so grumpy today?” I mused as I strode toward Mayor Tommins’ office where the dungeon was housed.
He tucked his head into the sling and curled up, ignoring me.
“Rude.”
The walk passed quickly. Faster than I would have liked.
My light cloak fluttered in a mild breeze and a pair of chattering squirrels darted across my path. The warming temperatures softened the ground, ripened the scents of dirt and leaves and lifted them into the air.
I inhaled deeply. There was nothing better than the smell of approaching warmth.
Even though it never truly felt hot in Moonvale—if a folk wanted heat, they had to travel to another town. Like Sunhaven, or even Tidegrove.
I didn’t stray much—in fact I had never strayed further than Sunhaven in my entire thirty-three years. I didn’t care for mountains, and the snow didn’t appeal to me much either, aside from the small amount we occasionally got here.
I preferred my towns cozy and crisp.
Moonvale was my home. It was that simple. It was where I was born, and it was where I planned to remain.
The door to Tommins' office was unlocked—he was probably somewhere inside, or home at his cottage, but I didn’t care to look.
I slipped downstairs.
I could sense the god before I could see him. My spine straightened, and I hoisted Brambleby’s sling higher on my shoulder. The dragon popped his head out as I descended into darkness, but he didn’t growl, which was a good sign.
The beast could be protective if he wanted to.
“Ginger.” His voice was a silky caress, surprisingly pleasant. My face warmed just hearing it.
“Erebus.”
“Shade, please. Just call me Shade.”
“But that’s not your name.” I tilted my head, confused. “Would you rather be called by a title of some sort? How about Your Majesty? Your Highness? Oh Great and Powerful Dark One?”
He shuddered. “No titles. Not by you. Never by you.”
My cheek twitched. “I’ve come with an offer.”
“I figured as much.” He walked up to the bars, but kept his hands folded behind his back, clearly trying not to intimidate me. His shadows swirled around his feet, but they didn’t approach.
A part of me wished they would.
“We can’t keep you here, if you don’t wish to be kept,” I started.
He nodded, just once. “That is true.”
“But you stayed.”
“You wanted me to,” he said simply.
“That’s all it takes?”
He nodded again.
“Why me?” I asked, curious. Brambleby wriggled in his sling, and I lowered it to the ground. He could explore if he wished—he could defend himself.
And for some reason, I knew Shade and his shadows wouldn’t harm him.
“I will do whatever you ask.”
“Because you think for some delusional reason that I am your wife?”
He did not respond, but I could have sworn I saw his face twitch, his shadows darken. His eyebrows pinched for just a moment in what looked like a twinge of pain.
“If I asked you to leave and never come back, would you?”
“Is that what you’re asking me?”
“Would you?” I pushed.
“I would not wish to.”
“But would you?”
“For your sake, or mine?” he asked.
“Does that matter?”
He sighed. “If you truly wished to never see me again, if my presence was so… burdensome… that your life would be better without me in it—yes. I would leave. For now.”
My muscles slackened. “Wow. What does that mean, for now?”
“You will be ready for me someday. I can wait as long as necessary.”
My cheeks warmed. “That’s very presumptuous of you.”
He nodded. “I know my heart. It does not waver.”
“And what about mine?”
“I would like to know yours, if you would give me a chance. It would be my greatest honor and privilege.”
“You’re a god,” I argued. “I’m just a faun who runs a pub. I’m no match for you.”
“You are so much more than you give yourself credit for,” he insisted.
“But you are a god. Do you not have some goddess for a wife that you’ve been spending eternity with?”
He tilted his head. “No.”
“Nobody?” I pressed. “How old are you, anyway?”
His throat worked and he winced as though in pain. “The memories have not all returned, yet.”
“All? So, some of them are back?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Some of my memories are back.”
“Care to explain?”
“I would. Over a cup of tea.”
My jaw fell open. I forced it shut with a clack of my teeth. “You want to have tea?”
“Yes.”
“The King’s men are coming,” I warned. “We alerted him.”
His mouth flattened into a line. “I assumed as much. That is not ideal.”
“I don’t know how much time you have before they come to claim you.”
“I cannot be claimed, for I have already given all of myself away.”
I flapped my hand dismissively, refusing to let the weight of that statement settle on my shoulders. “You know what I mean.”
“Tomorrow. We will have tea. Your cottage.”
“Okay. Tea. Sure. What will you do until then?” I pulled the key to his cell out of my pocket and twirled it idly in my fingers. He watched the movement with rapt attention.
“Do not worry about that, wife.”
I slipped the key into the lock and turned it. The latch opened with an audible click that was deafening in the quiet of the dungeon. Brambleby returned to my feet, and I scooped him back up into the sling. I did not pull the cell door open—he would have to do that on his own.
“Tomorrow, then,” I said, feeling suddenly shy.
He nodded.
His eyes burned into the back of my head as I departed.
The sensation lingered.