Chapter 14 The Serpent #2
“Heartwalker,” Tait grumbled under his breath. “Send her to the ladies’ house, Erik. I beg of you.”
“We go to the pub first,” I said. “Stormbringer.”
“Aye, My King.” Stormbringer’s broad shoulders cleared a swift path through the crew. He dipped his chin, adjusting the patch over his left eye socket. “What’s the word?”
“Keep the men close to the ship. Inform Tavish we will be in the pub, and if anyone finds Pesha, bring her to me.”
Stormbringer flicked his fingers away from his forehead in a simple salute, then barked the commands to the rest of the crew.
Inside the main tavern, my blood heated. Not so long ago, I’d had my first taste of my songbird within these walls. Her sighs, the sweetness of her on my tongue, the way she’d tangled my hair around those slender fingers and claimed what she wanted was a moment I’d not soon forget.
Gods, I was desperate for her to be back in my arms.
Savory hints of roots from the coves and herbs from dried grasses along the shores tangled with the hint of sweaty bodies and arousal.
Doors to the rooms with cots and rough burlap quilts were closed.
A full house. Each space would be filled with sailors and the body they’d chosen to love for the night.
I looked back to prepare the royals for debauchery, no need for more attention to ourselves, but Mira strode through the crowds with Sander and Aleksi, unbothered by the chaos.
Jonas was lost to us, chatting with one of the pub maids wiping down a table. The woman tucked her sleek, fiery hair behind her sharply tapered ear. Part siren, if I had to guess, with her crimson lips and the way she kept humming and touching the place over the prince’s heart.
“Gods.” Tait took hold of Jonas’s arm. “Are you a royal or not?”
Jonas winked at the pub maid, then followed Tait. “My parents were thieves, still are at heart. Sander and I feel most at ease around crooks. This is like home.”
“Royal thieves?” Celine rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” Sander said. “Our family bonding meant wild schemes to get anything—a honey cake from the cooking rooms, a nightly storybook from the repository, a new way into the market.”
“Our father still hasn’t accepted he’s a king, isn’t that right, Alek?”
Aleksi nodded, chuckling. “The royals back home are not as snobbish and pretentious as your royal here, Tidecaller. Probably why you like Livia better than him.”
Celine bit down on her lip, fighting a laugh, and pulled out a chair from one of the larger tables.
If Harald were here, he’d demand I take a bit of flesh from each of them. Any lightheartedness during a direct task would not be permitted. How many times had my uncle tossed me down to the ground, shouting at me to be ruthless, until my face was soaked in his spittle?
How many times had he demonstrated how a king ought to be brutal on Tait? A way to order my compliance all to get my cousin’s pain to stop, and a way to prove how weak I was. If a father could break his own son, why could a king not break his subjects?
It was unnerving the way the earth fae royals could tease and taunt, then snap into something vicious in the next breath. I was not lighthearted, and I did not care. Livia could drag out a laugh from my chest, a smile on my face. Others did not need those from me.
Still, in this moment, I knew Harald was wrong. There was a great deal to be said in fastening loyalty through respect and trust, not fear.
Tallow candles burned in the center of grimy tables. Paper cards and wooden chips slapped on the surfaces. Weapons clinked and clacked against the wooden table as the others leveraged their blades onto the top. I remained standing, scanning the pub.
Ladies with ruffled skirts sat on the laps of men tossing their bets and gambles. Men kissed the throats of women against the counter. A few gazes caught mine, dipping their chins in respect, then promptly dodged our table in the next breath.
“My King, welcome. Always a pleasure to serve the Ever Ship.” The pub matron swayed her rounded hips to our table. “Best wild pear wine just come in from the Glass Isles. A round for your lads?”
Celine cleared her throat.
The matron scoffed. “And your wee, tender ladies.”
A hiss slid through Celine’s teeth in the same moment she let loose one of her knives. The point slammed into the wooden lath wall a finger’s width from the pub matron’s ear.
“Ack, such manners, girl.” The matron hardly flinched and ripped the knife out. She jabbed the blade toward Celine. “You’ll be gettin’ this when you be gettin’ gone from my pub. Not a chime sooner.”
I slammed a palm on the table. “Mariope. I’ve need for Pesha. Is she here tonight?”
“Oh. I did not realize you’d be wantin’ company, My King.”
“Pesha, woman. Where is she?”
Mariope ruffled and scrubbed a dingy linen over the table, as though scrubbing eased her nerves. “Was visiting the village earlier this evening. I’m certain she be back by now.”
“Send for her.”
Mariope dipped her chin and strode away.
“Who is this Pesha?” Aleksi asked.
“Larsson’s favorite company whenever we docked.”
One round of the wine promised made it to our table by the time Pesha sauntered into the pub.
Her gilded curls were toppled on the crown of her head and pinned in with wildflowers from the shrubs near the shore.
Her sun-darkened skin was dusted with too many powders, and her lips were glazed in red.
She smoothed her sea blue gown, adjusting the neckline so it plunged down her breasts and curled a palm over my shoulder. “King Erik. I was told you requested an audience. Tis an honor, My Lord.”
She tried to stoke my ego, but her voice trembled. Doubtless, my scars and the rumors of my brutality with lovers had reached her.
I pulled out the chair at my side. “Sit, Pesha. I’m here for your words, not you.”
“You don’t . . .” Pesha’s face heated. “My King, all respect, but I’ve got to earn coin like the rest of us. I have a meet within the chime, and if this crosses over—”
Tait slammed a pigskin filled with copper coin and silver chips. “Sit.”
The woman obliged, snatching her new purse, and tucked it inside the bust of her dress. With a wide grin, her needle-jagged teeth flashed. “Well, now that we’re in order, how may I serve you, King Erik?”
“Have you heard any word from Bonekeeper as of late?”
Pesha’s thick lashes fluttered like wings over her eyes. “Oh, Highness. I’ve not seen him for some time. But.” She paused. “I’ve taken company of a few menfolk who’ve been tangled in with my Bonekeeper. Not certain I recall everything they might’ve said.”
With a coy sneer, Pesha tugged one of her coins from the purse and rolled it between her forefinger and thumb.
“You dare keep secrets? You speak to your king, woman,” Tait said, voice thick and low.
“She knows.” I chuckled with a new sort of malice and scraped my thumb over the point of one tooth until a drop of blood bubbled to the surface.
Pesha tried to scramble away from the table. I’d expected it, and gripped the back of her neck, drawing her painted face close to mine.
“Dear Pesha, would you like to know what I expect?”
She closed her eyes, quivering, and let out a whimper when I traced her cheek with my blood.
My grip tightened on her neck. “Answer me!”
“Yes,” she sobbed. “Yes, My King. What . . . what d-d-do you expect?”
“I expect,” I said, drawing my face alongside hers, “that when I ask for something, something like finding my queen, you answer. You see, I’ve grown tired of liars and cheats and traitors.
I’ve no patience for the lot of them, and I’d rather rid my kingdom of such folk than make deals.
” I lowered my voice to a whisper and spoke directly into her ear. “Understand?”
Pesha nodded. “Y-Yes, My King. Yes.”
I released her, putting an arm’s length between us. “Good. Now, tell me what you know.”