Chapter 12 Prince Sloth
TWELVE
Prince Sloth
THE CURSED NICKNAME gave me pause—the monster had never called me that.
A beat later, a hard object broke against my back.
It stung more than it should have, and my focus shot to the splintered wood as it clattered to the ground. It wasn’t from the branches I’d collected for the fire.
As I stared at the ground, shadows I hadn’t noticed dispersed, and the stone slowly morphed into worn hardwood planks.
I twisted on my heel, taking in our surroundings as more shadows faded to reveal a new scene, and the noise hit me a fraction of a moment later like the volume had suddenly been turned up.
We weren’t in the cave anymore. We were in a crowded—
Another wooden stool careened across the… tavern, heading straight for us.
I grabbed it in midair and flung it aside, then glanced down at Lore.
She was still huddled against the wall, shielding her head. And her eyes were wide with alarm, but one that seemed turned inward. Which was strange.
I had no time to ask her what had happened.
The shadows streamed back into the stone she held, and something about the action didn’t sit well with me. Dreamweavers ought to create reality from fantasy using their minds, not via the shadows. As far as I knew, anyway. There had to be some piece I was missing…
A beast of a mortal fell onto the table nearest us, shattering the old wood with his bulk and drawing my attention back to the issue at hand.
I had neither the time nor the patience to deal with this.
Lust would happily toss himself into the fray, taking pleasure from the fight almost as much as Wrath would.
Though Wrath tended to curb himself more.
Lust had no such restraint. If he were here, I’d turn him loose while I got Lore to some quiet place where we could figure out how her magic and the phoenix tear worked and uncover how she controlled the shadows.
I scanned the tavern.
Dimly lit, ramshackle, deeply scarred wooden walls and floors, with at least a dozen mismatched tables and chairs peppered throughout the midsized gathering room, the space had clearly seen its fair share of chaos.
I suspected brawls were more common than not.
We were standing on the edge of one such fight now; a crowd of about thirty were bashing into one another and anything else they could get their hands on.
Some were even throwing their heads back and howling at the swaying chandelier like wolves worshipping a full moon.
I didn’t scent shifters in the crowd, which meant they were simply morons.
The main exit was blocked by a crush of bodies struggling to take the fight outdoors, but thankfully it wasn’t the only way out of this charming establishment.
My attention landed on a staircase located in the back left corner.
So far, no one paid it any mind.
That was where we needed to go. I bet there were rooms we could rent, and the faster we could work on Lore’s magic, the better.
I quickly assessed the best path and decided diving straight in would be the quickest route. There was always a lull located in the eye of any storm.
We just needed to make it there.
Ale mugs crashed into targets, the muffled sounds of fists smashing into soft flesh, and glass breaking added to the growing cacophony erupting around us.
I inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled, missing the quiet peace of my library.
I cursed Xavier again for the role he’d played in forcing me to this realm.
If he hadn’t stolen the book, I would be at my court now, reading and not having my sense of serenity tested every other minute.
Perhaps my brothers were correct about my antisocial tendencies.
Another table, already creaking under the immense weight of several large men climbing onto it, finally succumbed to gravity’s pull and crashed to the floor with a deafening thud.
The men tumbled down with it, but their fall only added fuel to their fight. They grappled and clawed at one another amid the freshly splintered wood and spilled beer.
Clearly driven by too much alcohol and not enough brain cells, two of them seized the jagged remains of the table and used them as improvised weapons, bludgeoning their foes with merciless abandon.
Chairs toppled next as the tavern exploded into a full-on disorderly riot. The violence kept spreading like an uncontrollable blaze, and soon every corner teemed with drunkards engaged in primal warfare.
Gods only knew what had started this battle. I’d seen true wars that were fought more honorably and sensibly.
This could very well be part of the Trials—but whether Lore was being tested for heroics or fear or anything else was anyone’s guess.
Rivers of beer sprayed the walls and soaked the floor, and the now empty bottles were quickly transformed into deadly missiles soaring through the air. Honestly, I was impressed they’d had the wherewithal to use them as projectiles.
Glass shattered and rained down across the floor.
These drunken fools would tear the whole rickety structure down at the rate they were going. And that would be inconvenient.
I didn’t want to traipse around what promised to be a lovely village in search of different lodgings to begin our training.
Lore released a surprised squeal as I scooped her up and attempted to shoulder my way through the fight.
“Put me down, you oaf!”
Her fists pounded against my back, and she kicked wildly at the air. She was like a feral cat that had gotten tossed into a bath.
What a violent little ray of sunshine.
I set her back down.
“See those men?” I jerked a thumb toward the nearest group of brawlers.
Just then, a lone fighter barreled into the column where we stood, his body colliding with a dull thud before he crumpled to the ground.
One would imagine it would have knocked him out or slowed him down. But normalcy and reason had left this establishment several moments ago.
Dust swirled up from the impact, but the fallen man was undeterred; he immediately began pounding the floor like it was his worst enemy.
I cast a meaningful glance in her direction, eyebrows raised in silent commentary.
“Do they look like they’ll care if they hit you? They’re so drunk they’re dueling the hardwoods, Lore.”
She pursed her lips. Clearly at an impasse. It was hard to argue with the grand show of absurdity taking place at our feet, though.
“Fine.” She cringed as another man hit the floor near the previous idiot, and the two began rolling around like pigs in muck. “But I’ll ride on your back. I want to be in on the action.”
I released a deep sigh, turned, and squatted down so she could leap up.
And leap she did. Lore took a slight running start and catapulted herself onto my back, nearly knocking us both to the sticky ground.
My hands shot out, fingers slipping through what I hoped was only beer.
“Oof. Sorry. That was a tad exuberant.”
I straightened up and her arms locked around my neck.
She had the audacity to kick her heels into my sides like I was a horse and she was a general riding into war.
She thrust an arm straight out and pointed into the chaos, her excitement barely contained.
“Charge!”
I was clearly being punished for previous sins.
At least one of us was enjoying the mayhem.
If my brothers could see me now, feeding into this lunacy…
She nudged me again with her heels and I aimed for the stairs.
Within the first few steps I was greeted with several punches.
I gritted my teeth against the hits.
Pain was temporary, and it was best to not engage if I could help it.
Fists and elbows pummeled into me with brutal force as I strode into the heart of the brawl.
Each blow landed like a sledgehammer against my kidneys, sides, and spine, sending sharp waves of pain through my body.
Lore rounded a swift kick to someone’s head.
His eyes widened with the same shock I felt, his body swaying for a split second before he crumpled to the ground, dazed and defeated.
She let out a triumphant whoop that carried across the room.
“Did you see that?” She practically squeezed my air supply off. “He tried to punch you in the throat! And then bam! Went down like a sack of potatoes.”
“You are far too excited over violence.”
“Violence? I am exuding some epic main character energy. No sword-training montage required.”
I twisted and dodged a flurry of incoming flying limbs.
“If you’re the main character, who am I?”
“My dependable sidekick, obviously.”
Lore’s other leg swept out, catching another would-be attacker in the face. His head snapped back and down he went, his expression slack. He’d wake up from the blow but would have one hell of a headache.
She really was quite good.
Her victory cry was so loud this time that I imagined people in the next realm heard her.
“Debatable.” I twisted for her to land another blow. “Sidekicks don’t fight like I do. I’m at least the wise mentor.”
Someone attempted to break my shin with a hard kick.
I stumbled, nearly losing Lore in the process. Pain radiated up my leg, and I staggered another step before realizing I was in trouble.
Lore slid off my back. “Are you okay?”
“I—”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a blur of motion, but before I could react, a fist slammed into my face.
My head snapped to the side, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth as I stumbled backward, trying to regain my balance.
Lore grabbed the back of my tunic to steady me. “Holy gods!”
My attacker wasn’t finished, but the element of surprise was gone.
I saw the second blow coming, and I caught the man’s hand in a viselike grip.
My fingers dug into his skin, and I squeezed until I heard the satisfying crack of his bones under pressure.
But he wasn’t tapping out just yet.
Without missing a beat, he shifted his weight and delivered a powerful kick to my stomach. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and the unexpected pain had me doubling over.
It shouldn’t have hurt that much.
“Behind you!” Lore shouted.
I swung around and punched the man in the face, sending him sprawling to the floor unconscious, then paused to collect myself.
Cold, efficient, analytical.
I had to mentally remind myself who I was.
Tinges of that same odd magic from the temple riled my emotions.
But with or without any magical prodding, my tolerance was wearing thin.
I stared down the nearest brawlers, then motioned Lore closer. “Hold on to my tunic and stay as close as you can.”
“Your face is bruising.”
And swelling, from the feel of it.
“Let’s worry about it later.”
“Total sidekick energy,” she muttered.
I gave her a flat look that indicated she wished, then resumed my trek toward the stairs. I didn’t hold anything back when I defended us from the next set of brawlers bold enough to cross my path.
Bodies of my would-be assailants flew across the room, crumpling to the floor in unmoving heaps. If they were lucky, they’d get up to torment more unsuspecting barstools in a few hours.
If they were less fortunate, they’d be meeting the goddess of death.
I didn’t care one way or another.
We resumed our slow march through the chaos, and the next time someone ran at me, I bared my teeth and he stumbled away, a wet stain forming on his pants.
Lore’s attention whipped up to meet mine.
“Did you just growl?” she asked, incredulous.
“I stepped in piss.”
“Next time try not to make someone wet themselves.”
My mouth curled at the edges. “Caught that, did you?”
“Very intimidating.”
“Comes with the whole Wicked package. Intelligent, almost impossible to kill, and proficient in making mortals piss themselves.”
“How humble.”
“I think you mean honest.”
Lore snorted as I kicked a table out of our way to clear the path and guided her over the rubble.
We finally stopped where the barkeeper was leaning against the wall behind the long, scarred partition, a damp rag tossed over his shoulder, watching with a detached calm as his tavern was ripped apart.
I dropped a small coin purse down before the barkeeper.
Gold was gold in any realm.
Before I’d left my House of Sin, I’d packed some for the journey as a precaution.
The man glanced at the coins, then back up at me.
“I need a room. Preferably one with a bathtub.”
He pocketed the coin purse and grabbed a brass key off the wall, which he tossed at me.
“Your lucky day. We’ve got our best room left. Top floor. Attached bathing chamber, one bed. Food will be sent up”—he dodged a barstool that flew over his head—“shortly.”
I scooped Lore up and managed to carry her halfway up the stairs before she demanded to be put down again.
I set her on her feet and watched with banked amusement as she gripped the railing, peering over it as she drank in the melee below.
It looked much worse from this vantage point.
Blood splattered against the walls, dripped down tunics. Men smiled with missing teeth as they rammed into one another.
Lore stared down, unblinking, her wide gaze taking it all in.
Bellington didn’t strike me as the sort of place where brawls were normal.
“Is this really the kind of book you enjoy reading?”
Her attention flicked to mine. “Action-packed, filled with tension and romance? Who wouldn’t love this book?”
“Surely it’s not as appealing in reality.”
She cocked her head, thinking.
I waited for the horror, the fear, the tremble in her voice… Seeing the scope of the brutality from up here would likely impress her that we’d made it relatively unscathed.
“You should make sure the bartender sends lager up to the room.”
My gaze narrowed on her.
“You want me to go back into a brawl to request ale?”
She looked at me like I was quite possibly the dullest companion she’d ever had to be saddled with.
“If this is the lager from Black Wings, White Bones, it’s legendary.
It would be a crime to visit this story and not try it.
Blake and Agatha will murder me if they find out I visited this book and didn’t see if the lager lived up to the hype.
I’m tempted to run down there and drink straight from the tap. ”
Somehow, I could envision her doing just that. Still, her reaction to the whole scene was concerning. Anyone would be nervous or stunned by the violence.
I filed it away for further inspection.
“Should I have any idea who Blake and Agatha are?”
“Oh, my gods.”
She clutched my arm with a surprisingly strong grip, and I tensed for an impending attack. I opened my senses up, searching out the danger.
Nothing stood out.
“What is it?”
“I bet Logan Blaze is down there somewhere. Do you see anyone with an alarmingly sexy chest tattoo breaking bones? He’ll have irresistible dimples.”
A dreamy, hopeful expression crossed her face as she scanned the room again. I had a sudden, irrational urge to find the man and break some of his bones.
Must be the dark influence of the book.
I handed her the room key. “Lock the door and don’t open it for anyone.”
A mischievous gleam entered her eyes, and I realized my mistake.
“Anyone other than me,” I amended.
She muttered something about Lord Stoic, and I waited until she’d climbed the stairs and entered our room before heading back into the fray.