Chapter Twenty-One
Hours later, after weaving my way on foot through the South Ward to the Iron Docks district, taking special care to avoid both city and royal guard, I push open the door to The Lioness. Relief washes over me as I find Camille behind the counter.
Washing glasses, her gaze rises with the chime of the door.
To my eternal gratitude, the tavern is near empty. Three patrons sit at the bar, spaced too far apart to assume they’d come together. A handful of others sit at a table engaged in quiet conversations.
A few eyes dart in my direction as I enter, approaching the empty corner of the bar. Pulling myself onto a barstool, Camille strides up to me, her typical flirtatious smile on her face.
“Welcome in, stranger.” Her greeting is warm. “What can I get you?”
Settling into my seat I say, “Are you able to get a message to Eve at the temple? I need her to get something.”
Her eyes shoot wide. “Not sure what you need, but Eve doesn’t run anymore, friend.” She shakes her head slowly.
Run? My brows furrow. Then I realize she means run with thieves.
Taking a deep breath, I purse my lips. “No, Camille, I need Eve to come here and bring me my robes.”
Her eyes narrow to slits as she breathes deep. After a moment, her eyes widen.
“Ves?” she asks, her tone weary. “I’m not going to ask why you’re donning a glamour, but your scent gives you away.”
“You’re better off not asking,” I laugh bitterly. “I need Eve to bring me my temple robes.”
Giving me a look that edges on incredulous, she nods.
“Hey, Nicholas!” she calls out over her shoulder.
Nicholas peers from behind a swinging door at the other end of the bar. A door leading to the kitchens, I assume.
“What is it, buttercup?” his deep voice bellows in return.
Camille flashes him a flirty smile and he grins.
She places a hand on her hip. “Send Jackson to the Moon Temple,” she says. “Tell him to find Eve Willowgrace and have her come here with Ves’ robes.”
“On it.” Nicholas gives a firm nod before vanishing behind the door.
Camille turns back to me.
“Who has you running?” she asks as she leans against the bar, a brow lifting.
Who instead of what, she’s asked. Camille is either too keen for her own good or lucky in her guessing.
I laugh, a sound mixed with a scoff. “Would you believe me if I said life has me running?”
“Girl, whose life doesn’t?” She bursts into laughter as she leans back, reaching under the bar.
Camille slams down two small glasses onto the bar with one hand as she pours a transparent brown liquid into them. The smell of the substance strikes my nose, and I grimace.
“What is this?” I lean back, seeking escape from the pungent smell.
“Liquid courage, my friend,” she chimes, setting the bottle aside and lifting one of the glasses to her lips.
“I don’t want—”
She silences me, making a clicking sound with her tongue as she guides the other glass into my hand. Reluctantly, I take it. Reaching out, she taps her glass against mine and swallows the drink in one go. The grimace on her face tells me everything I need to know about what she’s given me.
With a sigh, I do the same.
My regret is instant.
Forcing myself to swallow, my throat sets on fire. I place the glass on the counter, and Camille fills another glass with water. She slides it to me, laughing. I drink without restraint. A much needed respite from the heat and exertion of the day.
Setting the glass down, she refills it.
“I’m going to ask you another question,” Camille laughs, shifting to pouring herself a glass of water. “You can answer it, or you can enjoy another shot.”
“I don’t need—”
Again, she silences me, this time with a raised hand.
“Eve will be here before you know it,” she says, her blue eyes locking with mine. “I know during my shit days if I don’t wanna talk about it, I drown it in whiskey. And if you’re running around in a glamour… you’re having a shit day. This will help with all those pesky emotions and thoughts.”
Well, she’s not exactly wrong.
Camille snags the bottle, pulling it close.
“Does this work both ways?” I ask, laughing. “Do I get to ask you questions?”
“If you want to,” Camille replies with a shrug. “But you’ll lose if you play against me.” Her smile becomes playful. “I’m a champion at this,” she teases and I laugh.
“How did you remember my scent?” I fold my hands on the bar and lean forward, unable to keep the smile from my face.
“There are things you learn to remember as the owner of a tavern,” she answers, filling the two glasses yet again. “A fae’s face, a fae’s name, and a fae’s scent. And if you’re good at the job, their drink order.” She pauses, lifting her eyes from the glasses as she sets the bottle aside.
A fair enough answer.
“My turn.” She gives me a roguish smirk. “While your scent is very distinct, you carry the scent of the Sovereign King. If I were to wager a guess, he’s the one you’re running from.”
What in the nine hells kind of witchcraft or mindreading is Camille capable of? Within the same heartbeat, my thoughts go from disbelief, to surprise, to confusion.
“I can assure you, I’ve never been close enough to the Sovereign King to acquire his scent.” While I say the words confidently, they sound strangely to my ears. “But yes, he is the reason you see me like this.” I present myself with a sarcastic flourish of my hands.
Camille gives me a once-over, dragging her eyes over my form. “Are you sure about that, Ves? I’ve had this place for nearly two hundred years, and I’ve never been wrong when it comes to scents. His is a smoky, saffron, and leather-like mixture—”
She stops abruptly as I sit upright, eyes wide.
Ryc.
She’s describing Ryc’s scent.
The scent that leaves me dizzy, drunk.
“No,” I say slowly, shaking my head as pieces fall together.
While I have not been close enough to pick up the Sovereign King’s scent, I have been close enough to Ryc. Taking my hand, pressing myself into him—that alone would be enough to pick up his scent for a short time. Mind whirling, small details from the last week begin to fit too neatly together.
Lilith streaking through the hall, Ryc in her wake.
Lilith’s smile outside Ember and Ashes, Ryc watching from the shop.
The silver embroidery on Ryc’s cuff and the silver glint I’d seen when the Sovereign King moved his hand.
Ryc isn’t Lilith’s guard.
He’s the fucking Sovereign King.
“Impossible,” I breathe, disbelief washing over me like a cold rain.
Not once did I consider Lilith to keep the company of the Sovereign King. And technically he didn’t lie. He does protect her…
Because he protects every fucking mortal in this gods damned country.
I could scream.
I foolishly assumed him to be a recluse based on Cora’s details, not the kind interested in attending something like a Moon Temple initiation or spending mornings in the Twilight Mire.
With a knowing smirk, Camille slides the shot of whiskey closer to me.
Heaving a defeated sigh, I grab it, lifting it to my lips. Slinging it back, my throat burns once again and I swallow, grimacing. The burning sensation pales in comparison to the chaotic hellfire tearing through my mind. My entire world has become ash in a matter of seconds.
I don’t know what Nektos has planned for me, but it’s clear she’s been trying to intervene for centuries. I’m not sure how I can alter or change the realms, or how Ryc ties into it, but now I know this strange draw, these sudden desires and wants—none of it has been of my own design.
Which means Ryc is as much a pawn in this game of the gods as I am. One that has been given the misfortune of being compelled to seek out a demon, no less. Of the two of us, I’m not sure who’s been dealt the worse hand.
“The night of the fight,” I begin, laughing bitterly, “you knew then?”
She nods. “But it’s not like I could tell you, not without others overhearing when he clearly wanted to keep a low profile. It’s not the first time he’s shown up to fights like that. He just usually keeps to himself in that corner.”
“Gods, I wish you would have found a way to tell me, Camille,” I sigh, my brows furrowing.
“Listen, even if I could have, I wouldn’t have,” she says, shaking her head in a slow toss. “I don’t know what King Alaryc wants with you, and I’m not about to get involved in any mess involving him. Bad for business.”
King Alaryc.
I stare across the bar at the spot where Ryc and I had stood the night of the fight. Battling against the raging unease and self-loathing for not seeing it sooner. Gods, I’m nothing short of an imbecile.
“My friends call me Ryc.” His words ring in my mind.
“Good fucking gods, Ves,” Eve shouts as the door swings open, and she storms into the tavern.
She stops, her eyes narrowing as she stares at me—assessing me with confusion. Her eyes catch on the silver band on my little finger, and her brows raise. The expression on her face shifts, setting in a scowl as she stalks toward me, one of my robes draped over her arm.
“Artemise is pissed,” she says, throwing my robe at me.
I snag it out of the air before it hits me in the face.
I figured she would be.
“Did he send guards to the temple?” I ask, unfurling the tangled mess in my hands.
“No. Not yet at least,” she answers as she reaches for me.
Pulling my face around by my chin, she inspects me for injury.
“You lost that guard before coming here?” she asks.
“I did.”
“Good.”
Her eyes swing to Camille. “How much to keep this quiet?”
A dark brow arches on Camille’s face. “For you, a thousand gold. For Ves, nothing.” She gives Eve a playful wink. “These guys won’t say anything either,” she adds, gesturing to the fae sitting at the bar. “Will you, boys?”
The three males raise their pitchers and bow their heads.
She turns to me, smiling. “Regulars. They won’t remember today by the time they leave.”
“Come on, Artemise is waiting for you,” Eve says quietly, nudging me with an elbow.
Slinging the robes over my shoulders, I slip from the barstool onto my feet as I clasp and tie them into place. Raising the hood, I glance at Camille.