Reshina
THIRTEEN YEARS LATER
“And just how many cattle do you own, Mister Brough?” I tilted my head back with the question, draining the last of the yagsmead before tossing the small glass back to the barkeep. “Another,” I ordered, dragging the delicate lace of my sleeve across my mouth.
“Near seventy-five, love. Over ninety after the calves come realmside this s-spring.” The man’s slur was creeping in, loosening his tongue.
I gave him another quick glance over. Grey streaks licked his temples, giving him that distinguished gentlemanly look.
He was handsome in a sort of rugged way and laying it on thick since I’d sat down next to him at the bar.
It was obvious he had no idea he was speaking to a Goddess, and even more clear he presumed our conversation would lead to a quick fuck in the alleyway if he charmed me enough.
I raised a brow at his numbers, knocking back another glass, barely pausing between my next barrage of questions.
“Where would such a stout herder find the land to keep so many cows? We are not far from Heartstone Castle, true? Is your king so generous with such a large partaking of land?” I set my elbow on the worn bar top, landing my chin onto my fist. “I can only imagine your taxes, Mister Brough.”
A secretive grin pulled at his mouth and he crooked a finger, urging me closer.
I bit my tongue, leaning in to hear his answer.
“The King of Heartstone Castle has not been seen in over a decade, my sweet. And he ain’t been collecting no taxes, neither.
” The simple herder grabbed his mug of ale, tipping it towards me.
“Fine by me, I say. I use up the land the way that’s best. Don’t need no high-born to tell me where I can and can’t feed me herd.
” He smacked an open palm against the counter, raising his voice and his finger.
“I was born and raised in Heartstone and if anyone deserves more land than he was born with, it’d be me, not some scarred up boy, pretendin’ to rule—”
“Boy?” I interrupted. “I heard King Arthur is well past forty.”
He waved a hand dismissively, slopping the contents of his mug on the bar. “Summat like that. Don’t know, really.” He took a long drink. “When I came to this town, he was off in Riche, spendin’ his coin on all sorts of unkingly things. Like gamblin’. And women.”
He winked over his mug, and I narrowed my eyes ever so slightly. “Didn’t you just mention you were born and raised here?”
“Oh, I uhh…”
“And if you were not, which I assume is the actual truth, doesn’t that mean that you have very little claim on any of the land in Heartstone Wood, Mister Brough?
” I paused for emphasis, allowing the truth of my ruse to settle in.
“And assuming you have not stolen half your herd from farmers of the Brackish Wood, which I suspect you have, do you not have even less claim on the land of the Ravenfae? Where you have taken your herd without the permission of the Ravenfae Goddess Reshina?”
The time for pleading and begging at my knees was then, but the idiot had not yet caught on to just who he was talking to. “I-I don’t know what y-you’re talking ab—”
I dropped my cloak, revealing my black feathered wings tipped in silver. He gasped in awe, likely never having seen a Goddess before. I grabbed the collar of his jacket in one quick swipe, smiling in true humor, watching the man peel himself off his barstool and begin begging with cries of mercy.
It turned out to be quite the spectacle in the single tavern of Heartstone—whimsically named The Withering Rose.
For in sudden shock and fear, the man understood he was speaking to me, Reshina, Goddess of the Veil and Goddess of the Ravenfae—former Cursebringer of Revelry and current protector of my people.
“Let this be a lesson to you, Mister Brough,” I began, allowing my voice to rise, in the sudden silence.
“Let this be a lesson for all of you. The Brackish Wood is not unoccupied, nor is it rulerless like this desolate place you call a kingdom.” I threw him across the room where he crashed into a table, knocking it and its occupants to the ground.
“Now,” I said with a mocking grin. “As you all know, even a Goddess of the Veil cannot burn this tavern down to the ground without dire consequences.” I pulled up the hem of my black silken skirts, kicking a chair out of my way as I took my time walking toward the thief I’d been seeking for the better part of a week.
“You can thank your ancestors for that treaty between the fae and human kingdoms. You are lucky, my friends, that it is I whom you have scorned with your thievery and not another Goddess of the Veil who would take a more…destructive interest in your little tavern, treaty or no.” I stood in front of the man as he cowered on the floor, attempting to shield his face from my sight.
I dug into my pocket, searching by feel alone for the correct glass vial.
“Alas, I have no love for the scent of burning flesh, but I do have a penchant for delivering a curse to a soul in need of repentance.”
“No!” he shouted, shaking below me. “Please! Have mercy!”
“Mercy?” I laughed from deep within my chest. “Mercy comes from the hands of the Goddessblessed, not the Goddesscursed.” I uncorked the vial, spilling the deep emerald smoke and sand over his boots.
“Come now,” I soothed as he began to sob.
“Join me, Mister Brough, in the timeless dance of living a cursed life.”