Chapter 5
By the time Audra and Emyre made it to the middle of the courtyard, the vapor seemed to be ebbing as the tide. She could see the dark outline of the inn’s front door beckoning them home. Still, everything appeared muted, as though the Mist had leached all vibrance from the world.
Holding tightly to Emyre’s hand, Audra pounded her fist on the door.
She waited a beat. And then another. Her heartbeat thrumming in her ears was the only sound.
Emyre banged on the door now. Audra squeezed his hand for reassurance.
Finally, Father pulled the door wide. Audra almost collapsed from relief as she recognized his familiar silhouette, hazy against the glow of the oil lamps behind him.
Muffled sounds brushed her ears.
She stumbled into the inn, as if drunk with the fear that had gripped her.
Her gaze lifted to her father’s, but only for a moment as he crashed into the pair of them, pulling them both into a tight embrace.
It was strong and fierce, reminiscent of the old him, before Aisha’s passing.
Audra sagged into him with relief—Emyre had been safely brought inside, her father seemed strong and alert once more. The Mist was dissipating.
Chatter filled the tap hall as the guests who’d remained in their rooms filtered downstairs.
Audra broke away from the hug to survey the scene. Worried whispers filled the room, some patrons were blustering, others shook with sobs, clutching each other. Everyone wondered what this could mean about the Mist—some began to shout their guesses, each more dreadful than the last.
As proprietor, Audra’s role was to maintain order.
They had survived the ordeal; none had burned up, twisted inside out, or been eaten by mythical beasts …
they should celebrate. Eventually, word would spread from the capital, and they would discover the truth of it—or whatever the capital chose to spin as the truth, anyway.
She tucked Emyre to her side. The boy still shivered, racked with worry.
Best to take everyone’s minds off the anomaly for now.
“A round of mead for everyone!” she shouted.
Hollers of joy erupted around the room. Audra joined in.
She could use a drink as well after the day she’d had.
And what a day it was. The sun hadn’t even set yet, and she was already looking forward to crawling into bed and not rising until the perpetually needy Fernwell Inn forced her to tomorrow.
“Mead for everyone? Even me?” Emyre asked, his brown eyes shining with mischief. Audra leaned away to side-eye the boy. He had just celebrated his thirteenth nameday. He hadn’t even bothered to shave the fuzz on his lip yet.
And yet, she knew him better than anyone. Behind the mischief, she could see that he was still shaken from the ordeal, and though he tried to conceal it, his shoulders still trembled.
Audra grinned. “Why not? A small one won’t hu—”
The merchant, who’d stayed by the window, eyes glued to the receding haze outside, gave a startled, choking sound that cut through the excited hum in the room.
That was all the warning they received before a flaming torch shattered the window. The merchant curled in on himself, covering his head, but still shards of glass hit him. The torch soared past him, landing on the ledgers in a shower of sparks.
The table went up in flames.
The merchant scrambled away. Audra tightened her grip on Emyre as horror stole over her. Flames spread to the booth seat, the embroidered cushion, and the floor, licking their way up the legs of a nearby table.
Time seemed to slow as her mind churned, sluggish with shock.
Her father stood in the center of his inn, his face suspended in disbelief.
So much of Kamari’s dream had already turned to ash.
The inn had never become the wholesome family destination they hoped for, his beloved wife was gone, and now what remained was catching fire like so much waiting kindling.
Kamari, with his stooped back and his crooked, bent fingers, couldn’t move fast enough to save what was left of the dream he and his wife had built with their own hands.
She would do what he could no longer do—protect Fernwell. She would ensure her parents’ dream, as she always had, despite her own ill feelings toward the inn.
“Emyre, water—now!” Audra commanded. But the boy was frozen in her arms, his eyes glued to the fire. She nudged him toward the kitchen, and that was enough—he bolted away.
The storage closet held blankets. While Emyre fetched the water, she would use those to smother the fire.
Hadn’t this been why she’d never left? Why, even after Fiera had died, and there seemed to be nothing remaining for her here? The reason she had never relented to her own selfish desires and paid a merchant to take her far away from this shit town?
For her mother and father. She would smother the fire. She would save her family’s inn. She took a step toward the storage cupboard, only to jolt back around when the front door slammed open.
Audra hastened to close it, knowing the airflow would only exacerbate the flames. But her heart tumbled to the floor as she caught sight of what, exactly, stood in the way of her closing the door. Fear ricocheted through her, igniting every drop of blood in her body.
Lingering fog clotted the doorframe, making it impossible to distinguish the nature of the tall form that entered the room.
Audra’s mouth went dry, and she knew the fire was the least of her concerns.
A multitude of stories flashed through her mind at this otherworldly presence—stories coaxed from elders around the fires or sung in hushed voices by the rare traveling bards to frequent Fernwell.
Poets feared to feed the beasts their words, and yet, stories still persisted, sonnets of bloody violence and ignored cries for mercy.
The Mist rippled and began to peel back, like it was exhuming the figure it held within its ashen grip.
The tips of their boots became visible first, and Audra’s gaze drank in the polished leather.
Long legs clad in brown, tailored trousers.
A long black coat with golden buttons brushed the tops of the figure’s boots, its wide collar pulled up against the setting sun.
Broad shoulders stretched a starched white shirt under a tight-fitting silk vest. Slender face, sharp cheekbones, a pointed chin, and amber irises that flickered orange from the roiling flames.
His expression was still, so still as to be a clay deathmask of the Davell people.
He hadn’t deigned to draw his weapon, clearly thinking the inn’s inhabitants not a worthy threat, though his hand rested on its hilt. The hilt was curved and made of white gold, engraved with whorls and clusters of small gray and blue sapphires.
But it was the man’s—no, creature’s—ears that made her gasp. They were not rounded as they should be, but long, angular, ending in a point. At her gasp, the creature remade his expression into something akin to a smile; the curve of his lips told stories of vanquishing enemies, of toppling empires.
He crossed the threshold of the inn as if he were the owner of the establishment, no, of any land he walked on. Six others, dressed similarly, fanned out behind him.
Though one, singular female stood apart from the rest.
She wore a golden cloak, cream-colored gloves, and a veil that concealed her eyes.
The only visible parts of her were dry, cracked lips and a too-pronounced jaw, as though she had been victim to famine.
The veil might cover her face, the gloves her fingers, but Audra did not have to see the tips of her ears to know that she was like the others.
Fae.
Real fae.
They were massive, at least a head taller than any of the humans in the room, and their weapons gleamed in the flickering light of the fire spreading unchecked by the windows.
Audra had never seen fae in real life.
She knew some humans were distantly descended from the fae.
But they mainly stuck to the largest cities of each realm, where they could hide, blend in, and be lost in the mass of people.
Even with their fae heritage diluted over generations, they might have slightly pointed ears, too quick a run, too accurate a shot.
They risked being ostracized, or worse, depending on how small and backward the village was, outright exiled, banished, beaten, or executed.
But never in living history had a full-blooded fae stepped foot in all Khaveah, let alone Ruscal … let alone the tiny, backwater port village of Salt Hollow.
And now, unbelievably, here was a host of them.
Ethereal beauty and untethered power radiated from the creatures, coursing through the inn like the Mist had the courtyard just moments before.
Moments ago, had she really offered a round of drinks in celebration? As if the Mist enveloping their entire cove was arbitrary? A fun story to regale friends with on stormy days to pass the time?
Audra was visibly still, along with everyone else in the hall, until Emyre crashed into the room, oblivious to the newcomers, head bent on throwing the bucket of water onto the flames.
He did, the hiss snaking through the inn.
Only when he ran to Audra’s side, saw the expression on her face, did he still as well, his eyes bouncing in terror from one fae to the next. Audra slowly nudged the boy behind her.
“There you go—nobody move, stay nice and still, and maybe we won’t see ya.”