Chapter 14
AVELINE
I'm shocked by how much fun I'm having.
Truly and utterly shocked.
We stop by the cobbler next, a dusty, green-skinned little man who must be a goblin, but I can't bring myself to ask, even though the question sits at the tip of my tongue every time I go to speak.
Wiry white hair protrudes from his ears and all along the top of his head, and though he seems grumpy and put out by the fact we're asking for his services, his fingers are deft, and there's no doubting his skill in his craft.
As he selects a variety of beautifully tanned leathers and soft fabrics, Malakai even insists on a pair of winter boots—the likes of which I've never worn—with fur the goblin cobbler insists has been donated from a griffin's nest, and laces, he claims, are made from unicorn tails.
"Have you seen a unicorn?" I ask the cobbler.
"Of course I have," he says, looking at me as though I've grown a third head. "Have you not?"
"I would love to see a unicorn," I say, and I mean it. I can't imagine anything better. "I love horses," I tell the cobbler.
My stomach growls again, and Malakai puts a stack of gold coins on the cobbler's table.
"I must feed my bride-to-be," he says imperious as ever.
But the man doesn't seem quite put out at all by Malakai's brusqueness and instead scooches his spectacles down his nose to take a better look at the gold coins. “It will be taken care of.” The coins disappear, and the old creature scratches his nose as we turn to leave.
"I've never seen any coins like those," I tell Malakai as we walk towards the end of the cobbled road where everyone said we would find Longleaf Brews, the tea house owned by someone named Lila.
"I suspect you haven't," Malakai says. "They're ancient tender. But gold is gold, and the goblin knows that just as well as anyone. He's been around just as long as you and I."
My nose wrinkles.
"Thank you for buying me so many things, and I don't mean to be rude, but..." I pause as we turn slightly to avoid running into a large cart full of vegetables.
A leathery-skinned older man swats at the oversized horse in front of the cart. The horse stamps its foot, clearly refusing to go one more inch. Its nostrils blow, foam along its mouth and hindquarters, and when the beast’s eyes roll in blatant distress, it’s more than I can bear.
I stop, anger boiling deep inside me.
"Is there a problem?" Malakai asks, his voice a growl.
I cut my gaze to him. He sounds, for all intents and purposes, completely calm, but he's not fooling me.
A muscle in his jaw ticks with anger, and I can feel the beginnings of a ferocious power gathering inside of him.
My own palms tingle and I clasp them to my thighs.
I don't understand what's happening, but I don't like it.
"You old nag... Are we in your way, my Lord and Lady?" the man says, giving me an evil grin.
I swallow hard and step slightly behind Malakai, who puts a hand around my waist. The touch of his fingers against my bodice sends a thrill through me.
"We'd be happy to take the horse off your hands.” Malakai’s voice could freeze flame.
The man's wrinkled, leathery face takes on a greedy expression. "You couldn't possibly pay me enough for this horse.” He leers at me, then sizes up Malakai. "I've had this horse for many years. How am I supposed to get my vegetables around without it?"
"Malakai.” I tug on his arm. The man has a look in his eyes I very much don't like.
"How much for the horse, friend?" Malakai says, emphasizing the word friend in a way that isn't friendly at all. Not even a little bit.
"I told you, the old nag's not for sale, there’s no price I’d let you pay.
I need this horse in order to make a living for my family.
I've got mouths to feed, you see, and not just my own.
I'm sure you know what I mean." At that, the old man smiles at me, and the expression in his eyes turns my stomach just as much as the foul smell coming from his mouth does.
"Come on now, let's get up and go, you lazy old beast," the man spits out, and he raises his hand to strike the horse again.
I wince away, not wanting to see him hurt it, preparing myself for the sound of his hand on horse flesh and no doubt the resultant scream from the poor cart horse.
When nothing comes, I open my eyes.
Black shadows boil around Malakai's fingers and ankles, his hand wrapped around the man's wrist. The old man has gone white, and silence has descended over the street as passersby stop to see what's going on.
"You will not strike this horse again."
The man tries to wrench his hand away, anger firing in his eyes, but Malakai holds firm and doesn't even give him an iota of space.
"It's my horse to do what I please with! It's my property!" The man struggles some more, trying to rip his hands away, and the white of fear turns to red as he realizes everyone's watching.
I clear my throat, uneasy, the violence simmering under Malakai's skin and wanting the poor horse to be somewhere safe. I reach my hand into Malakai's pocket, the same one I saw him pull coins from before, but there's nothing more.
"I told you both, the horse isn't for sale."
"Leave," Malakai says. "Take your cart with you. Leave the horse."
"How dare you?" the man says, sneering up at Malakai, puffing out his chest like a rooster trying to make himself look bigger.
Except all he's managing to do is make himself look like an idiot.
"This horse is my property, and I'll treat it as I wish.
I already told you there's no price that would be high enough to entice me.
Unless..." He pauses, his gaze cutting to me, and Malakai's fingers tighten even more on my waist. My skin crawls at the man's greedy expression.
"Would you trade me your woman? Surely, she is pretty enough to fetch a good—"
Shadows explode out of Malakai's skin before I can even think of an appropriate response. They wrap up the man's feet and ankles, climbing to his knees, his thighs, wrapping around his hips. The man writhes, outrage turning into pure fear.
"Please, please, I didn't mean it," the man says. "I'll take one piece of gold!"
"It's too late," Malakai roars.
And just like that, the cart and man vanish in a cloud of darkness. When the darkness clears a half heartbeat later, all that's left is a panicked-looking Palomino draft horse under a grimy rope so tight around its neck it's cut through the horse's hide.
Well. I suppose that’s one way to get a horse.