30. Lucy #2
The old man nodded again, and he and the boy left with their honey cakes.
When we returned to the table, Emrys was grinning. “You do that every time.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend you’re full when you’ve barely eaten.”
“I was full.”
“You took one bite.”
Tavian shrugged and reached for another cake from the tray. “Now I’m hungry again. Strange how that works.”
Outside, the cold hit sharp after the warmth of the bakery. I pulled my coat tighter and stepped onto the stone street. Emrys was already talking about heading back up toward the cave tomorrow when I nearly walked into Tavian’s back.
He’d stopped. Emrys had too. Four men, no, five, were spread across the street in the loose, careless way of people who had nowhere to be and too much to drink. They weren’t blocking the path exactly. But they weren’t moving either.
Without a word, Emrys stepped to my left and Tavian to my right, close enough that our arms touched. I appreciated the instinct as I watched the men in front of us. Big and drunk. Dragons, no doubt.
“There she is,” one of them said. He was the tallest, broad across the shoulders with a split lip. Apparently this wasn’t his first bad decision of the day. “The dragon that fell from the sky.”
“Keep walking,” Tavian said, his voice even.
The men didn’t move.
“We just want a look,” another one said, grinning. He had the glassy eyes of someone three drinks past common sense. “Never seen a real female dragon before.”
“Now you have,” Emrys said pleasantly. “Best be on your way.”
A couple of them laughed.
The tall one took a step forward. “Those are pretty braids,” he said, looking directly at me. “Real pretty. And an Ossira too? Did you lose somebody, little dragon? Are you looking for a new home?”
I felt Emrys go rigid on my left.
“She’s well cared for, boys,” Tavian said. Still even. Still measured.
“Maybe she’d like to change her mind.” The tall one’s grin stretched wide and ugly. “I like blondes.”
The man beside him made a sound of agreement and moved a bit, trying to separate the three of us. I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet without thinking about it. Old instinct.
“Last warning,” Emrys said, and the pleasant tone was entirely gone now. “Move.”
“Or what?” The tall one spread his arms wide, performing for his friends. “The pretty little dragon is going to—”
Of all the people on the whole street, it was Tavian that lunged forward and socked him right in the nose. The crack of it echoed off the stone buildings.
I stared.
The tall man straightened, blood streaming freely down his upper lip, and his expression collapsed into something mean and certain. “Get them.”
Everything happened at once. The man nearest Emrys lunged, and Emrys caught him by the front of his coat, used his own momentum against him, and put him into the bakery wall hard enough to rattle the glass. The man slid down it.
Two came at Tavian. He caught the first one’s swinging arm at the wrist, twisted sharply, and shoved him sideways into the second. They tangled together and went down in a graceless heap.
The fifth one, who was shorter and stockier, came straight at me.
I let him get close.
He reached for my braid and I ducked under his arm, grabbed his outstretched wrist with both hands, and wrenched it behind his back in one smooth motion.
He yelped. I ran him forward without thinking and introduced his face to the wall of the clock shop.
Not hard enough to do real damage, but hard enough to make the point.
He crumpled.
Behind me, I heard a grunt and turned to find Emrys had one glassy-eyed drunk in a headlock, one arm locked casually around the man’s throat while the man’s arms flailed uselessly.
The tall one with the broken nose was back on his feet, swaying slightly, blood painting his mouth red.
Tavian had dropped his coat off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground. He was rolling his sleeves as he stared at the brute. “You done?”
The man looked at the three of us, then at his friends in different states of pain. He spat blood onto the stone and walked away. The rest followed when they could.
The street went quiet.
I looked at Tavian, confident the surprise was still on my face.
He snatched his coat and slid it on completely unbothered.
He looked back once at the men still on the ground, then at me.
“No woman should ever have reason to fear a man, and any man who gives her one forfeits the right to stand.” He offered his arm and I took it without overthinking, letting him lead me back toward the Keep while Emrys fell in behind us, whistling something bright and tuneless like we hadn’t just left several men bleeding on the cobblestones.
And somewhere between the bakery and the end of the street, walking with Tavian’s arm steady under my hand, I was deeply grateful I hadn’t been alone.
The walk back to the Keep was quiet, Emrys eventually peeling off with a wave and some excuse about a card game he was already late to. Tavian walked me to my door without being asked and left without making anything of it.
The moment I was alone, I pulled out my journal and from memory, drew the runes I’d seen embedded in the cave walls. My hand moved carefully, trying to capture every curve, every deliberate angle. They filled half the page by the time I was satisfied I’d gotten them as close as I could.
Then I studied my reflection, comparing every rune.
The ones on my collar were intricate.
Not a scorched’s work no matter what the others would have me believe.
I sat back and stared at the page. I knew I was right on this. Whoever had put this collar on me knew exactly what they were doing and had far more power than a scorched could ever hope to control. Definitely a witch. And I could only hope it wasn’t the one Riot and I had found dead last night.