Chapter 17 #2
“Maybe it’s best Acker never realizes who his father really is,” I say, admiring the gulf in the distance, the moonlight sparkling off the glassy water. The boats dotting the horizon are a reminder of the life I left behind in Alaha. “Sometimes ignorance is better than facing the guilt.”
She doesn’t disagree.
Considering all the time that has passed and everything that has transpired, maybe I need to come to terms with the idea that Acker may see his father for who he is and agree with him.
That maybe Beau’s and my betrayal pushed him so far that he no longer cares, and corrupting Acker’s pure heart might be my worst crime of all.
The tavern is tucked into an alleyway not far from the wharf. Patrons linger around the entrance, smoking tobacco before heading inside, and I spot Fredrich leaning against a nearby lamppost as he waits.
“You invited him?” Beau asks.
“I did.”
Her gaze swings from the soldier, then to me, then back again. “You trust him?”
When we left Kenta, I told Beau I’d never use her gift as a tool, but there’s something in her expression that gives me pause. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” Something she’s able to see that I can’t, perhaps …
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “He doesn’t have an aura.”
What?
“How is that possible?”
“I think it’s another level of protection his shielder gift offers him, but I don’t think it’s anything to be worried about. Your mother wouldn’t put anyone in charge of your guard that she wasn’t sure of.”
He straightens when he sees us approaching and it’s strange to see him outside of a war camp after months of being at the border. He wordlessly offers to take the basket from Beau’s hands, and she pulls it from his reach.
“Nice try, but as the new guy, you don’t get first dibs.”
He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough.”
He grins, and I’m slightly taken aback by the gesture, but it’s not unpleasant to look at. Matter of fact, he should do it more often and I tell him as much.
“Duly noted,” he says with a slight uptick at the corner of his mouth.
The tavern looks like just a dingy hole in the wall, but as soon as we step through the entrance, the room beyond opens into something warm and inviting.
A lone fiddler plays on stage against the far wall and bustling tables fill the space to one side of the room, with a dance floor taking up the other half.
Servers weave between the patrons with giant pitchers of ale and platters of food.
For the first time in what feels like ages, my stomach rumbles with hunger at the scent.
Beau takes the lead, Fredrich at my back, and I can’t help but wonder if they consciously realize they’re buffering me from the public’s eyes.
It doesn’t work, of course. It takes one drunk soldier recognizing me to make my presence known to all.
Acknowledgments ring out from all sides of the room, and I’m momentarily taken aback by the cheers.
Fredrich urges me to keep moving as a chorus of chanting begins.
I recognize the song instantly; it’s one of the few I remember from my childhood in Alaha, about a siren who enchants an entire fleet of ships.
I motion for the crowd to calm with a wave of my hand, and the volume in the room lowers just enough for me to tell the server who approaches us to put the next round of drinks on my tab.
The cheers become deafening and when another young man escorts us to the room tucked at the far end of the bar, we duck inside the moment the door slides open.
Messer rises from his seat at the round table to greet us, pulling me into a hug first. “I figured it was you causing all the ruckus.”
As if on cue, the sound of celebration erupts again through the wood paneled door. Maybe buying another round wasn’t the brightest idea …
“And Beau, this is a nice surprise,” he continues. “Looking as delectable as always.” By the glassiness of his eyes and the level of mischief in his smile, I can tell he’s already tipsy as he leans in to kiss Beau on the cheek.
“Save your efforts for someone else, you pigeon,” Beau snarks.
Not one to be deterred, Messer sets down his cup of ale to take the basket from her hands. “But you brought me gifts.” He eyes the contents before beaming at her. “Are these toffee cakes?”
“From my mother,” I say, forcing him to take the bottle of champagne from me as well. “She says ‘hello.’”
“She knows me so well,” he says, his grin becoming more salacious, and I know I’m going to despise whatever comes out of his mouth next. “I’ll have to stop by one day soon so I can return the favor.”
I shake my head at his teasing. “I hate you.”
His laughter dies in his throat when he sees Fredrich. “You brought your stalker with you?”
“Messer,” I warn.
“What?” he asks, face the picture of innocence. “I’m just surprised to see him indoors, is all. Usually, he does his stalking from a rooftop nearby.”
Fredrich doesn’t take offense. If anything, he finds the assessment amusing. “Best vantage point,” he says, dryly.
“Everyone, sit.”
The order comes from Drake, the youngest man to ever captain the Maile navy, but he’s also a damn good archer and military strategist. He has served us well since General Samasu decided to step down.
Or, rather, he was forced to step down at my mother’s insistence that he accompany me to the border.
“It’s good to see you,” I tell him.
He tilts his head forward in a pseudo-bow and I narrow my eyes as I slide into the chair beside him.
I’ve harped on at him enough that he knows I hate bowing, especially outside of formal situations.
My mother insists that it’s a sign of respect I should graciously endure, but Drake isn’t in uniform, and I consider him my friend before my liegeman.
And because he’s my friend, he takes after Messer and loves to goad me.
Messer begins to twist the cork in the champagne bottle. “Who else are we waiting on?”
“The general,” Drake answers. And, as if summoned, Sam appears beside Drake, making the young captain nearly leap out of skin. “Good gods,” he shouts. “I wish you came with a warning.”
The cork Messer’s been working on finally pops and everyone opposite ducks to avoid being hit by the flying object. “My question is, how are you the one who’s always late?” he asks right before he drinks directly from the bottle.
“I’ve been busy,” Sam replies. “Lots to be sorted. Soldiers to disperse. Camp to relocate.” He settles in next to Drake and palpable exhaustion lines his face as he watches Messer take another swig. “Unlike some of us.”
“Hey, I’ve been doing my share,” Messer protests, pointing at himself.
Drake makes a face. “All you do is eat people until you look like a stuffed turkey.”
“You failed to mention how I puke up belt buckles and shoelaces afterward. Very useful bits of equipment, those.”
Beau wiggles her fingers for Messer to pass the champagne her way. When I lean around Fredrich to eye her, she says, “You can’t expect me to be sober in the company of so many insufferable men.”