Chapter 2
The most ridiculous thing about this curse is that every mortal under the Crystal Realm knows to never try and fool a Grim sorcerer—especially one who carries around cursed artifacts like pocket change.
But then we have Analla Quinlocke. Forever the one to think her beauty makes her invincible.
I release a gut-deep sigh as I hike the strap of my rucksack higher on my shoulder. It’s packed with heavy tomes I’ve borrowed from The Gilded Archive, which contains some of the best knowledge in all of Thelanor.
Each tome I selected purposely revolves around spells, magic, curses—even forbidden black magic. The last set of books I borrowed didn’t offer much guidance, so I swapped them out.
I’m going on day three with hardly any luck finding answers, so tonight calls for a different kind of study session—one that involves a few pints of ale.
As I approach the Tilted Crystal Tavern, Bolivar’s brown dog is sniffing around the door.
I light up when I see Crumb.
When the scruffy dog notices me, his tail wags immediately, and he dashes my way. I laugh as I drop my rucksack on the ground with a thud so I can lower to one knee and give him a few scratches behind the ears.
“Hi, Crumb,” I coo. “What are you doing out here in the cold?”
He buries his nose into a gap in my coat as he sniffs, eager as ever for what awaits.
“Okay, okay. You caught me.” Smiling, I dig into my coat pocket and pull out a napkin with several dog biscuits from the bakery.
I make them especially for him when I know I’ll be going to the tavern.
“Here you go. All yours, my friend.” I place them on the ground, certain he’ll lap up every single crumb, hence his name.
I stroke the soft fur on his back a few more times, wanting to take comfort in this moment, but with a sigh, I grab my rucksack and enter the warmth of the tavern. Crumb trots in after me.
The tavern is busy with life as always.
Mortals, sorcerers, and beastials alike congregate around sticky wooden tables. As I step deeper inside and pass a group playing cards, the heat from the large hearth warms my cheeks, and I feel my body slowly unthaw.
I spot Bolivar behind the bar pulling pints. He tips his head at me in acknowledgment. I shoot him a wave before finding a table in the corner of the room, placing my rucksack down on the floor, and pulling out my first tome, ready to dig in.
As I make myself comfortable in the booth, Crumb curls up on my feet. I smile. At least I have company for another night of poring over dusty tomes.
…
“There has to be another way,” I mumble as I swirl a finger around the rim of my steel mug.
I study the journal where I’ve written the names of all the sorcerers I’ve spoken to about Analla’s curse. Five of them…and none can help me.
Well, let me rephrase that.
None have the desire to help me. They’re all afraid to go against Seferin.
I lean in, lost in thought, until my elbow slips off the edge of the table. I catch myself with a jolt and sit upright, blinking hard.
My gaze bounces around the tavern to make sure no one witnessed my folly. Crumb has, of course. He’s still lying on the floor right next to me, head tilted as he peers up.
Someone else has as well—a beastial with gray reptilian skin and an oversize bald head sitting at an adjacent table. His tongue slithers through his lips as his thick tail thumps against his rickety wooden chair. A ghostly smile appears as he focuses those vertical-slitted snake eyes on me.
I force a smile at him while suppressing a shudder. Reptilian beastials have always unnerved me. They’ll literally eat their own children if it means getting ahead.
Thankfully, Bolivar appears, towering over me like the giant he is.
I’ve never really paid much attention to the half-giant tavern owner’s height until now…
or how attractive Analla may have found him, with his thick beard and black hoop in his ear.
Then again, I don’t spend many nights alone in the Tilted Crystal drinking away my sorrows.
“I think that’s enough for you tonight,” Bolivar says, glancing at my empty mug.
Hmm. I guess it wasn’t just Crumb or the beastial who noticed my tipsiness.
“I’ve only had three.” I pass him a scowl, pressing my back against the worn leather of the booth. “I’m not drunk, B.” I pause. “Drunk enough,” I clarify.
He raises one dark eyebrow. “Do I even want to know why you’re drinking this much, Zaira?”
“Well, when your sister does the dumbest thing in the world and gets herself cursed and locked in a dungeon by Seferin, you need a lot of ale to accept it. Even more when you finally think up a plan to save her that could be lethal.” I shrug.
“Or I can just flat out kill the aforementioned sorcerer myself to make everyone’s lives a tad easier. ”
“You try that and you’re dead before you can even get the chance to look at him.” Bolivar scratches his chin while giving his head a shake. Swinging his gaze around the dimly lit tavern, he accepts the brief calm and slides into the opposite side of my booth.
Crumb takes that as his opportunity to get up and rest his chin on Bolivar’s lap.
“I know you’re upset, but you need to keep your voice down about Seferin in here,” he says, rubbing the top of his dog’s head.
“Why should I?” I counter.
The brown skin between his eyebrows wrinkles as he stares at me as if I’ve lost all my wits.
I give Bolivar an apologetic look. I know I’m being absurd, but I’m bordering on drunk, which means I’m acting bolder than usual. Plus, I’m frustrated and can’t help but speak the truth.
“Seferin has connections all over Meriva.” Bolivar gestures to the left.
“I’m sure there are people in this place getting coin from him.
They hear you talking about him, they’ll tell him, and he’ll come after you, too.
Then you’ll end up in his dungeon just like your sister, or worse.
He’s not a man you want trouble with, Zaira. ”
“Why didn’t you tell her that?” My eyes burn with tears, but I bite into my bottom lip to prevent them from falling.
No more tears.
I adjust the frame of my spectacles to hide my watering eyes, then lift my chin. Tears won’t save my sister. A plan will, and I have the beginnings of one.
I gesture to my empty mug. “Another, please. I’m on the cusp of a breakthrough to save my sister and, quite possibly, the entire world if I can figure out the logistics.”
“And what is this breakthrough?” Bolivar asks, feeding into my sarcasm.
“Well, I told you before that I’ve spoken to a few sorcerers about Analla’s curse.
None want to help, but one of them did tell me if I’m desperate enough, to seek one of the prosperity stones in the Temple of Elphar.
Apparently, prosperity stones can break any curse.
I could get one, sneak into Seferin’s keep again, then use the stone to break her curse.
All I need is to find someone willing enough to guide and protect me on the journey there. ”
Bolivar’s features turn as hard as a rock. “The Temple of Elphar? In The Shallows?”
I snap my fingers and point at him. “That’s the one.”
“Have you lost your mind?” His question comes out harsh and sharp. He even stops petting Crumb to give me an incredulous glare. Crumb whines. “Going anywhere near The Shallows is a death wish, Z. No one in their sane mind will go there with you.”
I blink at him a few times, unsure what to say. I shouldn’t be surprised by his change of mood. I know The Shallows is dangerous, hence the reason I’m trying to think of another plan. I’ve just never seen him like this. So serious and fearful.
Seferin has a chokehold on everyone, it seems.
Bolivar’s eyes and shoulders soften as he regards me.
“Look, I’m sorry about Analla. I know she’s your sister, but you can’t save everyone, Z.
You shouldn’t have to put your life on the line because of her mistakes.
I’ll walk you home when my shift is over.
Just stay put for now.” He shoots a quick glance around the tavern, then whispers, “And for the love of Orvena, stop talking shit about Seferin. I don’t need both Quinlocke sisters getting killed. ”
The giant leaves my table with a grunt, but not before scooping up my mug and taking it with him. Crumb trails him, tail wagging.
Damn. I really wanted another.
Behind me, rough laughter and bellowing voices rise up in waves. I glance around the corner of my booth, spotting a group of beastials playing cards. Next to them is a table of mortals and charmers. They have a deck of cards as well.
One of them levitates a plate in the air, grinning like he’s performed the greatest spell in all of Thelanor. I suck my teeth. That’s all charmers are good for—sideshow tricks.
It’s just now that I notice the people tucked away in the alcoves. All wear translucent crystal brooches enclosed by sigil-carved metal. That particular brooch signifies to others exactly what they are. Sorcerers.
Ah. Now I understand why Bolivar wants me to keep my voice down. With my nose buried in the tomes, I hadn’t realized there were so many of them here tonight.
“I swear I saw him,” a man whispers as he and a mate breeze by with mugs full of ale in their hands. “He was near the canal. Just standing there, looking like he’ll kill anyone who crosses him.”
“I heard he’s already slaughtered three men in Redclaw,” the mate says.
I watch the men sit at a table in the far corner, guzzling down ale in between their strange gossip.
There have been a lot of murmurs tonight about a man in black strolling through Meriva. They all seem scared when they speak of this person. One passerby said this man only comes out of hiding when he’s looking for blood—that spilling it is what he does best.
I ignored the whispers before, but I’ve been here for well over three hours now, and whoever this stranger is, he has everyone worked up.
Perhaps I should pack up and leave if such danger is lurking. Then again, what does it matter if my sister is going to die and I might, too, if I try saving her?
Bolivar returns to my table with a plate in hand and a short glass of water. He places both on an empty spot on the wooden tabletop and slides them closer to me. “Figured this would help you sober up. Or cheer you up. Whichever one you need right now.”
My mouth salivates at the sight of the sweet gold drizzle clinging to the sliced edge of the honey loaf. I press my fingers to the cakey yellow center. It’s still warm. I can’t help but smile at the gesture.
“Thank you, Bolivar.”
He gives me a nod and takes off for the bar again.
I bite into my loaf and moan as the sweetness of the honey explodes on my tongue.
I love honey loaf. It’s so hard to come by now—honey, that is. Whenever Bolivar buys a jar of it, he bakes a loaf and sells it for one gold coin per slice, the same we charge at the bakery when we’re lucky enough to get a jar ourselves.
The beastials in the back grow louder, and the charmers and humans join them. I study all of them. All I need is one person to guide me to The Shallows. The right person. I’ll know it when I see them. That’s part of the reason I’m in the tavern tonight, too.
Lots of people, mercenaries especially, always wear their combat gear publicly and carry weapons. And many of them love a warm tavern with lots of ale.
Hardly any of the lot here even carry a sword. And to be frank, they all seem a bit…silly.
None of them will do.
As I bite into my loaf again, trying not to feel defeated, the tavern door swings open, and a cool draft sneaks inside. Despite the fire burning in the hearth a short distance away, the chill wraps around me and sinks under my clothes. I shiver, and that alone feels like a warning.
And then I see him. Dressed exactly like the kind of person I’m looking for.
A man in all black enters wearing buffers, worn boots, and a hooded cowl. A hush follows him into the bar.
A mask conceals the lower portion of his face, a common accessory for soldiers and fighting men who want to hide their expressions during combat.
He’s wearing a hood, so all I can make out are his downturned eyes.
The pommels of two swords stand tall and alert behind his head, and another is sheathed at his waist.
The buffers are the main thing that catch my eye.
Most who wear them do so because they’re more comfortable than steel armor.
Made of thick leather with alvanite rock powder packed into each pad, they provide a firm layer on the body that’s tougher to penetrate.
He wears only a vest as protection, so he must be able to withstand a strike while wielding a sword at the very least.
The ruckus behind me settles instantly as all eyes turn to the mysterious man.
Removing his hood, he reveals hair made of tight, dark curls that rise to a full crown, while the edges are clean, tapered, and as sharp as a blade.
He scans the room as he moves forward, the metal on his boots rattling with each heavy, methodical step.
The two men who were gossiping in the corner spring out of their chairs and abandon their ales as he walks in their direction.
They scurry to reach the door, dodging a group of occupied tables so they can leave the tavern.
The masked man grips the back of one of the now-empty chairs and hauls it back before sinking down on it like a rock.
I blink with my mouth full of honey and bread as I pull my gaze from him to look at everyone else. Most dodge his eyes, while others turn their backs to him entirely. Even Bolivar stands at attention behind the bar and studies the man warily while filling a steel mug with ale.
I’ve never seen this masked person around before, yet everyone in the tavern is too afraid to even cut a glance at him. This must be him—the man in black everyone’s been whispering about. And if he’s as lethal as they say, maybe he’s just the person I’ve been looking for.
I wonder if I can pay for his protection…
As this revelation strikes me, I close all the tomes on my table and shove them back into my rucksack. I dig farther into my bag and take out a hefty pouch of coins, and after wiping my mouth with my ivory tunic sleeve, I climb out of my booth.
I inhale, exhale, and then nod. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
With all the confidence I can muster, I make my way toward the ominous man who, if the rumors are true, just might kill me before I even get the chance to utter a single word.
But what do I have to lose?
Time to make a proposition.