Chapter 50
Three of Conrad’s group of Core fae found their Latches.
They set up a celebratory gathering in the tavern, and I sit with Varrik at the bar, watching the display with a sweet drink the color of daffodils in my hand.
All the tables have been pushed together to make one large banquet-type setting, with fiends and fae crammed in. The door is open and overflowing to the street, where the butcher is out roasting an entire pig, while the baker brought a cake drizzled in cream for all to share.
I keep eyeing the three Core fae who found their Latches.
Each one looks ecstatic, with a sense of shared relief.
There’s an older Core man with silver hair whose magic latched on to an older fae woman who seems like a spitfire.
Despite her age, she’s tossing drinks back, her veillet long since discarded as she cackles with glee.
The other duo is younger, a warrior-looking Core fae woman with two pale braids running down the side of her scalp, her body fitted with a jerkin and a sword belted at her waist. Her Latch is from Hamelyn and she seems to be a bit shy, often fiddling with her ear or her dark curly hair, though she keeps smiling over at the warrior.
The last is a Core man who looks completely enamored of the fae woman at his side. They’re buried between a circle of others in a game of dice, laughing and talking as if they’ve known each other for years.
“The latching happened very quickly for them,” I note as I lean against the bar, my feet curled around the legs of the stool beneath me.
“It does sometimes,” Varrik replies. Instead of sitting, he’s standing propped against the bar, the sleeves of his tunic rolled up, making it hard for me not to keep looking at his arms or the hand that grips his cup.
“Other times, like with us, the latching can take longer. Which is why we have the inn for Core fae to stay. And since fiends could now be a possible Latch too, it’s good they’re exposed. ”
I nod, taking another sip of my drink. “What will happen with them now that they’ve latched?”
“It’s a rule that no one is forced to leave if they don’t want to. It’s up to the Core to build that trust, but so far, every Latch has gone to live with their Core fae. We check in on them from time to time too, to ensure everything is okay.”
My insides warm with more than just the alcohol. “I’m happy to hear that.”
“You know what makes me happy to hear?” Conrad suddenly booms as he walks down the length of the bar with a bottle in hand. “Music!” Then he points at Varrik. “But not from you.”
Varrik smirks.
Someone else begins playing a fiddle, the pear-shaped instrument propped up against the man’s chest, his curved bow drawing out a rough-edged sound as the strings trill with a choppy song that fills the tavern.
People start to dance in the space where the tables were moved away, tucking past outstretched hands and arms looping together for a spin.
I wave to Rimona as she joins in, and then I spot Odelina outside, her cheeks pink with mirth as she smiles at the butcher.
“Oh, look, there’s your very appreciative fiend friend,” I muse, gesturing toward her.
“Do you want to go over there so she can give you another kiss on the cheek? She told me she thinks you’re very handsome. ”
Varrik follows my gaze and his lips twitch. “So it worked.”
“What did?”
“You got jealous.”
Indignation bolts to my breath. “I absolutely did not.”
He chuckles, sounding far too pleased with himself. “You absolutely did.” Then he leans over, improperly close to my ear. “I like to see that you get just as possessive of me as I do of you. But I assure you, it was a platonic kiss that meant nothing to me. I just wanted to see your reaction.”
My eyes narrow. “You’re irritating.”
“I’ll get you a salve,” he quips.
I snort and shake my head at his ridiculousness, but inwardly, I’m preening.
Ciona and Lacera appear soon after, and they come up to stand with Varrik.
“So, Conrad’s group shows up and they find their Latch within minutes,” Lacera remarks flatly as she looks out at the crowd.
“Your time will come, Lace,” Varrik says.
“Right.” She turns and grabs a bottle from the bar and pours herself a drink, but she can’t swallow down the disappointment etched on her features.
Her hazel eyes flick to me. “I guess I should offer you a congratulations on your own latching,” she adds, though her tone sounds far from congratulatory.
Varrik sighs. “Lace.”
She tips back her drink, finishing it in one gulp before setting down the cup. “On second thought, I think I’ll go visit Birute.”
I watch her go, slipping past the party as she disappears out the door.
“It’s nothing personal,” Varrik tells me. “Lacera is letting disappointment sour her. She desperately wants to find her Latch.”
“Is her magic taking a toll on her?” I ask.
“Not yet, but she’s a romantic,” Ciona cuts in with a smile. “She sees how many Latches end up with love, and she desperately wants that.” Her blue eyes flicker with sadness. “And she deserves that too. I hope it happens for her.”
I nod, remembering what Lacera’s stars had said.
“What about you?” I ask curiously.
Ciona looks startled. “Me?”
“Yes, don’t you want to find your Latch?”
Her nose wrinkles the tiniest bit, as if the very idea sounds distasteful. “Well . . . I suppose. So long as the person’s presence didn’t negatively affect my research or impede on my time.”
At Varrik’s slight chuckle and the look on my face, Ciona gives a perfunctory smile.
“I’m quite dedicated to my work. Some Core see our magic as a boon, some a curse.
But I see it as a way to uncover layers we never had access to before.
I mean to learn as much as I can.” She turns fully toward me then, her eyes brightening.
“Actually, I was wondering if I could take a quick sample of your blood again?”
I falter, surprised. “Oh. Why?”
“For all the fiends who didn’t yet match with a Plague, I’ve been trying to narrow them down a bit further,” she explains. “Just a pinprick this time.”
I hesitate, looking between her and Varrik. “Umm, okay.”
“Wonderful. Varrik?”
Varrik checks with me first, but when I nod, he pulls out his dagger from his belt. I give him my hand, and he strokes his thumb over mine, and then gently presses the tip of his dagger into the pad. A bead of my blood forms, and Ciona grips my hand and leans in.
I wait as she takes in a slow inhale through her nose, her eyes fluttering shut.
“Hmm.” She straightens back up, eyes blinking open. “Yes, interesting.”
“Shit,” Varrik suddenly curses, and he rounds on her, gripping one arm. I frown, wondering what’s going on, but then I see he’s staring at her blotchy red eyes. Bloody drips are once again pooling around the whites. “This isn’t good, Ciona.”
“I’m alright,” she says briskly, brushing him off. He works his jaw but doesn’t say anything more, though he looks worried.
“Anyway, I think I have a theory.”
My hands twist in my skirts. “What is it?”
She looks to Varrik. “It could be possible that she has parentage of the Darkness Bane.”
I stiffen and I feel my breath go weighted. “What?”
“Some Plagues have been harder to match. Seems that three of the nine Banes didn’t procreate nearly as much—or perhaps just not in the areas I’ve been testing.
I’m having a difficult time tracing fiends to match those three Plagues: Sores, Ash, and .
. . Darkness.” Her eyes flit over my hair and horns.
“When I was thinking about the sparkle of your hair and even your freckles, I wondered if it’s possible your blood could be from the Bane who let out Darkness, since you look so unique.
” She glances at Varrik. “You’re one of the only people who’s seen Darkness in person. What do you think?”
He turns over her words. “It’s possible.”
Ciona nods. “The only way to determine that for sure would be to bring her to it.”
“But . . . Darkness Plague doesn’t spread,” I say, looking between them. “Right?”
It’s the only Plague that Brekon isn’t constantly terrorized with, though they don’t know why.
“Right,” Ciona agrees. “It doesn’t behave like the other Plagues.”
“That’s correct, but we aren’t taking her there,” Varrik cuts in firmly, looking at Ciona. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Why?” I ask curiously.
“Darkness Plague was released by the Bane right before he was killed and shoved back into the cracked earth. I think the Plague only stayed there and didn’t spread throughout the world because he was killed too quickly.
But make no mistake, Darkness is still deadly,” Varrik warns.
“Many Core have gone to try to fight it off, and no one has ever been successful. Anyone who has ever gotten too close has never come back out alive.”
My brows dig down with unease.
“But . . .” Ciona cuts in gently. “She could be a match.”
“Sure, but since that Plague doesn’t spread, we don’t need to risk testing it,” he tells her, his tone rigid.
Ciona nods, giving in. “Yes, you’re right, of course. That will just be the working theory until we can rule out some other Plagues,” she says, offering me a quick smile.
Just then, Frid and Garren come barreling out from the room that leads down to the cellar, startling the barkeep. Frid spots Varrik and comes straight toward him with a missive clutched in his hand.
“What’s wrong?” Varrik says, taking it.
Frid’s face is grim. “A Plague just hit in your territory.”
“Which one?” Ciona asks, leaning over to check the paper as Varrik opens it.
“Ash.”