Chapter 12 #2
“So, how was your night?” Lev asks.
I abandon eavesdropping and open my mouth to tell him about the strangeness of the abandoned Fae camp, but warmth encircles my neck. I snap my lips shut and brush my fingers along my throat.
When the sensation fades, I finally say, “My night was fine.”
His gaze drops to my neck, and he dips his head. “Got it. Do you want a drink?”
My shoulders fall, the tension releasing. “A drink would be great.”
“I’ll get it.” Anton rises from the table, looking at Ferria. “Would you like another?”
“Yes, please.” She hands him her empty cup, avoiding his gaze.
I wait until Anton is out of earshot, then lean forward with a teasing grin.
Ferria scowls. “What?”
“You know what.” I dart my gaze to Anton.
He reaches the bar, and the pretty barmaid, Rosie, bats her lashes at him.
Ferria follows my gaze. Her expression shutters.
She turns back to me. “Selling at the market went well, by the way.”
I perk up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She nods. “All your tonics sold, and I heard someone from Hammond say they’re expecting traders from up north to arrive soon.”
I grin widely. “Do you know when?”
She shakes her head. “No, but I’ll ask around. I figured when we know a date, we can travel to Hammond together to shop.”
“That sounds great!”
The northern tradesmen always have the best tinctures, medicines, and tonics. Their proximity to the Fae border, while dangerous, allows more varied resources to pass through their towns.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Lev interjects, voice low.
I turn, catching the way the lines around his mouth tighten. “Sure it is. You know I need supplies.”
He shifts in his seat. “Yes, but it’s risky to travel these days.”
“It’s always risky to travel,” Ferria adds.
Before Lev can object, I offer, “We can take an escort. Maybe Anton? Or you, if you’re off duty.”
A drunk soldier stumbles into our table. Blyne lifts his drink to avoid spilling. Welm grunts when his mead sloshes over his hand.
“Gods, Lyle.” The burly soldier glares at the red-eyed newcomer, wiping his hand against his tunic. “Get a hold of yourself.”
“S-sorry.” Lyle belches. “I just came over to say hello to Brother Ironheart.”
He teeters forward, slamming his palms on the table to catch himself. I jolt. Ferria eyes the man with twisted lips.
Lev stands and claps a hand on Lyle’s shoulder. “I think it’s time to call it a night, Brother Portwill.”
“Aw, not yet. There’s so much to talk about.” He straightens and sways. “Like our guesses about what the Elders are doing with that prisoner in the cells.”
Every man around me stiffens. Even Dian, who’d been busy whispering sweet nothings into his betrothed’s ear, rears back and glares at the drunk man.
“Shut the hell up, Portwill,” Dian snaps.
Blyne and Welm level equally hard stares on their fellow soldier.
“What prisoner?” Ferria asks.
“It’s nothing,” Lev says, the knuckles on the hand holding Lyle’s shoulder turning white.
“You’re lying,” I challenge.
Lev’s eyes slide to mine, then back to Lyle for a loaded moment before he finally releases him. “He’s speaking of the prisoner the Fae brought with them.”
I gasp. “What?”
At the same time, Ferria snaps, “Why in the six hells would he be in a cell?”
Lev grinds his teeth together. “I can’t tell you.”
Lyle hiccups a slurred, “Excuse me” and takes the opportunity to slink away from the chaos he just created.
My stomach churns. “That man was injured, Lev. Why wasn’t I summoned to help him?”
“Juniper’s been to see him,” he reveals. “He’s fine.”
Ferria and I share an equally surprised look before my gaze falls to the table.
How did I forget about the injured human the Fae dragged into the meeting hall?
“Hey.” Ferria reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing. “Relax. You’ve been busy.”
That’s no excuse.
I look between the men around me. “Why is that man imprisoned?”
Lev answers, “It’s the safest place for him to be until we can verify his identity.”
I frown. “Why do you need to know his identity?”
“He arrived with Fae, Elara,” Dian says, glazed eyes clearing. “He could be a spy, for all we know.”
Ferria snorts. “He wasn’t even conscious when he arrived.”
Welm speaks up. “And if he’s not a spy, then he could truly be a member of the rebellion. The Elders can’t risk him roaming free until we—”
“Enough, Welm.” Lev’s eyes flash. His jaw tightens as he grits his teeth.
Welm drops his gaze, picks up his drink, and takes a long sip.
My eyes flick between the men. What’s really going on?
I open my mouth to demand more of an explanation when a tickling sensation travels over my forearms. I look down with a frown.
I push back my sleeves. The shadows ebb and flow over my skin, sending shocks up my arms. Power… Deep, rich power trails over me. Coming this way.
“Elara?”
I meet Ferria’s wide eyes. She grips her chest.
Does she feel it too?
Her gaze drops to the swirling darkness on my skin. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t—”
The tavern door slams open.
Every soldier in the room grabs their weapons. The music falters, then collapses into silence. I whirl around.
Two broad, black-clad males duck under the doorframe and step inside, their sheer presence warping the air around them.
The Fae’s aura hits me like a tidal wave, dragging me under. I fight it—Gods, I try. But the magic coils around my ribs, claws up my spine, and sinks its teeth into my mind, dragging my eyes to its source.
Rian.
His smoke-gray eyes, rimmed with silver, gleam like a blade under the tavern light as he scans the crowd reeking of fear and hatred. Then his gaze finds mine.
My breath catches. A flicker sparks low in my gut, unwanted, uninvited, impossible to ignore.
No.
I don’t want this… I don’t want him.
But my pulse betrays me.
Rian’s brows lift—the barest shift. The desire to flee from the tavern tears through me.
Gods help me…he knows.