16. Questionable Company
Chapter sixteen
Questionable Company
In the matter of a heartbeat, we resurface from the dark swirling vortex, the sky splitting open above us. The air here is colder. The disorienting pull of the wormhole’s gravity spins my senses, making my world tilt.
I am still draped over Oberon’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
With a swift motion, far gentler than I expect, Oberon sets me on my feet. His hands linger on my waist longer than necessary, steadying me. His grip is firm, warm, and frustratingly reassuring.
I shove him hard in the stomach. He barely moves, more from surprise than from strength, I am sure.
Heat rushes through me, anger at being tossed around like a rag doll, and something else I refuse to acknowledge.
Feeling his torso under my palm, all hard muscles and impossible strength, is different from simply seeing it through his fitted shirt. Focus. Get it together.
“Don’t you ever do that again,” I snarl, baring my teeth.
Oberon’s eyes flare just for a second before his mask of indifference slips back into place. The corner of his mouth lifts in a sly grin. “You will stay close. It was my one condition from your long list of demands.”
I cross my arms and glare, biting back a retort.
Ash, of course, can’t help himself. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad, was it?” His grin turns wicked. “I’m usually pretty good at navigating holes . . . or so I’ve been told.”
I groan audibly. “Seriously?”
Oberon rubs his forehead in visible annoyance. “Must you always be insufferable?”
Ash winks. “It’s part of my charm.”
Rolling my eyes, I shift my gaze to the path ahead. “Where are we?”
Oberon answers first, his voice steady. “We’re outside of a village called Umberfall.”
“That sounds . . . eerie,” I say dryly.
Ash laughs. “It’s not so bad. They named it Umberfall because mist falls from the cliffs above. It gets pretty foggy at certain times of the day. Great for brooding types like our dear Oberon.”
“I don’t brood,” Oberon mutters.
“Sure you don’t,” Ash says, grinning widely. “And I don’t make inappropriate jokes.”
We start down the dirt road toward the village.
The path here is nothing like the overgrown trail near the cabin.
It is well-used, wide enough for a carriage, and the dirt is packed down from time and heavy travel.
As we walk, a lone faerie passes us going in the opposite direction, hooded, robed, and exuding an unwelcoming aura.
Their eyes flick over us with clear disinterest, and I don’t miss the faint sneer curling their lips.
My steps slow as the forest parts, and the village comes into view.
Old brick buildings line the main cobblestone street, their weathered facades scarred by age and war.
In between them stand newer wooden structures, hastily built replacements for those lost in the fighting.
The mix of old and new gives the place a patchwork feeling, like a town trying to remember what it once was.
Mist drifts lazily from the cliffs above, cloaking the village in a faint gray veil. The air is damp, carrying the scent of moss and ash.
As we enter, the sounds of quiet conversation drift from shadowed alleys and dimly lit doorways.
The creatures here vary, Fae of all shapes and sizes, some tall and regal with shimmering skin, others hunched and sharp-toothed with watchful eyes.
Small, winged faeries dart between buildings, their wings catching faint glimmers of light.
A hulking figure with bark-like skin leans against a wall, arms crossed, glaring at passersby. None of them looks welcoming.
Ash spreads his arms theatrically. “Welcome to Umberfall. Charming, isn’t it?”
“Charming?” I scoff. “It looks like it barely survived the war. And the locals seem thrilled to see us.”
Oberon walks ahead without looking back. “Stay close.”
“I wasn’t planning on wandering off,” I mutter, taking in the wary gazes following us. “Friendly bunch.”
Ash leans in, lowering his voice. “Don’t take it personally. They don’t like anyone.”
“Well,” I sigh, glancing around at the broken village swallowed in mist. “This should be fun.”
Oberon leads Ash and me down the main road, his long strides measured and silent.
I follow closely, my eyes wandering over the village around us.
The older buildings bear deep scars, blackened scorch marks crawling up brick walls, their foundations cracked from battles long past. Newer wooden structures stand awkwardly among them.
The hastily built replacements don’t quite fit.
They look too clean, too temporary, as though they are pretending to belong.
I have known, of course. I’ve seen glimpses of this destruction from the mountaintop.
Oberon showed me pieces of it, like puzzle fragments too sharp to touch.
But seeing it this close, seeing the creatures who live here, seeing the war’s wreckage pressed into every stone and wooden plank, hit harder than I expected.
Pain seeps in, curling into my chest, a hollow ache.
This place has bled. And walking beside me are two males, both of whom helped tear it apart. Whether he believed it was right or not doesn’t change the facts. The thought gnaws at me.
I keep my word and stay close. Oberon remains his usual silent self, but Ash’s quiet unsettles me. The male can’t shut up for more than two minutes, yet here he is eerily silent, eyes flickering to the side streets and rooftops.
“Since when do you brood?” I ask, breaking the quiet.
“That’s Oberon’s specialty.” Ash flashes a grin, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Trying something new. Might look good on me.”
“Doubtful,” I shoot back.
After a while, Oberon turns down a narrow alley tucked between two leaning buildings. We stop in front of a weathered wooden door. A small sign hangs crookedly beside it, the faded lettering barely legible: The Hollow Ember.
Oberon pushes the door open and holds it there, glancing at me with that unreadable expression. “We’ll be safe here.”
“A tavern?” I stare at the doorway, unimpressed. “You dragged me through Ash’s hellhole for a drink?”
Ash finally breaks into a laugh. “Best reason I’ve heard all day.” With exaggerated flair, he strides inside, flopping onto a barstool. “Bartender! Something strong enough to make me forget hellholes and sparkling personalities.”
Oberon’s eyes lighten just a fraction. “This is a necessary stop. We have friends here, those loyal to our cause.”
“Friends,” I echo, glancing around the dimly lit tavern. “Doesn’t look like the friendly type of place.”
The tavern is dimly lit by flickering lanterns hanging from rusted iron hooks. The air smells of smoke, damp stone, and something spiced. The walls are built of dark wood, worn and smoothed by time. A large hearth sits unlit at the far end, and mismatched tables fill the room.
The patrons are as varied as the streets outside: Fae with curling horns, winged faeries whose glow dims in the low light, and shadowy figures cloaked and hooded. All of them pause to glance at us before returning to their drinks.
“Cozy,” I mutter.
Ash returns, somehow managing three mugs in his hands, sloshing liquid with every step. “You need a drink, Lyra. Might loosen that stick in your spine.”
I narrow my eyes but take one of the mugs anyway. The liquid inside is a deep amber, and its scent is sharp enough to sting my nose. I slosh it a little as I turn to find an empty table tucked beside a narrow staircase leading upward. “Let’s sit,” I say flatly, leading the way.
Ash drops into a chair with a groan. “Ah, finally. I don’t know about you two, but traveling through interdimensional death spirals is thirsty work.”
“Hardly ‘interdimensional death spirals’,” Oberon murmurs, lowering himself into the seat opposite me.
“You weren’t the one being thrown over a shoulder.”
I shoot him a glare. “No. But next time, try carrying Ash instead.”
Ash grins widely. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
I take a sip from my mug, burning, bitter, but oddly warming, and look around again. This place isn’t just a tavern. It has the air of somewhere important. Somewhere where quiet conversations can change everything.
Oberon leans back in his chair, his gaze steady. “We won’t be here longer than we have to, only until we speak with my contact.”
I raise a brow. “Who is this mystery contact?”
“You’ll see soon enough,” he says.
Typical. Always with vague answers.
Ash shoots me a knowing look but says nothing, instead signaling the tavern keeper for more drinks. Ash lifts his mug in a mock toast. “To mysterious plans, shadowy allies, and surviving another day with each other’s charming company.”
I clink my mug against his with a smirk. “I’ll drink to that.”
As the hours drag on, we fill our time with light conversation, Ash doing most of the talking with his endless stream of sarcastic remarks and exaggerated tales.
Oberon remains his usual self, sipping slowly from his mug, offering only the occasional grunt or disapproving glance.
We order food. The stew is bland and the bread stale, but it is warm. Still, the unease lingers. The tavern’s atmosphere remains tense, whispers curling through the air.
After a while, I start to shift in my seat and finally ask, “So, when exactly is this contact supposed to arrive?”
Oberon’s jaw tightens. “He should have been here by now.”
Great. That doesn’t sound ominous at all.
Before I can press him further, the tavern door creaks open. A small figure slips inside: a boy, cloaked and barely noticeable among the dim surroundings. His eyes scan the room before locking onto Oberon.
With quiet determination, he makes his way to our table.
He stops beside Oberon, glancing quickly at Ash and me.
Then, almost imperceptibly, he slides a folded note across the rough wood of the table.
His voice rings out, soft and rehearsed.
“Excuse me, sir, do you have a coin to spare for a piece of bread?” A cover.
Obvious and clumsy, but it does the job.
Oberon doesn’t hesitate. He reaches into his pocket and hands the boy a coin. The boy nods in thanks and slips away as quickly as he came.
I lean in. “Well? What does it say?”
Oberon unfolds the note, his sharp gaze flicking over the words. His face remains impassive, but I catch the slight tightening of his grip before he folds the parchment and tucks it into his pocket.
“The contact won’t be able to make it tonight,” he says at last. “We’ll stay here for the night. They’ll meet us in the morning.”
“Fantastic.” I lean back in my chair, groaning. “So, we dragged ourselves through a wormhole, walked into a war-torn village, and waited for hours in this charming establishment . . . just to sleep here?”
Ash grins, raising his mug. “Could be worse. At least we’ve got drinks and questionable company.”
Oberon stands, ignoring Ash’s remark. “Come. The tavern keeper keeps rooms upstairs. We’ll rest and be ready for tomorrow.”
With a heavy sigh, I grab my mug, sloshing the last of the bitter ale down my throat. “If I knew this was the plan, I would have stayed on the damn mountain.”
Ash winks. “But then you’d miss all this quality time with us.”
“Lucky me.”
As we climb the creaking staircase to the upper level of the tavern, the unease in my chest refuses to fade. The contact’s delay doesn’t sit right. Something is coming, I can feel it. But for now, all I can do is wait.
We find our rooms, and each claims our own. We exchange quiet goodnights before I slip into mine. The small room matches the rest of the town—old, worn, and unflattering. A single bed sags against one wall, draped in thin, dingy linens. The walls are bare, the wooden floor scuffed and uneven.
I don’t mind, though. I’ve slept in worse places, lived through worse things. One night here is nothing.
My head spins a little from the day’s events, a lot from the drinks Ash kept shoving into my hands with his signature grin.
Lying back on the tattered bed, I stare at the beaten wooden ceiling.
The haze in my mind makes it harder to place my emotions.
Warmth? That can’t be right. I should hate Oberon for capturing me, for forcing me to stay at the cabin. And Ash? He isn’t innocent either.
Yet here I am, feeling . . . something. They gave me freedom eventually, and a purpose. And as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t mind their company. Not that it means much. I haven’t had companionship in a long time.
Exhaustion eventually wins. My thoughts fade, and sleep takes me.