Chapter 18 Take a Break #2
“Yes, well, you would know all about that,” said Ollie, and Elyria found herself avoiding his eye. “The heart wants what it wants,” he added.
“Damn right,” Thraigg said, amusement sketched into the lines of his face.
“And it’s about time someone besides me found a little joy on this side of the Chasm.
” The look he gave Elyria was entirely too pointed, before the dwarf narrowed his blue eyes at Ollie.
“This place better have some damn fine ale in addition to yer piddling cider, that’s all I’ll say. ”
Ollie flashed a white-toothed grin. “Oh, this particular spot is going to be just the ticket for us all, I can feel it.”
Elyria pursed her lips but said nothing as Ollie slowed to a stop before a nondescript wooden door, laying his hand on the knob. She cast her gaze up to the warped sign swinging above their heads, the corners of her lips tipping up as she read the words engraved upon it: The Cracked Keg.
Ollie pushed the door open and stepped aside, gesturing to the doorway with a sweeping bow. “Your kingdom awaits, my lady.”
Elyria rolled her eyes at her friend, but she didn’t have time to do more than that before Thraigg was barreling into the bustling tavern, delight spearing across his face, a hearty laugh bellowing out of him.
Smiling, Elyria took in the thick oak panels dotting the walls, the happy chatter of the patrons seated in clusters along the long wooden bar, the flickering light from lamps overhead casting shadows on cozy booths tucked into each corner.
Her shoulders dropped immediately as she crossed the threshold.
Despite the differing layout and furnishings and, of course, nature of the people within, the space reminded her so much of The Sweltering Pig.
It might have been startling had she not felt such a visceral sense of relief sweep over her.
She looped a grateful arm through Ollie’s crooked elbow as the tavern door swung closed behind them, a warm feeling—delightful and strange—washing over her, pulling at her from behind her ribs. There was something about the scent here, the noise. Loud, chaotic, familiar.
It almost felt like coming home.
Who thinks like that? Elyria gave a small shake of her head, as if she might rid her mind of the ridiculous notion. Ollie had done a good job in sniffing this place out, but this was just some human tavern, after all.
“First round’s on ye then, Rev?” Thraigg called over his shoulder, making a line straight for the bar.
“I think every round is on me, Sir Ironfist.” A slow grin spread across her face as she looked at Ollie.
“Actually, given that all the delegation’s expenses are on the king’s tab, should we offer a round to the entire bar?
A small slice of recompense for the torture the”—she lowered her voice—“Victor of Nyrundelle has endured these past two weeks?”
“That’s certainly one way of fostering good will with the humans,” Ollie said with a chuckle. “Though I suspect that wouldn’t be the best way to keep your identity as”—he matched her tone with a mock whisper—“said victor secret, now would it?”
“Always with the logic.” Elyria secured the hood of her cloak with a wistful sigh. “Doesn’t that ever get tiring?”
“Suppose you wouldn’t know, would you?”
She smacked his shoulder.
“Oi, that’s enough yappin’, ye two.” Thraigg reappeared at their side, a mug in each hand and a precariously balanced platter of cinder cakes propped against his chest. “Ye couldn’t make yerselves useful and find us a table? Do I have to do everything around here?”
“See, now this is just impressive,” Elyria said, taking the platter from the dwarf. “How’d you get these so quickly?”
“Gaia’s tits. Ye always underestimate dwarven charm.”
She pursed her lips. “You charmed them so much they forgot you are Arcanian, did you?”
Thraigg took a swig from the mug in his right hand, simultaneously shoving the one in his left toward Ollie. “Ha! It may have been many a year since my boots last graced the streets here, but the attitudes toward us little folk haven’t changed much.”
Confusion drew the corners of Elyria’s mouth into a frown as Ollie pulled her toward the back corner of the tavern, Thraigg following behind.
“With dwarven-made goods valuable as ever, and the traders who hawk them coming and going through both realms as they please, dwarves are more common in these parts than you might have believed.” Ollie raised his mug in the direction of the bartender, a buxom young woman in a loose gray tunic who was speaking with—
“There’s another dwarf here?” Surprise colored her tone as Elyria took in the thick red braids twisting down the dwarven woman’s back, her full lips parted with laughter, her deep russet skin glowing in the lantern light.
Thraigg loosed a spluttering laugh into his mug. “We ain’t fuckin’ endangered, lass.”
“I know, but . . .” She couldn’t help but picture the faces she’d been seeing day in and day out since they’d arrived in Kingshelm—the looks of disdain, of disapproval.
She thought of all the times those looks had been directed at Thraigg, Tenebris Nox, and Young Shep—how they seemed especially sharp when landing on the most visually different amongst the delegation.
In reality, she supposed that it was simply the dwarf’s proximity to the nocterrian and sylvan that had led her to assume the humans’ ire was for them all.
But Thraigg had been happily flitting about the human capital all week, hadn’t he? Even at the welcome ball, his spirits had certainly not been hampered by the judgment oozing through the room. Elyria’s brow furrowed with realization. She had been making a lot of assumptions lately.
“. . . the benefits of dwarven neutrality,” Thraigg finished, and Elyria realized too late that he’d been speaking the entire time she was lost in thought. “We stay out of yer wars, and we get to stay in everybody’s business.”
He said the line so casually, with a smile behind his clear blue eyes, and Elyria knew the dwarf hadn’t meant anything by it.
Still, that knowledge didn’t stop her heart from racing, her pulse blaring in her ears.
Oh, to have the privilege of neutrality.
What a benefit to be a dwarf during a war between fae and humans.
The War of Two Realms was long over, Malakar long since vanquished, but the shadows simmering just under Elyria’s skin were proof that its impact still lingered. That it would, perhaps, forever.
She cleared her throat, pushing down the tirade that threatened to spill forth in response to Thraigg’s callous remark.
“Yes, well, perhaps that’s a conversation for another time,” she finally said, and if for nothing else, at least the dwarf looked somewhat chastened, as if belatedly realizing what he had said.
“I was promised the best cider in the city,” continued Elyria, “so why don’t you go and put my money where your mouth is, Oleander?”
“Right,” said Ollie, a mischievous glint in his tawny eyes. “That I did. Sidle into that booth over there, and I’ll return shortly.”
Elyria turned toward the dimly lit booth Ollie had pointed at, her mouth popping open in protest when she realized it was, in fact, already occupied.
It closed just as fast when, with a jolt running through her chest—that thread being twanged like the string of a fiddle—she realized who exactly occupied it.