Chapter 19 Rumors and Revelry #3
Remembered that they were sitting in a crowded tavern.
That Tristan, Thraigg, and Ollie would return any second.
Remembered that Cedric was drunk, and he was leaving, and she still had a job to do.
That the path they were dancing down could only end one way, and she’d already experienced enough heartbreak to last the rest of her considerable lifetime.
Her breath was ragged, her thoughts a tangled mess, when she broke the kiss. “I think that’s my cue.”
Cedric stared at her, his own breath coming in short bursts, as she scooted to the edge of the booth and stood. “Wait”—he reached for her—“I swear to you, I’m really not that drunk.”
She smiled down at him. “That’s really not the point. I need some air. We can talk more later. Before you le—” She cleared her throat and turned away. “Before you leave. I promise.”
She heard his sharp intake of breath as he stood behind her. Felt the brush of his fingers against her shoulder, grasping for her. “Please, Elle, just wait. I—”
But she was already mid-step, already walking away. And when Cedric’s hand caught her cloak at her shoulder, it snagged her hood, pulling it back.
Pulling it down.
It might have been comical, in other circumstances, how the entire tavern seemed to go still at once. How one moment, the space was full of friendly chatter and bawdy laughter and clinking mugs, and the next it was silent as death.
Then came the gasps. The hushed whispers. The unmistakable ripple of fear as the room took in the periwinkle hair braided atop Elyria’s head, the sharp ears protruding from either side. Gazes whipped to Cedric next to her, recognition dawning on faces across the tavern.
And chaos erupted.
Elyria groaned, a deep, chest-rattling weariness seeping from her as she swore under her breath. “I swear to all five fucking celestials, I do not do this on purpose.”
“What the fuck just happened?” Ollie was back, his body a wall between Elyria and the surging tavern patrons forming a large semicircle around them, eager for a closer look at the victors in their midst. Either that, or they were looking for an opening to try and take down the Revenant.
It was hard to get a grasp on the sentiment around them with so much noise and movement.
Either way, it didn’t take long for the pushing and shoving to start, and Elyria knew it was only a matter of time until punches would be thrown.
The liquid courage had spread far and wide tonight.
A bottle shattered across the tavern. The bartender released an indignant cry, even as she ducked behind the bar. Several patrons bolted for the door.
“We need to go,” Ollie urged, but it was already too late. Two large men to his left overturned a table in an attempt to move forward, and Elyria realized with grim understanding that they were being quickly boxed in.
A tankard flew through the air in a perfect arc, aimed right at Elyria’s head.
Cedric, despite—or perhaps because of—his tipsiness, lunged forward as if to take the hit in her stead.
Eyes wide, she yanked him back just in time to avoid it colliding messily with his face.
Metal clanged as it ricocheted off the wall behind them, ale splashing across Elyria’s arms.
“I rather like his face,” she said darkly, defensive rage flaring in her chest as she searched the crowd for whoever had lobbed the throw.
“You would all do well to avoid ruining it.” Her shadows twitched at her fingers, crawling defensively up her arms. The ground rattled as her wild magic surged in her veins.
“Put those away, Lady Victor,” Ollie said sharply, one hand suddenly gripping her upper arm, the other wrapped around Cedric’s as he hauled the pair of them farther back. “Unless you’d like to undo all that goodwill you’ve been fostering with the people of Kingshelm in one fell swoop.”
“What exactly is your end goal here then?” she hissed, gesturing to the tavern wall behind them. “Where do you propose we go? And where the fuck are Tristan and Thraigg?”
Right on cue, the jingle of a beaded beard cut through the din around them, and although Elyria couldn’t see Thraigg through the chaos, she did catch a flash of wavy blond hair.
She lost sight of it just as quickly, however, when a chair came flying toward Elyria, forcing her to the side.
She leveled the misguided fool who’d kicked it over with a glare that had the man clawing his way toward the exit.
“Shit,” Cedric muttered. He surveyed the explosion of chaos with a stunned expression, as though he couldn’t believe how quickly the situation had devolved. “This is all my fault.”
Elyria didn’t disagree with him, but it was hardly the time to voice that. She would give him shit about it later.
“Everyone remain calm—” Tristan’s placating voice was lost to a new swell of excited shouts as he broke through the crowd, looking just slightly worse for wear. His hands were raised, palms out, as he tried to settle some of the rowdier patrons.
“We just want to see the victors!” cried someone.
“Get that fuckin’ pixie out of here!” shouted another.
Lovely.
“You all need to go,” Tristan said as he backed up to where Elyria, Cedric, and Ollie were pinned against the back wall.
Though the crowd kept a wary berth and weren’t actively approaching them just yet, that divide was getting smaller and smaller by the second. “Get out before this all gets worse.”
“I still don’t see Thraigg,” Elyria hissed, though as she said the words, she caught sight of the dwarf on the far side of the tavern, back braced against the open door, mid-argument with a man roughly two feet taller and a hundred pounds heavier.
“We should stay together,” Cedric protested. “They only want an audience with us. Perhaps we should—”
“You are not the one most at risk here, O Beloved Lord Victor,” Tristan said. “They need to leave before things get messy.” He gestured to their surroundings. “And I know if you weren’t stars-knows how many pints in and moving slower than a Verdentian slug right now, you would agree with me.”
Cedric looked around as if needing a moment to absorb the restlessness pulsing through the tavern. The initial bout of fighting had abated, but new arguments were forming between the remaining patrons, several of them divvying up into groups, eyes narrowed suspiciously on Elyria and Ollie.
With a frown, Cedric gave a slow nod.
Elyria hesitated for just another heartbeat.
She didn’t relish the idea of separating either.
She really didn’t like the idea of leaving him behind.
But the patrons who hadn’t fled from the tavern were getting rowdier.
Those who were clearly displeased at having the Arcanians in their midst were getting bolder.
And through the shouts and cheers and shoving bodies, Elyria heard the sound of a blade being unsheathed.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Fine, if they want a show,” she said, unfastening the clasp of her cloak and letting it fall to the floor, “then let’s give them a show.”
Ollie’s eyes lit up with wicked glee. “Gentlemen,” he said, tipping his head at Tristan and Cedric, “it’s been a pleasure.
See you back at the palace, eh?” And with that, he swept his cloak aside and unsheathed his brilliant blue wings before flitting into the air.
Elyria followed suit, her own wings bursting from her back in a shimmer of purple and green.
The next second, they were both dodging the light fixtures hanging from the tavern ceiling as they zoomed over the crowd, whose mouths gaped open—equal parts fury and wonder lighting their faces.
“Our apologies,” Elyria shouted behind her as she and Ollie flew over to Thraigg. “Please feel free to send our bill to Lord Church.”
Thraigg yelped in alarm as the two fae hoisted him into the air by the armpits.
“Hold tight,” said Ollie, and with a synchronized beat of their wings, he and Elyria launched themselves out of the tavern and into the night sky.