Chapter 8
The cool breeze seemed to thank her as she stood on the castle’s patio later that evening, overlooking all of Cinders.
She imagined the city before the King—when vibrant colours still lingered in memory, before they were burned from the fabric of her mind. Now the city was one of two colours: grey smoke and ash, and the orange glow of buildings that never seemed to stop burning.
The people tried to put out the fires.
The guards tried.
Yet the flames always returned, like a cruel magic trick. Cinders flitted through the thick air, carrying sparks from one wreckage to the next. From up here, within the castle’s territory, the ash and fire could not reach her; it was the citizens below who were forced to breathe in the toxic fumes.
She felt a presence step up beside her and stiffened slightly, though she didn’t show it.
“A few of us are hitting the tavern. You coming?”
It was Lyon again, arms folded, following her gaze. Though she disliked him with an intensity and found his presence grating, a drink after the day she’d had sounded appealing.
“Because I want a drink, not because you asked,” she said through gritted teeth, walking a few steps ahead of him.
It was only a short walk from the castle to the nearest tavern. Lyon and the other guards relentlessly tried to catch her attention, but she refused to slow down. She even flashed Lyon the tip of her sword, which only made him bite his lip and dare her to get close enough to draw blood.
He bothered her most days—half-teasing, half-flirting.
She probably would be flattered if she didn’t know every terrifying thing he had done.
But then again, who was she to judge?
When they finally reached the tavern, the sun had set, and embers glimmered across the city like fireflies.
Ellaryn entered first, swiping out a chair at the far end of the bar, removing her scarf, and hoping to be left alone.
Of course, Lyon slid in beside her, close enough that his knee brushed hers.
The regulars always left when she and the guards arrived. Eyes widened. Drinks downed in a single gulp or abandoned on the counter. Feet scurried quickly.
“Haven’t you ever heard of personal space?” she spat, shuffling her chair away from him. He just smirked as the barman pushed ale into their hands without making eye contact.
“Hmm, what’s that?” he chuckled, swallowing his drink in a few gulps, fingers tapping on the table. The barman quickly refilled it.
They never let them pay for their drinks, barely meeting their eyes; the staff feared them just as much as the other dwellers did. The guards relished this, but Ellaryn couldn’t help feeling bad, especially when debt day came.
“Come on, Ruin, don’t you ever get tired of pushing me away?” He licked his lips, adjusting the black gauntlet around his wrist, flexing and unflexing his hand.
“Don’t you ever get tired of your own voice?” she shot back, a small smirk slipping past her defences.
“Can’t say that I do.” He winked. “But if you’re bored of it, feel free to shut me up, any way you’d like.” He leaned in, wooden stool creaking under his weight. “I tend to talk less when my mouth is engaged in other activities.” He whispered, eyes dancing from her crutch to her lips.
“I was thinking of removing your head. It seems far more efficient.”
“You want to give me head?” He shot back, eyes glinting under the torchlight.
“Your ears are full of ash. Have you been wearing your helmet?”
“Now you’re talking about my helmet.” He cocked a devious brow. “Just tell me you want me already.”
“Fine,” she sighed, watching as hope glimmered in his eyes. “I want you…” She paused, just long enough for him to feel it, “….to leave me alone.”
She delivered the final words firmly and sipped at her ale, unbothered.
“You’d miss me if I left.” He grabbed another handful of nuts and poured them into his mouth.
“Like I’d miss a headache.” She rolled her eyes again, an action all too familiar in her and Lyon’s exchanges.
“Always enjoy our conversations.” He said sarcastically.
“Wish I could say the same.” She drained the last of her ale and slid her chair a little farther from him.
“Oh, look. It’s the King’s mistress in the flesh.”
Another knight leaned in beside her, the stench of alcohol on his warm breath turning Ellaryn’s stomach. “I’m surprised you have time for drinks between lying on your back for the King.”
It was Felix.
Another twenty-something fool with eyes only for himself. Dark eyes, dark hair, and a personality darker still.
“What did you just say to me?” Ellaryn glared at him, anger beginning to coil in her chest.
He cocked his head, evidently mistaking her warning for an invitation.
“Tell me, Ruin,” he drawled. “Does he make you beg for it?”
Laughter rang out from the guards as Felix stood there smirking, soaking up the attention as though he’d just delivered the finest joke in Cinders.
Idiot, she thought.
“No, but carry on,” she said coldly, “and it’ll be you begging for mercy.”
“Begging at your mercy?” he hummed. “Now, that doesn’t sound so bad.”
His eyes dragged slowly over her, bottom lip teased between his teeth, and before he could take his insolence any further, Ellaryn was on her feet, her blade at his throat before the smile had even left his face.
The room went quiet.
Ellaryn stared at him, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes as Felix raised his hands in surrender.
“Relax. I was only playing.” He chuckled nervously, glancing towards his companions before looking back at her. In the corner of her eye, she saw Lyon smile, shaking his head as he took another slow swig from his tumbler.
“Surely you know by now,” Ellaryn murmured, “I don’t play.”
She took another step.
Felix stumbled backwards until his shoulders met the wall.
“Really?” His hand drifted towards the hilt of his sword. “This is how you want this to go down?”
“Pull it.” Her gaze followed his hand, then returned to his face. “And see what happens.”
There it was.
Fear.
It flickered behind his dark eyes, brief but unmistakable.
Ellaryn smiled.
That was enough.
Of course he didn’t draw his sword. He wasn’t suicidal.
“Forget this.” Felix lowered his palm. “There are plenty of other taverns in this city. I don’t have to stick around and deal with your crazy.”
He turned sharply and started for the door.
Ellaryn remained where she was, jaw clenched.
Crazy.
Her fingers tightened around the hilt.
She had no patience for their games. No patience for their hands, their mouths, their wandering eyes. And now, more than anything, she wanted to teach him a lesson the others wouldn’t forget.
Felix passed her, still clumsy with liquor; his shoulder brushed hers—that was his mistake.
Ellaryn caught his wrist.
One twist.
That was all it took.
His arm was wrenched behind his back before he could so much as curse. She drove him forward, forcing him against the bar, her blade kissing his throat.
“What was that?” she asked, her voice frighteningly calm. “Because I could have sworn you just called me crazy.”
“I—Let go of me,” he managed, his face reddening as he struggled against her hold.
Ellaryn pressed the blade a fraction closer.
Around them, chairs scraped against the floor as the other guards rose.
All except Lyon. He remained exactly where he was, leaning back in his chair, amusement curling at the corners of his mouth.
“Surely you saw that coming,” he said lazily, gesturing vaguely at him.
Felix twisted his head as far as Ellaryn’s grip allowed.
“What?”
Lyon shrugged.
“You’ve been drinking for hours, insulted the King’s favourite, threatened her, and then tried to reach for your sword.”
His grin widened.
“I’d say you’ve had plenty of warning.”
A few of the guards snickered, but Felix just glared at him, not sharing the amusement.
“Lyon, remind me, what is it you do to soldiers who talk back?” She raised an eyebrow his way, feeling the ale take hold of her.
“Sometimes I take their tongue, other times I take their heads. Depends on my mood.” He chimed like he was reminiscing on fond memories.
“Hm, now I’m just trying to understand my mood. See, I can’t decide whether I’m pissed or really fucking pissed. What do you think?”
Felix struggled against her, but Ellaryn’s grip was vice-like.
“Definitely the latter. Wouldn’t you say so, Felix?”
Her dagger inched closer to his neck, drawing blood that dripped onto her boots and stained the wooden floorboards.
He hissed, shaking his head as best as he could while his cheek pressed against the bar.
“I think so too,” she said, eyeing him up. Ellaryn leaned in until the panic blazed in his eyes, until he knew the weight of his mistake.
“You’re lucky I don’t want blood in my ale,” she whispered, and then she let go.
Felix scurried away from her, almost falling to his knees, fear crumpling his face.
“Run along now,” Ellaryn ordered, amused. She would have felt bad if he wasn’t such a vile excuse for a human being.
Felix nodded frantically, making his way to the door.
“We make an excellent team,” Lyon said with a smirk.
“I think your regiment needs to be kept in line.” She replied. The others watching had the sense to peel their eyes away now.
Lyon let out a loud laugh. “That’s not one of mine. Mine all possess backbones and are smart enough not to mess with the Dark King’s immortal executioner.”
“Yet you still haven’t got the memo.” She arched a brow at him, gripping her drink in her hand.
“I didn’t say I was smart.” He retorted as the ale kissed his full lips.
“A statement that obvious wouldn’t be worth the admission.” She smiled and returned to her seat, taking a long swig of ale, welcoming the warmth as it spread through her chest.
“Let me buy you a drink.” His tone became softer, amber eyes lingering on hers.
“You never pay for drinks.” She scoffed, wiping the ash from her cheeks with a cloth.
“True,” he admitted with a sigh, smirk firmly in place. “Maybe that’s just my way of asking to drink with you.” He added a wink for good measure.
Ellaryn raised a brow and lifted her middle finger without looking at him. “Then, this is my way of declining.”