Chapter 17
She’d already been stumbling over her own feet before arriving at The Twisted Willow. That, alone, should have been sign enough that she did not need to be drinking anymore, but Nymiria simply could not help herself.
After leaving her birthday celebration without so much as a goodbye, she’d returned to Aziel’s home and changed out of her dress, unbraided her hair, and set off into the night. She hadn’t been looking for danger, just somewhere away from all of the joy she did not deserve.
Her father would be worried, she was sure. She made a note to seek him out in the morning and apologize to him personally.
The barkeep tonight was a young woman with a halo of curls that reached her shoulders.
She was kind, with a sweet smile and a gentleness about her that Nymiria appreciated.
She’d tried to strike up conversation—asking Nymiria questions about who she was, where she’d come from.
In turn, Nymiria had given polite, yet vague enough answers to indicate that she wasn’t in the mood.
The barkeep still kept an eye on her, stopping here and there to refill her drink.
Nymiria was unaware of how much time passed, but by the fourth refill, the room was spinning so much that all she could do was let her head fall onto the counter and hope for sobriety.
The scent of cherry blossoms filled her nose after a while, but she didn’t dare look around for the source.
She knew that he was watching her. She would know him anywhere.
Without seeing his face, without hearing his voice, she would know him.
As if his being had been carved into her very bones, she knew him.
Finally, after what felt like hours, he approached her, his dark form looming over her scrunched one, his gloved fingers brushing the hair away from her face so that she could see.
She’d been using it as a shield, a blindfold of sorts, having left it to cover her eyes when she initially laid her head upon the counter.
A hazy version of him stared down at her, his face so blurred that she could hardly make out his expression. “You missed quite the spectacle.” Aziel drawled. “Trio was belligerently drunk and danced some poor woman nearly to death. We had to retrieve a healer and everything.”
Nymiria snorted lazily. “Sounds fun.” Aziel took up the seat next to her, smiling up at the young maiden that placed his favorite amber liquid in front of him. Her eyes narrowed. “Is she a friend of yours, too?”
Confusion took hold of his face. There was no mistaking that crease in his brow. “What are you talking about?”
“The barkeep. You seem to know quite a few of them. Have had trysts with quite a few of them as well, as I recall.”
“Really? Like who?”
Nymiria’s lip curled in disgust. “Siobhan.”
“That’s only one person.” She scoffed at that, closing her eyes so she didn’t have to look at him anymore. “I love seeing you jealous.”
“I’m not jealoussss.” Her eyes snapped open in horror. “I’m just making an obssservation.”
“It’s hard to believe you can still observe anything with how drunk you are.” He chuckled.
“It’s my birthday.” She grumbled. “Let me be.”
He hummed in response, silence falling between them. When he threw back his drink and placed the empty glass onto the counter, Nymiria looked down at the breast pocket of his jacket, her heart rate spiking at the sight of that white flower that still rested there.
A part of her wanted to ask about Ilona, wanted to tell him what happened, and what was said, but speaking a single word of it could only make her feel worse.
She had no way of repaying Ilona for her debts, for her refusal to acknowledge that one of her own had been held captive under Dorid’s hand, and even if she offered some sort of an apology there was a high chance that the woman would refuse it.
Atonement was a peculiar thing—only achievable if the other party was accepting of it.
But Ilona’s scars ran too deep. Even if Nymiria had scars of her own, she was not deep enough into her self-sabotage to start comparing them in order to justify herself.
“It happened.” She whispered. “Someone finally said something to me about Yaar.”
Aziel looked stunned, as if he hadn’t expected for her to speak again. “Who?”
She shrugged. “Not important. Trust me, they should have done worse.” She groaned as she lifted her head off of the counter, the entire room swirling around her. He looked at her with an expression that rivaled anger—towards what, she wasn’t sure.
There were not many things that made sense at the moment.
“When I first found you,” he began. “You said something similar to me. And for the life of me, Nymiria, I couldn’t understand how someone so battered and broken could have said something like that. You bore the wounds of your people’s torture, and you told me that they should have done worse.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” She almost whined.
“Because the situation hasn’t changed, Moonflower.
” Though the words were delivered with a certain edge to them, Nymiria could see in his eyes the emotions that flowed through them, the worry and the care that both of them had difficulty expressing.
“I don’t speak much about my godhood to you, but if this could offer any ounce of consolation, then I will tell you—people like you aren’t punished for their crimes in the Otherworld.
I deal with monsters. Monsters who genuinely deserve the punishments they receive.
I’ve never had to torture anyone who was just trying to survive.
” He observed her as if waiting for her to respond or refuse his kindness altogether.
It never came. And for a moment, she grew so still that he believed she was ignoring him.
She had been told plenty of times what she should and should not feel.
He’d berated her for feeling guilty, but knew just as deeply that guilt was necessary for true forgiveness.
Nymiria hadn’t become the guilt she felt.
She was attempting to move past it, but healing was not a steady incline.
It was a battle within itself—it was a war.
It was a mountainous terrain with jagged slopes and steep climbs. It was not easy.
One minor incident was the equivalent to a near-death fall. His only consolation that she’d survived was the small smile she gave him when placing her hand over his own—the small squeeze she gave it before she finally looked away.
The barkeep made another round, but Aziel declined, tilting his head towards loud laughter.
Nymiria followed the sound to a booth of rowdy men, all of them seemingly fae, who were attempting to attract the pretty barkeep’s attention.
She brushed them off with grace, shaking her head as she continued about her work.
It wasn’t until one of the men approached the bar that Aziel’s back straightened, his senses sharpening.
“C’mon, darling, we just want to have a little fun.” The man droned, swaying as he followed her.
“And I’ve told you three times already that I am a happily married woman who has no interest in taking another partner.” She glanced at their table. “Or multiple, for that matter. Now, if you have nothing else to say, then I will kindly—”
The man gripped the barkeep’s arm. And though she didn’t react, merely rolled her eyes, Aziel was already on his feet.
The drunkard turned his attention to the god, giving a sloppy laugh as he sized him up.
The man was broader than Aziel, but stood roughly three inches shorter.
Giant to Nymiria, but nothing compared to Aziel.
“I’d suggest that you take your leave, sir.” Aziel said, his tone smooth and calm.
“This doesn’t concern you.”
“On the contrary,” Aziel rounded the bar, placing himself in between the man and the barkeep. “As one of the owners of this establishment, it does concern me. And one thing I will not do is sit around and watch men that cannot hold their drinks make fools of themselves and harass my staff.”
The large man snorted, rolling his eyes. “Y’aint nothing but a twig, boy. I don’t care if you own the place or not, ‘specially when you look like that.”
Nymiria’s brow crumpled, her own anger rising to the surface.
She could feel her power reacting, seemingly summoned by the emotion.
She slowly stood from her stool, hands bracing her hips as she watched the interaction.
By this point, the barkeep had made her way to Nymiria’s side, huddling close to her.
“Looks can be very deceiving.” Aziel flashed his teeth at the man, his incisors shining like sharp blades in the aura light.
“Oh, you have teeth, do ya?” The man turned to his friends, all of them laughing in unison. “All of us have teeth around here.”
“I’ll ask you once more to take your friends and be on your way.” The god said calmly. “You have no place here.”
She’d had enough. The bastard wasn’t listening to anything and Aziel was only going to get himself into trouble with Gorford again if he made another bloody mess on the floor.
She released a groan, wrapping her hands around the leg of her stool and working her way around the bar.
Aziel watched her, utterly perplexed, as she lifted the stool over her body and slammed it into the back of the burly man’s head.
He teetered there for a moment, making nonsensical noises, until he toppled to the floor.
Aziel looked up at her from the wreckage, a few broken glasses having shattered—shards of it now embedded into his skin.
The other hecklers were closing in around their friend, shouting and cursing at Nymiria as if the bastard hadn’t had it coming.
Before they could come within feet of Nymiria, Aziel was standing protectively in front of her.
“Get out.” Aziel repeated. The men shifted in response, hesitant. “Get your friend, and leave.”