Chapter 1 #2
“A new wave of soldiers from Voxxtera just rolled in for the tournament.” She nods toward the corner filled with faces I don’t recognize. “Seems odd there’s so many of ’em, if you ask me.”
“Probably something to do with the Rhiza. Makes sense to send reinforcements after all that’s happened this week. Besides, I’m sure they’re all excited to witness the queen’s tourney.” I drum the tips of my fingers on the sticky bar.
Queen Daphne is no fool. Her sensibility is chief among the reasons I adore and wish to serve her in any way I can. She’ll get the rebels straightened out. She has to. Surviving the Smog is one thing, our people shouldn’t have to worry about being murdered any time they leave their homes.
Restlessness takes hold, and I head toward the dance floor. Acutely aware of the attention my movements garner, I keep time to the lively, jovial songs the group of minstrels are playing.
Unbridled joy fills my soul, and I attempt to lose myself in the reverberation of sound. My long, braided plait bounces and curls as I sway my hips.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a familiar hand reaching toward me.
Thick, bruising fingers press into my skin.
Without thinking, I grab the assailant by the wrist, twisting their arm as I maneuver myself to stand behind the poor soul.
I pull my dagger from its sheath and bring it to his throat with my left hand.
Eryk stills in my hold. His damp golden hair and the way his oversized, strong body feels as he surrenders to me have me buzzing.
“Captain. You would do well to keep your hands to yourself,” I whisper venomously in the fae’s ear. The bar has gone silent, and all eyes are on us. A few of the soldiers edge their way in our direction, hands hovering over their weapons.
“You are so deliciously tempting. I can’t help myself,” Eryk jokes with a whisper, swallowing hard over the dagger. So fucking persistent. I’m not convinced he’d even know what to do with me if I ever did give in, but this game we play is one I happen to enjoy.
I release him, and he turns to face me, holding the spot where the dagger had been.
“My body is not a pastry. Do those lines work on other women?” I tease.
“Was that really necessary?” he questions, dropping his hand back to his side and watching me carefully as I put my dagger away. “I only wanted to dance with you.”
The noise of the bar starts back up as the band begins to play once more, and people return to their conversations, uninterested now that the potential for violence has subsided.
“I’m not in the mood for you tonight, Eryk. Leave me alone.” I turn on my heel, heading back to the bar, but freeze when his hand touches my shoulder.
“That is the second time you’ve touched me tonight without my permission. Do it again, and you will leave here with one less appendage than when you came in,” I growl as I face the man once more. His sapphire eyes twinkle, and he chuckles while washing his hand over his face, as if in disbelief.
“Please. Have a drink with me?” The dimple from his smile gives him an air of innocence, and I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or exhaustion, but I’m struggling to resist.
I heave a sigh and walk toward the bar, knowing the captain will follow.
It isn’t that I hate him. It’s worse. I feel indebted to him because he’s allowed me to train with his unit, and I don’t want anyone thinking I have an unfair advantage in the tournament or that I somehow slept my way into the guard.
Phillipa raises an eyebrow at me as she sets our drinks on the bar, but I shrug. There’s no harm in having one more. Besides, between healing, training, and my extra shifts in the greenhouses, I’ve earned the right to let loose a little.
Eryk slides a few gold coins across the counter and winks at Phil before downing his drink in one swallow.
Just as I touch the smooth glass to my lips, shouting breaks out from the crowd behind us. The crashing of shattered glass, followed by a telling groan, makes it clear someone has been injured.
I fly from my stool, pushing through the crowd to find a young waiter, barely in his teens from the look of him, on the ground. A full tray of now broken mugs lay in a pool of ale beside him. The boy is nursing a bloody hand. Only a small cut. That I can handle.
I whisper thanks to the gods that it had not been something more complicated. Smaller flesh wounds are one thing I can heal on my own. Worse wounds and illnesses require more than one healer. It didn’t used to be that way, just one more thing the Smog has changed about life in Lukasia.
Kneeling beside the boy, I’m careful not to cut myself on any of the broken edges still glistening on the sticky floor.
“Give me your hand,” I command, and the boy obliges; bright red blood slides down his arm in thin streaks.
“I didn’t mean to,” he says, looking around frantically. “These two men were arguing. Something about the Rhiza and Queen Daphne turning people to stone. The bigger one, he pushed the other one into me, and—”
I turn to see if I can find the men he’s talking about, but the crowd that had gathered makes for a good wall, and as my eyes dart around in the weak lighting, it’s clear my searching is for naught.
Boiling hot, my temper threatens to spill over at the thought that there are members of the rebellion hiding in plain sight. Here. In Phil’s tavern. But I turn my focus back to the boy.
“Shhh. It’s not important. Let’s get you fixed up,” I soothe, gathering what little power lives inside me and concentrating it on the wound, I seal it one layer of tissue at a time until all that remains is smooth skin and just a little smattering of blood.
Satisfied with the work I’ve done, I give him a soft smile. “There. Go clean yourself up, and I’ll take care of this mess.”
The boy scurries off, and I’m acutely aware of the eyes on me as I carefully pick up the shards of glass. I tend to forget that others might not be as familiar with their magic as I am blessed to be.
Being born with any type of magic is a gift, but healing is quite rare. I don’t shy away from the attention. Instead, I make eye contact with anyone still rude enough to stare, and eventually they look away.
“You shouldn’t be on the floor cleaning a mess you didn’t make, Arina.” Eryk hovers above me, offering his hand.
“Gods know this lot isn’t going to help,” I say, loud enough for those nearest to hear the accusation in my tone.
Standing with the tray full of broken glassware, an unsettling shiver runs over my body, as if someone—or something—dark is watching. It’s a different energy from someone simply curious about my gifts, and a small seed of terror sprouts within my gut.
The noise of the tavern returns steadily, and with it, more commotion. Someone brushes past me, and I’m spun around. Another group, this time soldiers I recognize from training, pushes by me in pursuit of the stranger.
I keep hold of the tray, just barely, as I wobble about before finding my balance.
My head pivots in the direction they were going as they passed, but all I find is the tavern door swinging shut.
“Let me take that,” Eryk offers, and I don’t argue.
He gives me a funny look, as though he can see the tension in my spine as I attempt to stand a little taller.
“Thanks. I think I’m going to head home. Will you say goodnight to Phil for me?” The words are rushed. I want out of this place. Right now. My limbs are screaming at me to run. With any luck, I’m just being paranoid.
“Are you sure? I can walk you. Or you can come to the barracks with me.” He looks hopeful, and for the first time ever, I’m half tempted to agree.
I’m not anyone of consequence, I have no reason to think they might come after me, but I still don’t want to run into the Rhiza if they’re hanging around here, and if whatever this thing is decides to follow me into the night …
Yeah, Eryk’s bed is sounding mighty comfortable right about now.
But it wouldn’t be wise, especially so close to the tournament. I don’t want to complicate this relationship or hurt my reputation before I even make it into the guard. “No, that’s alright. I’ll be fine.” I hope.
I’ve never been scared to walk alone before, not even in the darkness of the Smog. But whoever or whatever is watching me feels menacing and heavy, and the rebellion feels more hostile than ever. Something is wrong.
“You shouldn’t walk alone. It’s not safe.” It’s almost like he really gives a shit, and he’s not just trying to get me to go home with him.
I consider his offer for a moment, weighing whether it’s worth the potential embarrassment or rumors if I allow him to walk me home.
“I’ll be fine,” I repeat. “I can handle myself. Or didn’t you learn that earlier?”
Eryk chuckles. “Fair enough. I still don’t love the idea of you roaming around in the dark on your own. Especially with everything the rebels have done lately.” The image of the bodies hanging in the square embeds itself in my vision when I blink.
I wave him off. “They only target the elite class, and I’m a nobody.” I can’t tell if I’m trying to convince him or myself.
“You’re not a nobody to me.” His words make my cheeks twinge with heat. “I know you’re capable of protecting yourself, but I would feel better if you weren’t alone out there.”
I level him with a glare, and he raises his hands in defeat. “Fine. Whatever you say.” Eryk shakes his head and turns to take the tray of broken glass to Phillipa.
Outside, the rain has turned to a cold mist that feels nice after the heat of the tavern, but I’ll be freezing by the time I make it to the house. The smell of smoke from fires burning to keep the villagers warm inside their homes snakes through the air.
The walk from Phil’s to my home on the outskirts of town is not long, but in the dark and empty streets, that familiar unease settles deep within me. I take slow, measured steps, both from fear of drawing attention to myself and dread for what awaits when I arrive at home.