Chapter Six
THE TAVERN WAS packed, everyone having finished their work early to gather in quiet celebration of Pella.
“Whiskey,” Killian ordered, sliding into a stool at the tavern bar.
That earned him a glare from Sila, the tavern owner. He was tall and skinny, with straw like hair and pale eyes. “We don’t serve criminals here.”
Killian was not in the mood. “I was pardoned.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re not welcome.”
Killian glowered up at Sila, his expression dangerous. “Just give me the fucking drink, Sila, and I won’t cause any problems.”
Sila didn’t move.
“What? Want me to pinky promise?”
Sila’s eyes drifted to Killian’s uniform and the crest sewn into the fabric. Then, reluctantly, he poured Killian a glass and pushed it over the high counter.
Killian watched the entire time to ensure Sila didn’t spit in it.
Raising his glass to Sila in a mocking toast, Killian threw the drink back. It burned in the best way, warming his throat and chest. “As if you can afford to be picky with who you serve. Coin is coin, especially in a backwater place like this.”
Sila filled Killian’s glass again. “The elves of Turell are fine patrons.”
Killian scoffed.
“And besides,” Sila said, picking up a glass to dry. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this but with the king’s jubilee coming up, coin is the last worry on my mind.”
“Ah. Right.” Killian took a sip. “I’m sure the palace will be buying out your entire stock.”
“And then some,” Sila said smugly. “Every drop we produce from now on is promised to the throne. Same goes for everyone in Turell, and the entire kingdom, I’m sure.
One month of endless partying in the streets of the capital.
” Sila shook his head and whistled. “That’ll run the entire kingdom dry.
” He threw his towel over his shoulder and reached for the bottle of whiskey, topping off Killian’s glass again without being asked.
“Not to mention the king’s own personal celebration, whatever that entails. ”
Killian hummed.
“It’s said the king likes his lovers pretty.
Sometimes even willing to go so far as to tame them from wild dogs.
” Sila looked Killian up and down, his eyes full of malice.
There was no mistaking what he was implying.
“So, what say you, Killian? Did you get an invitation to the king’s personal celebration? ”
The tavern was quiet. Everyone was listening. They weren’t even trying to hide it.
Killian ran his tongue over his teeth and smiled.
“Are you calling me pretty, Sila? I’m flattered, but you’re not my type.
” He set his glass down and leaned heavily on the bar counter.
“I would suggest you walk away now. Before I end up breaking my promise.” Sila grimaced, and then turned away.
Killian stopped him. “Leave the bottle.”
The noise in the tavern soon picked up again and Killian faded into the background. He sipped slowly, swirling the dark amber liquid around and around in his glass.
Kade’s words drifted back to him in the noise.
In all the years he’d dreamed of reuniting with Kade, not once did he imagine their first real conversation ending in a fight.
A punch in the jaw perhaps, but not a fight.
It was almost funny. Killian couldn’t remember the last time they fought like that.
A real fight. Not just arguing for the sake of arguing.
It had been real anger and real pain from both of them.
Anger and pain that still lingered.
He’d prefer the punch to be honest.
Killian’s knuckles turned white around the glass in his hand, the hurt in his chest festering like an open wound.
He didn’t blame Kade. He couldn’t. Killian understood what it looked like, how in Kade’s eyes it looked like ownership; complete domination over another.
And in turn, to some—to Kade—it was a fate worse than death.
Kade would never understand, because Killian and Fyar were more than just master and servant.
They were built on the back of the very kingdom Fyar ruled.
He had been there when Fyar had made the ultimate sacrifice for the good of the kingdom.
A sacrifice no other elf, aside from Killian, would ever understand or condone.
Their trust and loyalty and friendship was built on years spent planning and talking and training. Killian’s enil was simply evidence of a secret they shared. One Fyar could never risk getting out, even if it meant using his magic to silence one he considered a friend.
Over time, the oath and Killian’s enil faded into the background, hardly ever mentioned or used except in teasing. Killian now walked freely over every inch of the palace grounds and the capital, with a duty and a position he never could have dreamed of before Fyar.
Killian owed his king more than just his life. And he could never explain that to Kade. He could never make Kade understand.
Killian truly believed that Fyar had been born to rule Netyere, and no one, not even Kade could change his mind.
Nearly a quarter through the bottle, enough to give him a pleasant buzz though not enough to ease his mind, someone cleared their throat just behind Killian’s shoulder. If he didn’t acknowledge them, would they change their mind and go away?
They cleared their throat again. Then, they spoke. “Can I sit?”
Killian froze with his glass at his lips and glanced over his shoulder, knowing exactly who he would see.
Kade stood there, in new clothes, dark trousers and a light, fitted tunic. His hair fell loosely over his shoulders. He wrung his hands nervously in front of him.
Killian turned back towards the counter. “If you must.”
Kade brushed against him as he slid onto the stool next to Killian. He let out a long, slow breath. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No. Truly. I didn’t.” Kade shifted so he was turned in his seat, staring at the side of Killian’s head.
“I don’t know why I said that. There’s no world where I’d rather you be dead.
I’m sorry, Killi. Please, believe me. I was angry and tired and upset and I took it out on you.
” He lowered his head. Ashamed. “I just—I get so angry. I always lose my head when it comes to them.”
Killian nodded. Anger is quick like that, one moment, one action, one wrong move and everything has gone up in flames. He swiped the bottle of whiskey and an extra glass, then moved to pour for his new companion.
“No need,” said Kade quickly, covering the top with a hand. “I don’t drink.”
“Oh. That’s probably smart of you. Seeing as you don’t have the best family history with it. You know, with your father being an alcoholic and all.”
Kade narrowed his eyes. “He was your father, too.”
“No, he wasn’t.” Killian smirked. “Lucky me.”
“Lucky you? Both your parents are dead.”
Killian leaned in and whispered. “So are yours.”
Kade let out a short barking laugh. “Huh. I guess you’re right.” There was a pause. “So that means you’ve been through not one, but two sets of parents. Maybe you’re the problem.”
“I certainly was for one of them.”
“Oh, we’re joking about it now, are we?” Kade turned away and tried to hide his growing smile.
Mustering a bit of courage, Killian reached over and put his hand on top of Kade’s.
He squeezed lightly. “There’s nothing to forgive.
It’s already forgotten.” Kade clicked his tongue.
“But in the future, can I suggest that if you’re going to point fingers at least point them at those who deserve it. ”
“You really think he doesn’t?”
Killian sighed. “We’re not starting this again. Not here.”
“I—” Kade opened and closed his mouth, frustrated that the words weren’t coming to him. “I’m not stupid, okay? I know things are better now, I do. You say he’s not to blame, and maybe he isn’t, but…I can’t forgive him.”
“Forgive him for what?”
“For everything. For father. For you. For taking you away from me.”
“He didn’t take me away from you, Kade.”
“No? Then why didn’t you ever answer my letters?” Kade’s voice shook. “Why didn’t you ever come back for me?”
“I didn’t—Kade, I couldn’t.”
“Because he took you away. Because he kept you away.”
Neither of them spoke for a long time.
Killian tapped his finger on the wood, once, twice, three times. And then again.
“You can’t stay, can you?” asked Kade, biting his lip.
“No, I can’t. I have responsibilities in Ingara now, isn’t that crazy? I can’t just up and leave my post for too long. My lieutenant would throw a fit.”
Kade’s smile was wobbly. “How long?”
“We have the week.”
Kade’s expression twisted. “I see.”
Moving closer, Killian threw an arm around Kade’s shoulders and pulled him in. Their foreheads knocked together, but Killian kept them there, kept them close. It was the only comfort he could give. No words would help now.
“What happened to your hand?” Kade asked suddenly, catching sight of the scabbed over scratches.
Killian flexed his fingers, he’d forgotten about those. Pella’s last gift to him. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
Pushing the stool backwards, Kade stood. “Come on. Let’s go home. I have a salve that can help speed up your healing.”
Killian’s eyebrows crept up his forehead, but he followed Kade up and towards the door, leaving a few coins on the counter that were more than enough to pay for what he’d drunk. “You playing at a healer now?”
Kade flushed and opened his mouth, but he never got to respond. His body lurched as he was shoved to the side.
Killian moved quickly to keep Kade from falling, then pulled the younger elf behind him, putting himself between Kade and this newcomer. Kade twisted his fist into the fabric on Killian’s back, holding onto him as Killian tensed.
In the dim light of the tavern it had taken Killian a moment to recognize who approached them: Roi Finnes.
He owned the land to the west of Kade’s.
Killian remembered he used to come by the house sometimes, to drink and lounge in front of the fire with Tyr.
They had served in the King’s Army together.
Roi wore a scowl, the lines in his face deep and unnatural as was the shade of his skin.
Elves weren’t meant to look like Roi did, their slowed aging and innate magic helping to keep their looks fair even as they lived centuries.
But not even elves were immune to the damage centuries of drinking hard spirits like water could do on the body.
“How dare you show your face here?” Roi spat, drawing himself to full height to not have to look up at Killian. “Have you no shame?”
Killian cocked his head. “What do I have to be ashamed of?”
Roi bristled. “You spilled your father’s blood and claim you’ve nothing to be ashamed of?”
“He was no innocent.”
“Your pardon was a joke. I should string you up here and now for what you did. That’d be justice.”
“The crown clearly disagrees, or I wouldn’t be standing here.” Killian raised his chin. “But you can fucking try.”
The hit was heavy against Killian’s jaw. The flare of pain quickly dulled into a sore throbbing radiating through his skull. It wasn’t all that unexpected, Roi was just like Tyr, quick to anger and easy to goad into action.
A horrified gasp came from behind them and the collective held their breath. Waiting. Watching.
Roi held Killian by the front of his shirt and snarled in his face. “You bastard. Your father did so much for you. Took you in off the streets and gave you a home, a family, and this is how you repaid him?”
Roi was spitting as he yelled. Drops flew out of his mouth and landed on Killian’s face.
Disgusting.
“He wasn’t perfect, but he tried. He was a soldier. And he tried to be a good husband, a good father. For Pella and Kade. For you. Tyr is a war hero. Show some respect.”
Killian licked his teeth, the tang of iron bursting on his tongue, and laughed.
He couldn’t stop it. It was all so predictable.
No matter what they knew of Tyr, no matter what they’d seen or heard him do, no matter how he’d really been in life.
In death, he was different. He was a hero.
In death, he was good. As if. “Not everyone who fought in a war is a war hero. Tyr certainly wasn’t. And neither are you.”
It maybe wasn’t the best thing to say.
Roi screeched and lunged forward, throwing the entirety of his weight at Killian. They stumbled, knocking into the tables around them. Those spectating jumped out of the way, grabbing hold of their drinks so they wouldn’t tip onto the floor as the tables toppled.
Killian heard both of their names being shouted. Neither one of them paid it any mind.
Roi was weaker than Killian, and shorter. It had been centuries since Roi’s time in the army.
Killian had little trouble gaining the upper hand. Slamming the older elf into the wall by the door and pinning him there with an arm across his chest, Killian’s dagger pressed firmly under his jaw.
“Get your filthy hands off me,” yelled Roi. Killian only pressed the dagger that much harder into his skin. “You can’t do this. You can’t kill me. Get off—”
“Why not?” Killian tilted his head and smiled at Roi, a fierce thing that showed his sharp canines.
“You wouldn’t be the first good for nothing drunk I’ve killed in this town.
You attacked the Captain of the King’s Guard, Roi Finnes, it is my right to retaliate.
No one would blink an eye at your death. Not if I called for it.”
Roi gulped and it was like he was seeing Killian for the first time. Seeing Killian for who he was now and not who he had been. Killian wasn’t someone he could push around anymore, someone who would stand and take a beating.
“What? Got it all off your chest, then?” Killian taunted, voice soft. “Nothing more to say?”
Steeling himself, Roi didn’t back down. “You deserved to have your head separated from your neck.”
Killian bared his teeth. “You—”
The door burst open next to them, a boy barely forty ran in, panting; calling for Kade. Kade del Torau. Healer. “Kade, thank the gods! You weren’t at home or at the river. You have to come quick. It’s Mylla. He’s hurt bad.”