Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
The tavern’s weathered frame blended with Rockridge’s rugged charm, stone and timber darkened by years of smoke and rain. Men lounged on the steps outside, laughing loudly, their words slurred, mugs clinking as they swayed where they sat.
One called to another, “Haven’t had a fish shipment from the east in a week. Guess we’ll be rationin’ what we got!”
“We won’t be sendin’ much ore either. Can’t give em’ what we don’t have.”
A third man, leaning back on the steps, squinted at Gisela. “Well, well . . . looks like we finally got some fresh meat. Bet that chest ain’t the only thing worth oglin’.”
“Heh, I’d trade all our fish shipments for a night with her, no lie,” said the other.
Thorne’s jaw clenched, his entire body coiled, ready to strike. Without a word, he closed the distance in one smooth motion. His hands shot out, gripping the man by the collar, lifting him slightly off his feet.
The laughter died on his lips.
“Careful,” Thorne murmured, voice low and dangerous. “You like those eyes of yours? For oglin’,” he mocked. “I’ll pluck them out of your godsdamned—”
“Now, now, that’s no way to speak to a lady,” Silas said to the men, pulling Thorne back.
Thorne’s eyes stayed narrowed on the man before he released his grip, letting him stumble back.
“Silas Donolo! I didn’t know that was you,” the man stammered, eyes wide in shame.
Silas shook his head. “Better eat some barley to soak up that ale, Ed. And mind your tongue.”
Ed nodded quickly. “Apologies . . . my lady.”
Gisela said nothing to the man, not sparing him so much as a glance.
Thorne’s attention settled on her, soft enough to reassure her.
She took his arm and guided him inside.
Heat and clamor rushed over her. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat and the sour-sweet sting of ale.
The low murmur of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter filled the room.
After days of quiet and watchful travel, the noise and warmth were unreal, a glimpse into life that had no idea the rest of the world was breaking.
Thorne led her through the crush of bodies to a table tucked near the back.
“Finally, some proper tavern ale,” Silas said.
As Gisela relaxed in her seat, Thorne remained tense.
“You okay?”
A low hum escaped him, though his eyes darted around the room.
At a table nearby, a woman sat with her brown hood pulled low, obscuring her face in shadow. Despite the covering, the woman’s attention snagged on their table.
Gisela didn’t need to confirm it with a look. She could feel the prickle of those hidden eyes tracking her every move. She forced her thoughts back to the menu. “I want an order of the Crumble Clu—”
“Silas!” A vibrant voice sliced through the tavern’s roar.
A beautiful barkeeper sauntered over to their table, her steps confident and graceful as she swung her hips.
She dropped her hands onto Silas’s shoulders and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
Her red hair spilled over him like a silk curtain.
The low-cut line of her bodice struggled to contain her. “How long has it been now?”
“About a year,” Silas replied. “Have you seen Marina?”
“Oh, no. She left again—was here for a short while but moved to Aquamere. I figured you would’ve known,” the woman replied, her tone casual but edged with gossip.
Silas’s shoulders tensed, and his features fell. “Ale, please, Sabrina.”
“O’ course. And what about you two?” Sabrina’s gaze shifted to Thorne. She fluttered her eyelashes and leaned closer. “Aren’t you handsome,” she purred.
Thorne remained unmoved, his expression stoic.
Gisela shifted uncomfortably at the bold approach.
“Ale as well,” Thorne said flatly.
Sabrina glanced at Gisela. “And you?” she asked, her voice lower than before.
“Ale,” Gisela replied. She was so caught off guard that she didn’t even order her Crumble Clusters.
Sabrina shot a quick, disappointed look before turning back to Thorne. “If you change your mind, I’ll be in room two tonight.”
Thorne reached out, sliding his hand along Gisela’s thigh. He found her hand and laced their fingers together, his gaze never leaving Sabrina’s.
She lingered a moment longer before striding away, her steps heavy on the wooden floor.
“She’s quite forward, that one,” Silas said. “Rockridge is all a bit . . . blunt.”
Gisela barely registered the comment; her attention was drawn to the woman at the adjacent table.
She was watching them intently, eyes moving between each of them.
Gisela tilted her head at her, trying to make out any recognizable features beneath the hood.
Over drained mugs of ale and the comfort of a warm meal, they mapped out their next steps.
“Do you want to find Marina?” Gisela asked, leaning back in her chair.
“I do,” Silas said, voice low. “I need to make sure she’s safe, especially now that they’re taking Mystics from the villages.”
A fierce urge to return to Frosthaven gnawed at her, rivaled by the anxiousness in her gut. Thoughts of her family and Elysande circled her mind, leaving a trail of unanswered questions that only deepened her restlessness.
As the tavern thinned out and yawns became frequent, Silas stood to secure them rooms to sleep in for the night. He left, and the mysterious woman rose from her seat and dropped herself into Silas’s vacated spot.
Gisela and Thorne instinctively scooted back.
The woman pulled back her hood.
“Ely!” Gisela’s voice rang.
“Hush, child,” Elysande whispered. “I’m not safe here. I’m not safe anywhere anymore. No one can know who I am.”
Thorne leaned on his elbows over the table.
Ely glanced at him, before she turned back to Gisela with a questioning look.
“It’s a long story,” Gisela said.
Ely smiled with a twinkle, and a question, in her eye.
“No, no, we’re just . . .” Gisela stammered, looking over to Thorne.
He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. His black tunic stretched across his biceps. Gisela’s attention lingered on his arms, noting the muscles and veins as he moved.
Thorne raised a brow.
Gisela’s face flushed a deep red before returning her gaze to Elysande.
Elysande gave a knowing glance and shot a warning look at Thorne, as if to say, if you hurt her, you die.
Thorne met her stare with a calm but resolute expression. “Never,” he said, acknowledging the warning without flinching.
“What are you doing here?” Gisela whispered, reaching out to touch Elysande’s arm.
“I came to retrieve ancient scrolls from the scribe here, Ellis. But he’s gone,” her voice heavy with sorrow. “They killed him.”
The hair on Gisela's arms stood on end. “Then why are you still here? They could find you.”
“Better that they believe the scribe here is gone than to find me in Frosthaven. Your father has done all he can to protect me and the village, but it isn’t enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“The villagers are angry. It’s much worse there than here. Animals are coming in from the forest and attacking, food is becoming scarce. A wave of evil is spreading from the north.”
Her face paled as she rushed to ask, “What about Noah, Vivi? My mother?”
“They’re all safe. Tristan, though, was among those attacked. He’s been in the care of your mother. He will survive, but he may never use his right arm again.”
A cold jolt of shock left her breathless and still. Her anger with Tristan was a living thing, but she would never wish him harm.
Thorne let out a light scoff, earning a sharp scowl from Gisela.
“It’s not safe for you here either,” Elysande said, her hand resting on Gisela’s.
“Why do you say that?”
A soft smile lifted Elysande’s lips. “I’ve always known, child.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ely brushed a lock of hair from Gisela’s ear.
Gisela jerked away, her heart hammering against her ribs, the sound of it filling her head.
Ely didn’t pull back. Instead, she rested a steady hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. You’ve completed the Trials?”
It didn’t quite sound like a question.
Too afraid to give the truth voice, Gisela simply nodded.
Ely’s smile widened, warm and knowing.
Under the table, Gisela formed a tiny snowflake in her palm and sent it into Ely’s hand. A faint light shone in Ely’s gaze as she closed her hand around the frost. She held the tiny flake until it turned to water in her palm. “I’m so proud of you, Gisela.”
Ely glanced at Thorne. He extended his hand, black flames twisting and curling like ink in water around his fingers.
She pressed a hand to her chest, a gasp catching in her throat. Suspicion hardened her features, then faded.
Thorne missed the shift, but Gisela caught the way her mask slipped.
“Who is that man with you?” Ely asked, chin tilting toward Silas at the counter.
“That’s Silas. He has taken good care of us,” Gisela said.
Ely’s posture relaxed, the tension bleeding out of her. “Good. But please, do not linger here.”
“What were you looking for exactly? Before you found out Ellis was gone?”
“A certain scroll from decades ago. But they’ve taken everything. I have suspicions about the King’s intent.”
Thorne and Gisela went quiet.
Elysande sighed. “Remember the day of the inspection? I spoke of a prophecy.”
“You did. But you wouldn’t tell me then.”
“I believe that Ravenor thinks that if he unites the Stones, he will—”
“Wrapping up here?” Sabrina’s voice cut in. She draped a hand on Thorne’s shoulder.
Under the table, Gisela gripped the edge of her chair until her knuckles turned white.
“Allow me to show you to your room?”
“No, I think we’ll find it on our own, thanks,” Thorne replied, and a sharp flick of his shoulder sent her hand into empty air.
Elysande caught Gisela’s eye and winked before rising. As she stood, she squeezed Gisela’s hand, the rough edge of a parchment scrap sliding into her palm.
The dry texture grazed her skin before she swept it into her pocket.
A knot formed in her stomach, a cold pang of dread. She was reluctant to let Ely leave her sight.
“Be vigilant and wise, you two. Your courage will see you through.”