Chapter 8 The Tavern #2
My eyes narrow at this, disbelieving that something so simple worked. But I guess minotaurs are prideful creatures, too.
“How did you get to Mayhem?” Brynn asks.
“A passageway,” I say wryly. I figured he’d be better at framing his questions, being fae and all. His brow creases a bit, but he looks amused. “Why did you give me your true name if you know I can use it against you?”
“For trust,” he replies, mirroring my short responses. He thinks better of it though, because he adds, “I was trying to gain your trust. Quickly. And I do not believe you will use it against me.”
“Undecided,” I quip. The intensity with which Brynn studies my face has me emptying my mug.
“Is Thea your true name?” he asks in a low tone.
“Yes,” I say smugly. Too easy. But realization washes over me and I blurt, “You assumed I was lying. That it was a false name.”
Maybe that would have been wise.
“It was a possibility, yes. Your kind do tend to lie,” he says, looking both dejected and relieved.
“Is it that obvious that I’m a mortal?” I ask.
“Yes.” Brynn laughs, finally getting a closed question out of me. “But—for what it’s worth—I’m grateful you gave me your true name, Thea. Even if I can’t hold any power over you.”
I falter under his smoldering expression, my already loosened thoughts slipping into the dark recesses of my mind.
We sit in silence, studying each other. I am first to fold, of course, but his fiery gaze lingers even as I glance around.
The loft has grown busier. The bard plays a sad, slow tune, though the lyrics are too muffled to discern.
“I don’t know whose turn it is.” I clear my throat, willing myself to concentrate as I rest my elbows on the small table. “But I have another, if you don’t mind.” He nods expectantly when my attention falls on him once more. “What could I offer you in trade?”
At this, he leans forward. We’re too close again, but I do not retreat. It’s clear he does not wish to be overheard. “I too am searching for someone—in your world. A mortal. I can help you here, then you will help me there.”
His breath is hot near my ear. My fuzzy, muddled mind struggles to read between the lines.
Because every bargain has a price. Because every deal requires sacrifice.
“My turn,” Brynn says, pulling back wearing an innocent grin. “Can I please get us another round of drinks while you ponder our deal? Faeplum ale—no truth serum, no tricks, I swear it.”
He’s already standing and grabbing our empty mugs before I can answer. A reflexive smile spreads across my face. His gaze catches on my dimpled cheek before quickly flittering around the loft. He clears his throat.
“Please… stay,” he mutters, turning for the stairs.
I’m glad he’s gone, because I need to regain my composure. He’s beautiful… even with the horns.
For fuck’s sake, Thea.
If only the pluckroot allowed me to lie to myself. I can’t even deny it in my own head. But he is a means to an end. No distractions. I must find Mavick.
Mavick, who served me truth serum for over a decade without my knowledge.
Mavick, who I’m learning must have had secrets—were these secrets enough to get their blood sprayed across their living room rug?
In exasperation, I dig the brown bread out of my satchel, break off a chunk, and begin nibbling on it.
Placating my hunger may hush the dull buzzing in my brain so that I can think straight.
The half-goat bard’s new song, now distinct and cheery, snags my attention:
How much do your words cost?
How much do they weigh?
Did you think before you tossed
Your fickle fate to a fickle fae?
I freeze. My mouthful might as well be a tablespoon of sand.
When Brynn reappears seconds later and hands me a dark purple ale, I take a hefty swig to wash down the dry bite of bread.
I’m overcome by how sweet-yet-sour the beer is.
It’s divine, like an angelic plum tart in a glass.
Some sloshes out onto the table when I set it down too hard.
Brynn notes the uneaten piece of bread in my other hand and frowns.
“All right, I thought, worst case if I left you alone—I would return to find you picking a fight. I did not, however, expect to find you choking on bread pulled from gods know where.”
I cannot resist. I laugh at the absurdity. Brynn bristles, much like when I speak his name. He eyes me in wonder, but I can’t tell if it’s more akin to reverence or horror.
“You could’ve told me you were hungry,” he says pointedly. I offer some bread to him and he shakes his head, fighting a smirk. I shrug.
“I haven’t eaten anything since this morning.
” As I say it, I note how my first taste of freedom—my journey to Aston—somehow feels like a week ago.
It has been mere hours. And now I sit in a fae tavern with a fae man drinking a fae ale.
The thought twists my stomach into knots.
“Actually, I think it’s my turn,” I say, racking my brain for anything that may distract me from the rising panic. “What were you doing in Aston?”
“Ah,” he says, taking a sip of his own ale. I catch myself staring at his lips. “Retrieving Glo.”
“Ah,” I echo him with a shake of my head. “The thief.”
“You could call her that, I suppose.” He looks as though he wishes to say more about Glo but doesn’t. “My turn. Do you live in Aston?”
“No—I was just picking out some new fabrics and a gift for Mavick. And enjoying my very first day of freedom.” The words leave my mouth so fast that I do not register them until it’s too late.
Fucking pluckroot.
“Wait… your missing friend is Mavick?” Brynn asks, voice low. I’m glad this is what he focuses on, as the second part is much harder to explain. It would be necessary to tell him more about Mavick if he truly were to help me find them. A small flicker of hope flares at his recognition.
“Yes, do you know them?” I breathe.
“You could say that.”
His tone drips with disapproval. My hope pops like a bubble.
“You’re not going to say more than that?”
The expression on Brynn’s face is once again unreadable. “Are you going to accept my deal?”
Fuck.
“Look, Brynn”—yet another tick in his jaw at the sound of his own name, and the truth pours out—“I’ve never bargained or made a deal with a fae.
I’ve never even fucking been here. Mavick didn’t prepare me for any of this, and now they’re gone.
I’ve no clue what I’m doing. I don’t know how to go home.
I cannot get a read on you. I fear you’ll use me.
I fear there’s something in your words that I’m too dumbstruck—too mortal—to spot.
And the goat lady’s song is replaying in my head over and over again.
‘Did you think before you tossed your fickle fate to a fickle fae?’ No, as a matter of fact, I did not.
Because my brain becomes a muddied puddle—” when I look at you.
I at least manage to suck in a sharp breath before that last bit escapes.
Brynn’s mask remains cryptic, but his head tilts to one side as if speaking to someone far simpler. “You know… ‘Goat lady’ is rather offensive… They’re satyrs.”
“My apologies,” I say in earnest. “Shit! I’m sorry—oh—I don’t mean it as a slight, I—”
“I can hear your heart hammering out of your chest even over the din, Thea,” Brynn says.
Without warning, he reaches across our table to grab each of my wrists, shackling me with his warm hands.
That doesn’t fucking help. The corner of his mouth lifts in a sly half-smile when my heartbeat undoubtedly speeds at his touch.
I wait for the usual dread to overtake me.
But it doesn’t. After the initial shock subsides, it becomes clear.
He’s attempting to soothe me by applying soft, grounding pressure on my wrists—a tactic I only know of thanks to Alma.
Alma, who has witnessed who knows how many of my panic attacks.
I push her from my mind as I take a few deep breaths to steady myself.
“Will you use me?” I ask before I can think properly, my head airy from the combination of soft pressure at my wrists, deep breathing, and the mind-blurring spirits.
His inability to lie is all I trust. Brynn gives my wrists a gentle squeeze before letting go.
The lack of warmth aches. He runs his hands through his hair instead and my heartbeat stumbles again, his work at calming me instantly undone.
“No, I don’t intend to,” he says. I don’t intend to. This answer does not quell my doubts. He seems to see it in my face because he continues, “I need you as much as you need me, even if you can’t see that right now. My intentions are good. I do not wish to use you.”
I do not wish to use you. Again, it’s tricky. Just because you do not wish to do something doesn’t mean you won’t. Brynn winces. For the first time, it’s clear—he is as nervous as I am.
“Thea, I will not use you. Do we have a deal? I can help you find Mavick, then you will help me find my—” Brynn cuts himself off, and we both know he’s said too much.
I know nothing about him, what he wants, or who he could possibly be searching for.
All at once, I am so hot, my brain so hazy, that I want nothing more than to leave this place.
Before I say or do anything stupid, like make magical deals.
Or worse. My pulse quickens to a breakneck speed. Brynn’s throat bobs.
I’m on my feet, gathering my belongings within seconds. He stands but does not say a word. He wears a sullen scowl.
“I’m sorry—” Fuck, stop apologizing, Thea. I continue, “This was—I think I’ve made a mistake. I—”
I refuse to meet his burning gaze as I back toward the stairs, instead staring at the scar on his chest like it may find something clever to say. His chest heaves with a deep, frustrated exhale, but neither speaks.
Brynn makes no attempt to follow me as I flee—like the mortal coward I am.