Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Pan tracks her steps the entire way.
I give him a swift kick under the table. “Hey, Dunn, didn’t you have something you needed to check on?”
He snaps back to attention, his cheeks flushed. “Huh? Oh, yeah.” He pats his pocket where several coins are tucked.
“Be smart and safe. You hear me?”
With an impish grin, he trots away, out through the saloon door.
“What kind of mischief is that idiot up to now?” Jarek mutters.
“He’s going to get information that a mortal servant will be able to find far easier than I can, especially with you breathing down my neck.”
Jarek snorts. “He’ll get nothing that Abarrane can’t find, and he will get himself killed for it.”
My focus veers back to our previous conversation. “If you harmed Gesine in any way, I promise, you will pay for it.”
“The witch is fine.” A grim smile touches his lips. “And how will I pay? Will you splash me with water?”
“Looks like someone already did.”
The fiddler ends his tune and announces a short break to “water the grass and fetch a fresh pint,” leaving us with a steady hum of drunken conversations.
The waitress swoops in with our ales.
“Since he’s gone … Cheers.” I slide Pan’s mug over and clank mine against it before taking a sip. It’s sour and hoppy, and stronger than I’m used to. “Try not to get too sloppy drunk tonight.”
“You really are a pain in my arse.” Jarek sighs before collecting his and sucking back a mouthful. “Have you seen Abarrane?”
I shake my head.
“She’s likely scouring the cellars and dungeons. Fates help everyone if Drakon and Iago do not walk out of here tonight.” His focus shifts to more important things, at least, than how I escaped.
“You saw the people in the square?”
“Aye. And I imagine we’ll see many more before our journey ends.” I can’t tell whether the thought of that bothers him like it does me.
A curvy blond waitress shoves her cleavage inches from Zander’s face while she checks his mug of ale. The move is shamefully overt and pathetic, yet Zander doesn’t shift away, flinch, or indicate that he isn’t enjoying the fleshy display.
My stomach tightens. She’s wearing a cuff on her ear, marking her a mortal, though I assumed as much. All the servers here are marked, their dresses designed to offer more than an enticing look. They’re advertising easy access to generous veins, and she’s trying to tempt him.
Zander’s been to Norcaster before. Did he take the bait last time?
“Don’t be an idiot,” Jarek scolds.
“Huh?”
“He abandoned his crown and kingdom for you. I do not think there is another female in this entire realm you need fear will ever be able to compete with you for his attention.” Jarek’s gaze dips to the waitress’s cleavage. “As remarkable as those may be.”
Is my jealousy that obvious?
Jarek’s words are oddly comforting, though.
Still, Zander could appear to appreciate those a little less …
On impulse, I channel my elven affinity toward the fresh mug of beer as she’s setting it down.
It splashes into Zander’s lap, and he stiffens, telling me I’ve hit my mark.
“There. That should cool him down,” I murmur around a sip, satisfied.
The waitress apologizes profusely, but Zander’s eyes fly to mine, his head cocked in question.
I shrug.
The grin I get in return is dark and wicked and promises retribution. I’m going to pay for this—for all of it—later.
I can’t wait.
“Can you try not to keep up the entire camp this time?”
My cheeks burn as I grasp Jarek’s meaning. “We weren’t that loud.”
He smirks. “He wasn’t.”
I push aside my embarrassment. “Aw, it’s okay.” I reach up to toy with the thick rope of braided hair draped over his shoulder. The sides are growing in, covering his scalp in soft fuzz. “One day, if you try really hard, you’ll please someone that much too.”
The muscles in his jaw tighten, but humor glints in those eyes as he works his way through a suitable—surely biting—retort.
I’m saved from hearing it by the four guards who file in through the swinging doors.
Followed by another four.
And another four.
32
Romeria
Jarek curses and shifts in his seat to face the wall, stretching his arm across the table in front of me. To anyone else, he looks like he’s getting closer, but I know he’s trying to hide his presence. Given his size, it’s almost laughable.
“Who did you piss off? I’m guessing the one in the front?” The male is dressed in finer leather and a fur capelet that is too heavy for these temperatures, even in this damp weather. Elven, definitely, and he must be important in this rabble. He’s earning plenty of looks as he strolls toward the bar to share quiet words with the barkeep. Even Fearghal and his revolting companion seem apprehensive as they quietly watch the newcomers weave through the crowd.
“That is Lord Isembert. Norcaster and all its surrounding villages, aside from Woodswich, answer to him. He thinks his balls are the biggest in all of Venhorn. Maybe they are, but they hang far too low for his own good.”