“Be right with you, sir,” the teller chimed as he walked through a curtain behind the counter.
Astraia could just make out several compartments filled with falcons, all eager to take flight. The teller stopped in front of a rather large bird, strapping the box to his leg. The old man stretched out his arm, allowing the falcon to perch on it as he walked to the large open window at the back of the shop. With forceful enunciation, the teller boomed, “Tenebris”—and with that, the falcon took flight.
A proud smile bloomed on the old man’s face as he ambled back toward the counter. “That never gets old. Now, what can I help you with today?” His gaze flickered between Draven and Astraia, clearly unsure what to make of the pair.
“There should be a letter that arrived this morning for me,” Draven said, “from the Celestial Court system.”
Astraia flinched, her bleak circumstances crashing over her like cold water. It had to be orders from the king. Who else would be sending Draven letters from Court? Certainly not a lover—there was not a courtesan within a hundred leagues that would tolerate this brute.
Her lips pursed, forming a line as she glared at the back of Draven’s head, her knuckles white. She could drive her dagger in his neck right now, rid herself of his scheming for good. But a tiny voice in her head told her to bide her time. Astraia wouldbe free again, but slaughtering him in the falconry was not the opportune moment.
“Ah, yes, of course.” The teller looked over his spectacles at Draven, then moved to a series of shelves to his right. After a moment of filtering through scrolls and letters, he snatched a letter with the royal seal embossed in wax on the back. “Here you are, sir. Will that be all?”
He slid the letter across the wooden counter toward Draven, who promptly snatched it up and shoved it in his cloak.
“Yes, thank you.”
Without even sparing Astraia a glance, Draven marched out of the falconry courier’s door.
***
Astraia was not accustomed to idleness, always finding ways to either secretly heal those in the slums or go on deliveries for Delphi—may the Stars curse her. So, sitting in the same spot tucked in a corner table of the Capri Inn was making her skin crawl.
Draven had instructed her to stay in the inn as he inquired after their horses and made some preparations. Stars only knew why the bounty hunter spoke cryptically, as if she did not know exactly what kind of preparations he was making. Preparations for her death march.
Astraia had been sitting in her corner of the hall until the sun began to set, drinking tea and munching on bread and cheese as she watched people float in and out of the hall. The urge to bolt out the door and over the bridge to Virellia made her fidget uncontrollably, her foot tapping incessantly on the wooden floors.
The only change of pace for the last hour had been the steady beat of raindrops on the window next to her. The dark clouds continued to linger over Aquarian, comfortably unburdening themselves of rain.
Astraia peered outside at the small grassy field behind the inn, likely as a grazing spot for the horses stabled next door. There were a few apple trees along the edge of the field all in bloom, white flowers dotting the green leaves. It made her yearn for another garden, full of the most exotic and wondrous plants in the realm.
The sound of wood scraping against wood startled Astraia from her daydreaming.
A man, one of the burly ones from the Skyforge Peaks, had pulled out the chair next to her, his frame engulfing the seat. He had a cup of ale in his hand, with clear evidence of previously consumed cups lingering in his beard.
“Oi, you been here a while, ain’t ya?” His voice was husky, slurred as he spoke, glancing sideways at her.
Astraia only cocked an eyebrow, gritting her teeth in annoyance. She already had one egotistical brute to deal with; she did not need a second. Instead, she shifted in her seat, angling away from the barbarian and stared out the window. Her right hand slid to her dagger on her thigh, her fingertips grazing the embossed hilt.
“Hey now.” He belched, the stench of ale on his breath. “I just wanna talk. Hadn’t talked to a pretty girl in a while.”
He slammed his mug down on the table, sticky ale sloshing over the table. Before Astraia could react, he had grabbed her chair and turned her to face him. One hand lingered on her chair, his other hand braced on the table, preventing her from leaving.
“Perhaps I do not wish to speak to a drunk,” she snapped, her bonds reacting to the threat, begging to be unleashed. She gripped her tether, images of Elion flashing before her eyes as she bit down the desire to flare. Her tether was slippery, uncertain and wavering. She did not trust herself to controlPower and resist a flare. There could be countless bounty hunters in the inn. She could be staring at one right now.
“What’s the matter, girl? I’m just lookin for a good time.” A sloppy smile appeared on his bearded face. His right hand inched away from the edge of the chair and came to rest on her upper left thigh.
Her bonds were screaming now. White spots dotted her vision as Astraia tried to dampen the overwhelming hunger to flare and turn the man into a pillar of ash.
“Remove your hand, drunkard, or lose it,” she growled, her skin burning from Power lingering just beneath the surface.
“Ahh, so yer a feisty one, eh?” His speech was garbled as he slid his hand further up her thigh.
In a breath, she pulled her dagger from her thigh and slammed it down through the man’s left hand straight through the table.
He wailed, yanking his right hand away from her thigh, and made to grab the dagger that now speared his other hand to the wood. Astraia jumped from her chair, wrenching her dagger free, which elicited another scream.
The entire inn had gone silent, all eyes glued to the scene unfolding in the corner of the room.
