I brought them a basket of bread from the back, too, hoping that perhaps Fieran’s mouth would stay too busy chewing for my name to land on his tongue.
When I was talking to a table across the room from them, one of the old men who was there every night asked me quietly, “You met the dragon shifters before?”
“I did,” I admitted reluctantly.
“What are they like?”
“You know, you can ask me questions yourself,” Fieran called across the room.
Well, I could add that to my tally of reasons to believe he had heightened senses. How could I keep a secret from him?
He seemed jovial and amused and maybe slightly intoxicated. Not dangerous. But I couldn’t trust my instincts around him. The Fae—and the dragon shifters had descended from them—evolved to charm and trick mortals. I wasn’t wiser than the rest of my kind.
He certainly had the crowd charmed, even before he said, “If you want a really good story, let me tell you about Cara today.”
I groaned, hid my face with my hands, and then went back to the kitchen for another basket of bread. One clearly hadn’t been enough.
When I emerged again, Fieran was surrounded by a crowd. His friends watched with evident fond amusement as he acted out his little stageplay. “She jammed the shovel into the wyrm’s mouth until it was choking on it. Then it managed to wrench the shovel away from her and crack it in two!”
“I don’t think that’s exactly what happened,” I said dryly.
Fieran met my gaze over the heads of the enamored crowd before he gave me a wink. “You can always trust a dragon shifter.”
“I doubt that very much.”
He scoffed. “You stood valiantly between that wyrm and the school.” Then he raised his glass, and the rest of the pub—always ready for a toast and the downing of the beverage that followed—cheerfully joined him. “To Cara, Stonehaven’s own hero!”
There were murmurs repeating his words, and I felt myself flush hearing my name on their lips. The last time I’d garnered this much of the pub’s attention, I’d tripped carrying an entire stack of plates, and there had been a betting pool on whether this was the day Humbridge would fire me. For the first time, I heard admiration while everyone was staring at me.
I bit my lower lip, but I was smiling as I put my head down and went to serve another round of drinks.
Later on, new patrons came in. Well, they weren’t new; I knew them quite well already. I’d served beer to one of their laps the day before.
Herret groaned when I came over. “Where’s Linny?”
“Linny’s on break. You get me.”
“But I don’t want you. Or, to be more precise, I don’t want another lap full of beer.”
“You spill enough of it on yourself; I don’t see what the difference is,” I said sweetly.
“You are the worst server in the history of The Tilted Stone.”
“At least I’m memorable.”
But no one was listening to me anymore. He was focused on something behind me, and the rest of the bar had gone silent.
I turned to find that Fieran had stood. He towered over everyone in the bar as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t like how you’ve spoken to her.”
His voice was low, almost soft.
But there was still a ripple of unease that ran through the bar.
“I’m—I’m sorry.” Herret looked around the pub for help, and when none arrived, he looked at me and nodded in surrender. “I’m sorry, Cara.”
“It’s fine.” I smiled at Fieran, trying to diffuse things. “And he’s right. Iamthe worst server.”
“You are fantastic,” Fieran said flatly, in a tone that allowed for no argument.
