A small bell chimed as Marion swung open the door. At its sound, the patrons stopped what they were doing, their gazes falling on the newcomers. Hating any and all kinds of attention, Luna instantly became hot and clammy, sweat causing the hairs that had escaped her scarf to stick to her forehead.
Marion gave a little wave, and slowly, the crowd’s eyes drifted back to their various activities. Relief settled over Luna, the weight of their gazes lifting as if she had just stepped off a stage.
Marion moved through the dancing people to a table by the small metal fireplace that provided light and warmth. Luna followed her, her shoes sticking slightly to the floor. When she took a seat at the tall, yet narrow, wooden table, it wobbled—an unfamiliar experience for Luna. Wary, she refrained from touching it, keeping her hands neatly folded in her lap.
A musician strummed a lively tune on a lute—an instrument Luna had learned about in her studies with Demetrio. The melody was unfamiliar, its offbeat rhythm both strange and infectious, making her want to tap her foot along.
The people around her spun and swayed, linking arms as they twirled together. Their movements were far freer compared to the rigid, practiced steps Luna was used to seeing. Those not dancing gathered in groups, drinking and chatting; others played cards—likely some sort of illegal game based on how they reacted when Marion and Luna first arrived.
“I’ll be right with you,” the beefy redheaded man from behind the bar called out. A minute later, he brought over two mugs of mead. Luna scratched her head through her scarf. They hadn’t ordered anything yet. Sensing her question, the bartender gestured over his shoulder to a fairly good-looking man sitting at the bar with one hand resting on his knee and the other holding a mug of mead. He had close-cropped brown hair, and stormy blue-grey eyes that were locked onto Marion; he raised his glass to her and smiled.
Marion returned the gesture, smiling widely. She then leaned over to Luna and whispered, “That’s Gregory.”
Raising her mug, the woman gave it a brief salute before downing its contents. Luna tried to follow suit, but the mead’s syrupy sweetness clung to her tongue, burning down her throat before she could swallow properly and a stray trickle spilt past her lips. She wasn’t used to drinking like that. Normally, she’d nurse a glass of wine over an entire evening.
Warmth spread through her, leaving her lightheaded but pleasantly relaxed as she wiped her chin with a napkin.
Marion tipped her head, releasing an exaggerated sigh. “With all the drinks that man’s been buying me over the last few days, you’d think he was hopelessly in love with me. Except . . .” She leaned in, placing her elbows on the table, causing it to wobble in her direction. “He never tries to spend the night. Always backs out at the last second.”
The conversation halted as the bartender placed two more mugs of mead in front of them, the table rocking back and forth under its new weight.
Alone again, Marion continued, “Maybe one of these days he’ll work up the courage, but for now, I plan to keep accepting his generosity.” She picked up the nearest mug and raised it. “Enough about him though. Let’s cheers”—her eyes darted away, as if she was searching for the words—“to new friendships.”
Luna raised her mug, clinking it against Marion’s. “I’ll cheers to that.” Then took a generous gulp; the effects of the alcohol washed over her melting her inhibitions. “I should have visited the marketplace sooner,” she confessed.
Marion leaned forward, her head resting on the back of her hands, her weight sinking into the table as her eyes gleamed with interest. “What—or should I ask, who—was holding you back?”
“Rules, my illness. My parents . . . They worry about me—”
Marion’s head cocked to the side. “You don’t look sick to me.”
“The smallest injury could be fatal for me.”
“That’s tough,” Marion sympathized, but her voice was disjointed, almost like she didn’t quite believe it. “But it sounds like you have supportive parents.”
Luna nodded. “I’m lucky to call them my family.” She went on to describe her childhood, how she only ever watched the other kids play games and never joined in. She explained that in the privacy of her bedroom, she sometimes attempted to play some games solo, but it never felt right. Playing tag by yourself, for instance, wasn’t much fun.
Marion listened attentively, nodding at appropriate intervals. When Luna finished, Marion reciprocated by sharing her own childhood story about a boy named Simon, whom she’d had a crush on until the day he cut off a chunk of her hair. In retaliation, she pushed him into the mud and made him eat dirt. Marion added that Simon’s nose looked like a crow’s beak and he annoyed her so much that sometimes she wished he was a crow she could simply chase away.
To illustrate, Marion playfully flapped her arms and made a hoarse, raucous noise similar to a caw. Luna’s laughter bubbled out of her, so sudden and uncontrollable that she nearly tipped out of her seat. Her hand shot out to steady herself on the table, fingers brushing the smooth, cool surface of the wood. She wiped tears from her eyes, still chuckling. “You’re terrible.”
“Maybe,” Marion said, returning to the table. “But if you ever met him, you’d agree.”
When the bartender returned with two more mugs of mead, Marion smiled, looking over to Gregory before she rose from her seat and curtsied. Her feet moved with practiced grace, one foot slightly behind the other, her knees bending just enough to show deference. She held the position for a heartbeat longer than expected, then straightened, giving Gregory a small nod before turning away. Not wanting to seem rude or ungrateful, Lunastumbled out of her chair, mirroring Marion’s curtsy. “I’m going to thank him for the drinks,” Marion said. “I’ll be right back.”
Luna settled back into her chair, watching as Marion approached Gregory. There was something in the way she moved—something Luna hadn’t noticed before—so effortless and sure, it made Luna feel a little out of place.
Gregory beamed at Marion, and when she curtsied once more, his smile grew wider. He reached for her, drawing her closer before pressing a warm kiss against her cheek. Heat crept up Luna’s neck. The sight was unfamiliar—too intimate—and the table’s uneven grain quickly became the most interesting thing in the room.
Nearby, a group of men huddled over a card game, their voices hushed. A name caught her ear:The Darkened One.
A tragedy had struck in the back country near Kalt Ravine. Soldiers ambushed by unicorns.
Her stomach tightened into knots. His bloodlust was unmatched, and now, it seemed he and his men had grown even more violent, targeting not just villages, but entire battalions. His wrath was no longer just whispered rumors but an undeniable, ever-growing threat.
Luna’s mouth went dry. “Were there any survivors?”
A somber silence stretched between them, followed by a disheartened, “No.”
