The inside of the tavern is smaller than I thought, darker, too, but it’s filled with laughter and lively chatter. A gramophone plays soft music in the corner, and lively flames crackle in the hearth. The air is stifling, swirling with the mouthwatering aromas of beef stew, mulled cider and Solaran wine.
“Man, someone turn down the heat.” Taron’s words came out in a drawl. “How can anyone survive this sauna?”
I ignore him – and the warm flush prickling at my neck – as I look around, searching for someone who looks like they’re in charge.
There’s a tall sturdy-looking man sitting behind the bar, wearing a silk shirt and a black bow tie that’s threatening to strangle him. I weave through the tables towards him.
“Excuse me,” I say with a forced smile. “Are you in charge here?”
“Who’s asking?” the man says without looking up from his newspaper. I wince at the photo on the front page, a mousy-looking man with two large front teeth. Buddy.
The headline nearly makes me choke.A grim discovery in Stellargrove: Jewel merchant found dead, Principal Guard probes possible foul play.
“I, uh, noticed your sign in the window.” My voice isstrained, but I can’t seem to do anything about it. “Help wanted?”
The man peers round the paper at me, and then at Taron, his eyes narrowing. When he doesn’t respond, I add, “My friend and I are willing to work for free in exchange for a place to stay for the night.”
“Travellers aren’t welcome here,” he grumbles, turning back to his paper.
“We’re not travellers,” I assure him. “We’re competitors. We’re here to compete in the Reckoning.”
He sets the paper down, his gaze now sparking with equal amounts amusement and curiosity. He chuckles under his breath, and accompanying laughter erupts from some onlookers at a table behind us.
“Can you imagine?” one of them says. He twirls his finger, Luna talents silently commanding a crock in the centre of the table to refill his cup with wine. “Let me guess, you’re the privately trained pair?”
I nod stiffly. “That’s us.”
His friend joins in with a boisterous laugh. He shouts over to us. “You’re telling me you’re both here to compete in the biggest event of the decade, and you don’t have a place to stay? That’s a fine mess you’ve gotten yourselves into.”
I flash a bashful smile, trying to work the crowd. But Taron ignores them, turning to the man behind the bar.
“Job or no job?” he bites out.
The barman eyes him. “Funny, ain’t it? A privately trained pair with pockets deep enough to grease the HighCouncil for a tournament entry, yet here you are, begging for work to cover a night’s stay. Makes a man wonder…”
A flush creeps into my neck. That’s it, our charade is over. We’ve been in Rava for no more than ten minutes and we’re already backed into a corner. I was a fool to drag us in here.
“Neither of our parents wanted us to submit our names for the ballot,” Taron says unexpectedly. “They are protective and don’t want us to die. We went against their word, so they’re refusing to support us financially during the tournament.”
I have to hold back my surprise.
“Your parents were right to worry,” slurs the onlooker who refilled his cup before. It’s empty already. “You won’t last a day on the island by the looks of you.”
Taron squares his jaw. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We’re just grateful for the chance to compete,” I quickly interject, shifting on my feet so my heel rams into Taron’s toes with equal intention and precision. He shifts back a few paces and lets me take the lead.
“Please,” I say – no, beg – to the barman. “We won’t cause you any trouble. We only need a bed for the night, then we’ll be out of your hair in the morning.”
He sighs. “I could use some help around this place. All right. What are your talents?”
“Well, I’m an Emo,” I say, “and Wren here is a Luna.”
“An Emo and a Luna, huh?” The man’s forehead wrinkles. “I guess a gravitational talent would be helpfulin the kitchen and, with the tournament bringing in a flood of tourists, a bit of energy detection might come in handy with the rowdier customers. We don’t serve alcohol to minors – no sigil, no drink. You think you can handle that?”
I muster a smile. “We’ll do whatever you need.”
“Then you’ve got a deal. You can work here in exchange for a place to sleep. But,” he adds, raising a sausage finger, “I’m afraid I only have one free room at the moment. Sharing won’t be a problem, will it?”
