It’s not hard to figure out that she’s worried that someone stalking her to Faerie means someone could stalk her sister’s trek through the wilderness.
“Come on,” I murmur, guiding her with a gentle tug. She looks at me, her eyes wide and haunted, then nods, steeling herself for the trip through the crowd of asshole press and scared townspeople.
We weave through the throng of bewildered guests, their faces painted with varying shades of horror and curiosity. Khol shoots mea look, his eyebrows raised in silent communication—’We need to get out, now.’ Tiernan follows close behind, his protective gaze scanning the room for any threats that might’ve slipped in with the chaos.
“Excuse us, pardon us,” I mutter, deploying my most gracious smile despite the situation’s grimness. It feels like wading against a tide, each step away from the pandemonium a minor victory.
Finally, the night air hits us, crisp and sobering after the stifling atmosphere inside. We pause just beyond the reach of the venue’s lights, the surrounding darkness suddenly comforting. Here, we are not the center of attention; we’re not under scrutiny. We can breathe and process what just happened.
“What do we really know about this murder?” Dezi’s voice is low, but it carries an authoritative edge that pulls us all back to reality. He’s already piecing together clues from the scant information we have, his mind always working ahead.
“Nothing solid,” Tiernan answers, crossing his arms. He looks every bit the bodyguard, ready to face down whatever threat comes our way.
“Arrowwood’s secrets are deeper than we thought,” I say, taking in the worried faces of my companions. “This murder... it’s no coincidence it happened tonight, with all of us here.”
“Or that it happened to someone resembling Sassypants,” Khol adds darkly, his protective stance beside her unwavering.
Fiadh nods slowly, her earlier bravado washed away by the gravity of the news. “We find out who did this,” she says, her voice steady despite the shadows in her eyes. “For her sake, and for ours.”
“Tomorrow,” I declare, “we start at the forest.” The others nod, their determination mirroring my own. In the silence that follows, a pact forms between us, unspoken but understood.
“We have to watch each other’s backs,” Dezi says. “There are far toomany enemies in this hamlet, and I grow concerned that it will only get worse as we move to bigger cities or more dangerous courts.”
“Always,” Khol agrees, and Tiernan grunts his assent.
We huddle closer, our resolve hardening like forged steel. Whoever—or whatever—is behind the murder, we will uncover the truth. For the town, for the girl, and for the dark threads weaving through Arrowwood, threatening to ensnare us all.
Ishove open the door of the Holy Grail, the hinges groaning in protest as if they’re not quite awake yet. The heavy scent of fried food and stale ale hits me like a brick wall, but it’s a welcome reprieve from the sharp morning air that nips at my exposed skin. Revelin grumbles under his breath behind me, still fuming from last night’s debacle with the mayor.
“Could’ve punched that smug look right off his face,” he mutters, his hands clenched into fists at his side. I can’t help but agree silently, my irritation simmering just beneath the surface. But the chaos of the charity dinner seems trivial now, overshadowed by the grim news that greeted us afterwards.
After all, who cares about some smug asshole claiming credit for work that isn’t theirs when there are much bigger problems in this world?
The police arriving to whisk away officials was a scene straight out of some crime thriller, except this was not fiction. A girl my age, her life snuffed out, found in an alley where we’d all walked past countless times. It sends a shiver down my spine—not from fear, but from anger. There should be an outcry, a flood of reports and social media posts. Instead, there’s a strange silence that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Fi, you coming?” Dezi calls, already seated at a worn wooden table near the hearth. The warm glow from the fire dances across his features, softening the lines of concern that have taken up residence there since last night.
“Right behind you,” I reply, forcing my legs to move towards the group. We settle into our seats, the benches creaking with our combined weight. Across from us, the tavern owner—a grumpy old orc knight with more metal in his legs than bone—hobbles over, his prosthetics clanking against the stone floor.
“Oi, keep your boots off the tables, or I’ll fight every last one of ya,” he growls, though there’s a glint of something that might pass for humor in his good eye.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” Khol responds with a smirk, earning a snort from the orc’s grubby wife as she ambles over to take our order.
She launches into a tirade about government corruption and systemic violence, her voice rasping like gravel on pavement. By the time she’s scribbled it all down, we’ve all been given a lesson on how the only people who don’t have shit on them are royalty—patently untrue in Arrowwood—and how the monarchy thrives by ‘hanging on to outdated imperialist dogma which perpetuates the economic and social differences in our society.’ But she curtsies to Revelin before she leaves, and he looks at us with confusion in his lilac eyes.
I don’t blame him; what the fuck is he going to say to all that?
Dezi chuckles, clearly entertained by the couple’s dynamic. “Quite the pair, aren’t they?”
“Better than last night’s circus,” I concede, the tension inching out of my shoulders as the familiar banter swirls around us. This might not be the breakfast spot we’re used to, but somehow, the Holy Grail’s rough-around-the-edges charm is exactly what we need to regroup after the disastrous charity event.
Eventually, our food arrives—along with a brief lecture on imperialism this time—and we all dig in. It’s hot, home-style, and tasty, thank hell. I’d hate to call that screaming harpy over for a problem because she’d likely bitch me out about late stage capitalism.
Not that I don’t agree with her, because I definitely do—eat the rich, except, maybe not my guys, right?
I’m scrapingthe last of my eggs onto my fork when the indistinct murmur from the next table snags my attention. “Did you hear about the girl they found?” one local whispers to another, his voice carrying despite the hush. “Body all mutilated, heart missing, and dark magic stink all over the alley.”
“Damn,” Khol murmurs, his eyes narrowing with a kind of predatory calculation. “Sounds like something our friends in the underground might pull off. That Minotaur, or that... creature from the last fight. Even the demon mage could have been involved.”
