Tiernan isn’t just muscle; he’s got a keen eye for tactical approaches and he’s extremely through.
“Good man,” I say before sipping my blood again. “Keep us safe, but stay discreet. We don’t want to spook anyone.”
“Discretion is my middle name,” he replies, though the glint in his eye betrays his readiness for anything but subtlety should the need arise. With a last nod, he strides over to the sink, rinsing his dishes, then drops a kiss on our mate’s head before heading out.
My gaze then shifts to Khol, who has been quietly observing the exchange. “And you,” I continue, “keep your eyes on the prince and the band. They’re magnets for mischief and mayhem.”
Khol’s lips twitch into a smirk, the only hint of amusement at the understatement. “Consider them babysat,” he says, though everyone here knows that keeping watch over Revelin and the others is akin to herding cats—magical, unpredictable cats.
“Let’s not have a repeat of the brawl,” I remind him, an edge of sternness creeping into my voice. The memory of chaos caused by a moment’s inattention still lingers uncomfortably close. “We have very little pull here outside of the Prince’s castle connections, and you know the waspish Fae running the tour will let them dangle without a doubt if they get into trouble.”
“Understood,” Khol responds, a more serious note taking hold. He rises, shoulders set with purpose, and I can see the silent vow in his stance—to protect, to observe, to be the calm in our storm.
“Thank you,” I murmur, watching the basilisk morph into a more serious version of himself in preparation.
“Witchling, we’ll need to be subtle when we look for the Henley mage,” I murmur as we stand by the intricately carved table that serves as our makeshift command center. The map she heard aboutfeels important and I’m uncertain why—vampire intuition is an odd thing. “I know subtle isn’t your strong suit, but…”
“Don’t be an ass. Subtle is my middle name,” Fiadh smirks, her emerald eyes dancing with mischief. She pushes her empty plate away, satisfied with the meal and eager to get moving. I watch her skeptically, but choose not to address that nonsense.
It’s too early for that verbal battle.
“Speaking of which,” Revelin pipes up, his fingers drumming a rhythm only he seems to hear. “Don’t forget, we’re meeting atBloomin’ Dale’sat four.” He glances around at us, the urgency clear in his tone. “We still have to support the local artisans.”
I scowl slightly, though more out of concern for him than actual anger. “Those council rats deserve to pay for messing with you.” My voice is low but carries a sharp edge, protective instincts flaring like flames.
“Hey,” Khol chimes in, his usual stoic demeanor softening with camaraderie. “I’m all for making them squirm, but it wasn’t the townspeople who upset the apple cart. We shouldn’t punish them for their leaders’ mistakes.”
“Surprisingly egalitarian of you, Khol, but entirely correct,” Revelin concedes with a reluctant nod, his expression sobering for a moment. “I wouldn’t do such a thing.”
I feel a pang of something warm blossom within my chest as the prince and the snakelet rise to put their dishes up, each pressing a kiss to her forehead. The basilisk heads to the back to don clothes quickly, and once he’s back, they head out together.
“Looks like it’s just us now,” Fiadh teases, breaking the brief hush that envelops the room. “Don’t tell me you’re charged with babysitting me, old man.”
“Watch your tongue, young lady,” I mock-threaten, though there’s an unmistakable twinkle in my eye. “Brats get punished, remember?”
“Please,” she scoffs, tossing her wild mane of hair back with a laugh. “I’ve never been a brat. That would imply I get off on being extremely annoying.” Her words are bold, challenging, yet there’s a lightness to them that pulls genuine laughter from deep within me.
I’ve never thought of bratting that way, but she’s hit the nail on the head. They get off on being annoying little shits.
Shaking my head, I marvel at how this fiery sprite of a woman has turned my world on its head. For centuries I’ve walked this earth, feeling nothing but the cool detachment of time’s passage. But with Fiadh’s saucy spirit flickering beside me, I experience an unfamiliar sensation—happiness, pure and unbidden. It’s a strange and delightful warmth that makes me want to hold on to this moment, to savor the simple joy of companionship.
“Come on,” I say, my voice softer than I intend. “Time to stir up some trouble of our own.”
She winks, mouthing her new favorite taunt at me, then hurries back to the bedroom to pull on clothes. When she comes out in yoga pants, one of Khol’s hoodies and a messy bun, I chuckle.
This is more like our woman than all the fancy shit Rev’s people put her in, but she’s just as beautiful in it as the designer garb.
Together, we stroll out into the bustling streets, ready to play our part in this dance of shadows and secrets.
The cobblestone streetsare a labyrinth of secrets, and Fiadh and I weave through them with purpose. We’re shadows among the morning bustle, faces turned down, ears tuned to the whispers of market traders and passersby. Our mission is clear—find the Henley mage and secure the map.
“Overheard a pair of hobgoblins back there grunting gossip,” Fiadh murmurs, her voice low as we duck into an alleyway. “They mentioned a mage who controls the weather.”
“Good. Anything about where this wizard might be holed up?” I ask, scanning the narrow passage for any signs that might point us to our elusive quarry. Goldgarde is bigger than Arrowwood and we’ve had little time to map it all out prior to wandering.
“Only that it’s somewhere off the beaten track. A place away from prying eyes.” She pauses, glancing at a faded sign swinging from a hidden doorway. It depicts a sun peeking from behind storm clouds—the symbol of balance between tempest and tranquility. “I have a feeling we’re close.”
My pulse quickens; the thrill of the hunt surges within me. We edge closer to the door, our steps cautious but determined. The sign above reads‘Fair Weather Wizard’ in whimsical script.
