But Millie is unconcerned. She hums happily to herself as she stirs her stew and Edith bursts through the door from the bar.
“Reivers!”
“What? Already?” I pull down a clean apron from a hook on the wall and fasten it over my dress before turning Edith around and shoving her back through the doors.
No matter what happens, we just have to get through tonight without incident, and I’ll deal with the Brag in my stable in the morning.
WARDEN
Something smells bad here. Even though I have the scent of the mistress of this tavern parked in my brain, the other thing concerns me. It isn’t coming via my nose. It’s seeping in through my soul.
The spiky feeling I’ve had since I first arrived at this tavern continues to run over my hide, and it’s not because I need the female in my arms again, although I do. It’s something else.
Something ancient.
My suspicions are confirmed when the Night Lands shiver. Nothing scares this place, but something has awakened.
The little witch with the dark hair has brought me a bushel of apples, and I have made short work of them, my stomach rounded with my little treat as I settle into the straw of the stable, feeling much at home.
Not that my quarters at the Shadow Keep are anything like this. They are more aligned to the Faerie who had the prison until I took it over and placed the former masters in the cells.
I can hear the rumble of the Reivers as they arrive at the tavern. The wars may be over, but the Reivers have a sensibleand healthy respect for me, given my current occupation and despite the fact I once fought against them.
It is not the presence of these barbarian fae which is setting me on edge. It is the twitch of the earth now and then, something unnatural even for the Night Lands.
Across the courtyard, the noise in the tavern increases with the carousing of the wolf moon. Somewhere a fiddle strikes up, although my lady did not strike me as a person who would encourage music. Perhaps because this is a special night, she has agreed.
I close my eyes against the slanted moonbeams which make their way into the stable, concentrating on the noises because I need to drown out those in my own head. My ancestors clamouring for my mortality.
A mortality stolen from me, and without it, I will never be whole. And I will never meet those who came before me. If anyone could have chosen the worst punishment for a Brag, this is it. Returning to our ancestors is the only reason a Brag exists.
So I prefer for the voices from the tavern to fill my head than anything else.
“Do you even know the meaning of the word ‘barred’?”
A voice I wasn’t expecting has my eyes opening.
Standing in front of me, her apron dotted with moisture, tiny hairs clinging to the skin on the edge of her face, which is sheened with sweat, is my lady. She wipes her hands on a rag and glares at me. Her eyes are the prettiest shade of blue I’ve ever seen.
Yet again, she reminds me of summer, a season I long to enjoy once more.
“Your girl said I could stay here tonight,” I reply, lamely.
“Mygirl, as you put it, is no such thing. She’s a witch and a terrible one at that. She also has no authority to let you stay here.”
“But she has a heart.”
Lady Ryle’s face darkens. “And I don’t?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I think you did. I think you said I was uncaring.”
I’m on my feet in a heartbeat, and I have her caged against the wooden divide of the stall.
“You are putting words in my mouth, female,” I growl, sucking in her scent for all I am worth. “Your heart is mine. I do not wish you to give it to anyone else.”
Her lips are ruby red, like an apple at the peak of its bloom. I lean in to taste her, to pluck her as I might my favourite fruit.
