Forceful hands clap me on the back, and Ronyn’s head wedges between us, his shaggy mop of hair and lop-sided grin but an inch from my face. “Blah, blah, blah, he loves you, you love him. Very nice. Can we get a fucking drink yet?” he says with an impatient sigh.
Kael’s smirk lifts up his mouth. “First round’s on me,” he says, voice low and unassuming.
“That’s the spirit,” Ronyn says, clapping us both on the back again. “Does the first round also include some roasted meats, by any chance? I’m famished.”
“You just fucking ate at The Tainted Veil,” Therion snaps, exhausted, but he shakes his head and I don’t miss the small smile pulling at his lips.
“I told you all you think is about is your belly,” Jax taunts with a devilish expression, and she boots open the door to the tavern.
“Categorically untrue, and you know it,” Ronyn counters, chasing after her.
“I’m really not sure about those two,” Seren says, shaking her head in concern.
Honestly, neither am I.
“You all make me sick,” Rubi jabs with disdain, brushing her knotted hair out of her face with a flourish, before taking a long drag from her flask and booting the tavern door open.
The thick haze of smoke billows from the windows, along with the acrid tang of old, spilled liquor and sweaty bodies.
I pull my hood forward, shielding my face from view, and push through the doors to the tavern.
The Veil & Vine swallows us whole.
The air is thick with pipe smoke and the sharp tang of spiced wine. Lanterns swing from black-iron hooks, their light catching the glint of knives strapped to boots and the sheen of sweat on foreheads. Laughter rings out over the scrape of tankards, the floor sticky with old ale. Vines—real ones, threaded with tiny glass beads—trail across the rafters as if someone tried to dress the place in finery and failed spectacularly.
On the surface, it’s just another tavern: crowded, loud, ordinary. But I know better.
Kael leads us through the press of bodies to the bar. The barkeep, a thick-bodied man with sleeves rolled to his elbows, eyes us without a word. His cloth is dirtier than the mugs he’s pretending to polish—I know a man who deals in secrets better than anyone.
“We’re looking for Signis,” Kael says evenly.
The barkeep tilts his chin toward a narrow vine-carved door at the far end of the counter. No words, no flourish. Just a silent invitation.
We push through. A stairwell yawns below, cut deep into stone. The door creaks shut behind us and the noise of the tavern dulls to a muffled hum. Cool air rises from below, damp and tinged with candle smoke.
The descent is quick but heavy, boots crunching on grit, shoulders brushing the narrow walls, and the glorious sound of the fiddle traveling on the air. When we step into the room at the bottom, the world shifts.
Candles gutter on every ledge, dripping wax in rivulets down black stone walls. Maps and banners are tacked up in uneven patches, scarred tables lined with rebels who look up at our arrival with suspicion first, recognition second. Dice clatter. A fiddle squeals in the corner. The air smells of steel and meat and the rough bite of home-brewed spirits.
The rebels in the space push from their chairs, and drop to their knees. Their fingers press into the inverted triangle I’ve come to know so well.
“To taking back what’s ours,” one of the leather-clad rebels announces, and the room erupts in cheers, clinking tankards, and the hilts of blades pounding into table tops.
Kael returns the symbol, nodding graciously, and never breaking stride as he approaches the bar.
Ronyn claps his hands together. “I have a very good feeling about this place,” he declares, already eyeing the nearest cask.
“You have a good feeling abouteverybar,” Seren teases, a devilish glint in her eyes.
“Bars have never done me wrong, Seri. Only plied me with drink and made me even more charming,” Ronyn counters, dropping into a low mocking bow for dramatic effect.
But Seren waves him off, “You’re fucking insufferable.”
“There’s plenty of evidence to support my point, Seri,” Ronyn says, pausing for a moment. “Youallfell for my charms. Even Jax—none of you have been able to crack that nut, but she’s weak at the godsdamned knees forme,” he says with an arrogant smirk.
Therion’s face is a mask of indifference, but his shoulders shudder with silent laughter.
But the moment is broken when Kael leans on the bar towards a stout woman with an exasperated expression. “We’re looking for Signis,” he says evenly.
