Evander tilted his head, a dangerous smile ghosting his mouth.
“I’ve no quarrel with the description of the place,” he said, voice light, unhurried. “Still—best you drop your weapon before someone gets hurt.”
The man cackled, jerking his chin toward the hulking figure stirring from the shadows. “I suggest you drop yours.”
Across the alley, a second man shifted into view—massive, broad-shouldered, a bludgeon slung across one arm like itweighed nothing. He leaned against a cherry tree planted crooked along the tavern row, the bark pale beneath the lanterns.
Amerei’s breath hitched.
“Evander,” she whispered, urging, “let’s go.”
“Let’s go,”one mocked.
“Pretty thing’s lost her way from the castle,” the other jeered.
Evander’s smile vanished, his grip tightening on the hilt.
Amerei’s heart hammered. He hadn’t moved, but she could feel the change in him the way his jaw worked, the way his shoulders held too still.
“Let’s go,” she whispered once more, tugging at his sleeve.
The first man barked a laugh. “Hear that? Little halfling wants to run.”
“Leave her,” the brute by the tree rumbled. “She’s not worth the trouble. Look at her ears—already a curse.”
Evander’s fingers flexed once on the hilt of his sword. He did not look at her, not at them—just at the cherry tree, the way its trunk bent under the weight of spring blossoms.
Amerei knew that stillness. She had seen it in her father, just before he struck.
Evander snapped.
He pivoted, snatched the axe from a woodpile stacked against the tavern wall, and hurled it in a single, fluid motion.
The air cracked with the force.
Steel blurred past the brute’s shoulder, burying deep into the cherry tree. The trunk shuddered, then split—blossoms raining down as though the night itself had been torn in two.
Both men froze, wide-eyed, their swagger stripped away in an instant.
The knife lowered. The bludgeon slipped.
Amerei stared, shock giving way to something stronger—something dangerously close to awe.
Evander stepped forward, calm now, voice low and edged.
“Next time, it won’t be the tree.”
Amerei seized his arm.
“Come on!” she cried, dragging him into motion.
They ran, boots striking stone, her laughter breaking loose as they fled.
“You’re one of them!” she whispered fiercely, half-choked with wonder. “Stars, Evander—you’re one of them!”
They darted into the lamplight of the tavern row, breath quick, the scent of salt and smoke thick in the air. The Flag and Flask rose above the others, its crooked sign swaying, windows spilling gold light and drunken song.
Evander shoved the door wide, his hand firm at Amerei’s back as they slipped into the crush of sailors and merchants. A few heads turned—suspicious, curious—but silver on the bar made questions vanish.
