Or, at least, part of one. The tang was broken, and there were some unfamiliar runes carved into the much-abused scrap of metal. The flowing script made him think it was elvish.
“Papa’s friends brought this back when they”—she usually couldn’t finish the sentence, but this time she managed—“came home. You know, without him. They said he broke it when he … when he …”
“Fought a nasty troll that was guarding their path.” Mal picked up the story for her when she faltered a second time. “That was the first time he almost died out there.”
“Which is why you’re not going alone,” Alys declared, sounding much more sure of this than of her father’s fate. “I won’t lose you to that place too. And I want to help buy Griff’s safety—because he matters so much to both of us.”
“No. This is my mess to fix. It has nothing to do with you,” Mal protested, though weakly. He would be glad to have someone he could trust out there, especially when he only had four weeks to cover a lot of distance and confront the however many unknown dangers that awaited him.
Alys was already wrapping up that broken sword again, her eyes on the doorway, as if she intended to start packing and making arrangements for the children immediately. “Then you fix your mess, and I’ll be right beside you while you do it, watching your back while I finally get answers about what really happened to my father.”
Mal had often wondered about Rhun’s inevitable end too. A betrayal? A murder? Hell, maybe he had simply decided to walk away from everything he knew while he had the chance. Everyone else left Mal, after all. It would make a certain sense.
“I’ll make sure we don’t fail. We’ll get that treasure. For Griff, and you, and … Papa,” Alys pressed, her head held high, her eyes bright and determined.
Being perhaps the only person in the world privileged enough to have seen every side of her, Mal could guess what this was really about. More than just protecting those she loved, she wanted to see what she was capable of without her ex and his constant comments dragging her down. Without Wynnie in the way. To find out who she was on her own, to learn whether she could do what even her legendary father couldn’t by putting her hands on that treasure.
Mal wasn’t going to be the one to stop her; he had missed seeing that fight in her eyes ever since she’d moved back to the cottage. Besides, he would never tell her that she couldn’t dosomething, having realized long ago that she was capable of more than she even knew.
“Then we leave at first light. Wouldn’t want Her Dreadful Majesty getting impatient,” he said darkly. “At least it’s a chance to blow this stupid fucking town. I’ll probably have to look for work elsewhere again once I’m no longer, uh, brewing tea, anyway. Linden was never big enough for anything I have planned. I’ll have to find a castle for that.”
And Griff would be safe and happy with his perfect little boyfriend, far away from the man who had nearly been the death of him, never knowing about the raven’s feathers on Mal’s arm or what that renewed sense of peace and protection had cost.
They hadn’t spoken since their last fight some two years ago, and Mal would be content to go the rest of their lives without exchanging another bitter word or seeing who could hit hardest next time.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Alys’s eyes roamed his face with intense scrutiny. When he didn’t answer, she impatiently supplied, “Griff. We all deserve the chance to find out what really happened to Rhun, if we can. You can’t keep leaving him out of things. Papa—Rhun—took you both in without even thinking about it. He loved you both.”
“I don’t know about that,” Mal argued when it came to Rhun’s affection, pulling at a loose thread in the rug. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt it. It had been so long ago. But there was one thing he was sure of. “Either way, Griff shouldn’t be around me. You know that.” He tasted bile in the back of his throat despite the whiskey. “Someone always gets hurt.”
He had nearly been the death of Griff.
He didn’t belong anywhere near him, no matter what answers the Mire held for them all.
“You should ask him to come with us anyway, and you know it. He’s probably safer out there with us than he is here in the citywith the people who almost murdered him,” Alys urged in a familiar tone, one that invited no argument.
He had none to make this time, because she was probably right.
“We can’t tell him why we really need the treasure, though,” Mal said at last, after some careful thought. “If he knew it was going to end up in the hands of the Shadow Queen, he’d turn us in to the Wardens on the spot, even if he had to drag us through the mud himself. And you know how much he likes staying nice and dry up on that pretty moral high ground of his. We’ll have to tell him something else. Like … we’re after the treasure to get rich. So we can buy ourselves a real castle and finally get the fuck out of Mayfair.”
Alys shot him an encouraging grin, and he knew those words coming from his mouth sounded entirely believable. He really wouldn’t mind being king of something someday. “That’s settled, then,” she said cheerfully. “Sounds like all that’s left is the asking.”
Mal scrubbed a hand into his tangled hair and sighed.
He still hated Griff. All Griff ever did anymore was disappoint him, judge him, make him so angry that he couldn’t bear to touch what lay beneath it all, the things he’d never had a chance to hold up to the light and never would.
Yet knowing Griff was out there, alive, unquestionably mattered to him, even if they had proven they were better off leagues apart. Knowing he was out there was part of what kept Mal going in the days of longest dark.
“Go to him,” Alys insisted, a mother trying to convince her children to eat their greens.
But she didn’t need to tell him again; he was already making his way to the door, fingers digging into the itchy skin of his forearm as he disappeared.
Chapter FiveMayfair’s Most Eligible
Some monsters were born, and some were made. Having grown up in a place like Mayfair, Griff was well aware of the difference. Mayfair was a sprawling metropolitan area with smaller villages like Linden, Appleby, and Strathmore clinging to the edges of its skirts, and its size—not to mention its unique position just outside the taxable jurisdiction of any ruling monarch—made it a favorite calling port and sometimes home to tradesmen, travelers, and anyone looking to make a name for themselves on either side of the law, whether by daring to fight the Shadow Queen or by joining one of her covert networks of smugglers and spies.
Mayfair was certainly the only place west of the Crooked Teeth, the vast and icy mountains teeming with trolls and giants and other foul beasts loyal to the dark queen, where one could find centaurs at the market, shopping for fine dwarven crystal alongside humans, and the occasional enterprising kobold or halfling, hawking wares from exotic candies to silks to wooden toys. There was a wizened old dwarf shaman who would read futures in the tiny imp’s bones he threw (for a handsome fee), a gnomish cheesemonger who offered a fantastic wheel of sharp white, and ahalf-orc blacksmith enchanting blades that sang or whistled while they were doing what they loved best: cutting things. While the various species of the world were downright hostile to each other at times—except whenever they needed to band together to push the Shadow Queen back into the darkness again—in Mayfair, they lived and worked as neighbors, just as they had since the city’s founding some thousand years ago.
The village of Linden was fairly quiet, but closer to the city was always a riot of noises, smells, and faces rushing past in a beautiful array of varying skin tones and features, and Griff loved it. So many people to meet and rhythms to learn.
