He hadn’t touched fire whiskey since.
The barkeep set down a dirty glass filled with the burgundy liquid. The two companions he’d followed turned to him with hostile curiosity, and he knew he had no choice.
Fuck me. He’d forgotten how unpleasant blending in could be.
Quentin raised the glass to the barkeep, then to the two companions, and tossed its contents down his throat.
It took every ounce of his control not to shudder and gag. His free hand dug into his arm through his cloak. Tears burned behind his eyes as saliva pooled in his mouth, but he kept the liquor down.
Thankfully it worked. The companions and the barkeep turned away and resumed their urgent conversation, convinced that he was just a simple man out for a drink. The fire whiskey settled in his stomach—hisemptystomach—he hadn’t eaten since he’d left the main market square. It churned through him, pooling in his veins with a familiar intoxicating burn.
Quentin rolled his shoulders. He needed to focus. He dragged in a deep inhale, toying with the rim of the empty glass, and fell into his senses.
It was something he’d practiced his whole life. Letting the world swarm him then fall away. He settled into his breathing, allowing the voices to swirl around him, homing in on the ones he wanted.
A useful trick for a starving boy trying to track down a low-risk meal. Or an orphan searching desperately for information on the father who had long abandoned him.
“You know what the problem is,” the large companion snarled. “Those rats are going to overrun Desva and Amasis does nothing. It is the beginning of summer when water is already being rationed, and our leader is prepared to let us succumb to thirst. I’m not surprised, though.” The man spat. “Amasis has always been weak. Their family got wealthy on a lucky ore mining venture and forgot what it is to be Kreah.”
“I’ve heard rumors from Elder Natia. She's gathering loyalists outside the city and plans to meet the Onitans when they arrive. Amasis wouldn’t dare fight their own people; Natia knows this. She’ll keep the invaders from entering the city andsend them back where they belong.” The smaller man leaned forward eagerly, his words fervent and excited.
Despite the fire whiskey in his stomach, Quentin’s veins ran cold.
Mariah had suspected that the conflict with the Elders was far from over. Once again, her instincts were right.
Natia was planning a coup.
“What of our goddess?” the barkeep asked. “Rulene supposedly gave her blessing for the Onitans to come to Desva. Does Natia intend to stand up to her as well?”
“Bah,” the large man said, taking a swig of his fire whiskey. “What, are you pious? I saw a dragon, like the rest of the city. But they expect me to believe that is Rulene? Until I see the goddess with my own two eyes, I will continue believing what we saw was nothing more than a beast.”
The barkeep and shorter man shared a concerned glance but said nothing further.
“And the Onitan Queen?” The barkeep finally said. “What are Natia’s plans for her?”
Quentin fought the urge to sit up straighter.
“To be honest,” the shorter man said, “there hasn’t been much talk of the queen. None of Natia’s plans mention her.”
Quentin relaxed a fraction.
“I heard she holes up in Amasis’sserekahall day, too scared or meek to crawl outside.” A sneer spread across the tall man’s face. “But I’ve heard other rumors from those who’ve seen her. They say she’s nothing more than a pretty little cunt, hardly more than a child. She thinks she’s suited to a throne but is probably better off in the alleys with the other professional bedwarmers. In fact”—the man straightened, something dangerous sparking in his eyes— “I hope they do just that to her. Tear apart her people then toss her down here,a plaything for the wolves.” His canines elongated, dark eyes taking a yellowish gleam.
Those features fell away, back into his human form, when a small silver dagger pricked the skin of his neck, sharp enough to call forth a bead of ruby blood.
Quentin stared up at the man with a feral grin.
“Say that again,” he murmured, crowding closer. The barkeep and shorter man leaned back, eyes widening with shock. Quentin twisted the knife, more blood streaking down the man’s skin. “Idareyou.”
His ears were ringing, fury buzzing in his veins. Only his tight grip on his dagger kept his hand from shaking. His heartbeat pounded a dull, steady beat in his ears.
A beat so loud that it took him several long seconds to realize that the bar had fallen silent, all eyes swinging in their direction. Several rose from their seats, hands gripping the hilts of their weapons.
He realized then that his hood had fallen back.
The momentary shock on the tall man’s face faded, a wide grin spreading to take its place.
“Well, if it isn’t one of the rats roaming our city earlier than expected. Getting yourself into trouble, rat?”
