Reyna had an inkling, but she did not wish to speak it.
“There is no time to worry about that now!” Reyna grabbed her sister’s arm and hauled her to her feet. Eislyn did not object. Her cheeks had gone white, and that familiar haunted look had filled her eyes. If the prince wished to stay and get slaughtered by the Ruin, then so be it. But she would not allow her sister to undergo the same fate.
“Thane. We have to go. Now.” Lorcan extended his hand.
Reyna was certain that Thane would continue to argue, but Lorcan’s words seemed to knock some sense into his wine-addled brain. He grabbed the warrior’s hand and leapt to his feet, collecting his strewn belongings. They had barely unpacked, and it did not take long before they had returned to their horses.
“How far does it reach?” Lorcan asked Reyna as they steered their horses in the direction of Tairngire. “How long must we ride to escape it?”
Reyna did not know. Or, rather, she had known once. The Ruin had never spread past the villages, and it never attacked twice. Not until Reyna and Glencora had discovered those children.
She stared at the endless sea of darkness overhead. “We ride until we see starlight.”
9
Mariel
“Oy! Mariel, where’s my damn ale?”
Mariel Dalais bustled through the packed tavern, balancing four overflowing mugs in her petite hands. It was a lively evening, and Winter Solstice had only just passed. Every single fae of Drunkard’s Pit, the slums of the city, seemed to be out celebrating the end of their coldest days. In the city of Tairngire, that meant dozens had tried to cram into The Bloody Dagger. It was no small feat to keep them all fed, watered, and entertained.
Mariel stopped at the nearest table where one of her regulars, Tomas Hardingale, had been shouting at her. He was tall with long black hair and sharp grey eyes, wearing sturdy clothing and pouches that hung from his leather belt. If she didn’t already know and love the lad, she might have been tempted to give him a slap right on his rosy cheeks. At only sixteen, he was a good hundred years younger than she, and her protective instinct curled around him like a cocoon.
“Tomas.” Wobbling, she plopped a mug of ale in front of him. “Shout at me again, and you will get no more ale from me this night.”
He grinned up at her with two rows of perfect, shiny white teeth. Mariel did not know how he managed to keep them clean. As the magic of the world had faded, so had the fae’s resiliency to rot and disease. Most low fae couldn’t afford to procure cleaning potions. In Tairngire, ale was cheaper than medicinal potions, and most alchemists, a new occupation only created since the Fall, were reserved for the nobility.
“You always say that,” he countered. “And then you bring me more ale.”
Doling out the remaining mugs to his companions at the table, Mariel leaned down and hissed into his ear. “Perhaps I will bring you an ale. And perhaps I will dump it on your head. Or worse.”
Tomas stiffened. He cut his eyes toward her and nervously licked his lips. “I was only messing around, Mariel. I won’t shout at you again.”
Satisfied, Mariel stood tall and strode back toward her cache of ales, bitters, ciders, and wine. It had not been her words that had chilled him, but the threat of what lay beneath. Mariel was infamous, and for good reason. She would never hurt the lad, but she would gladly hurt anyone who threatened the lives of those who came to The Bloody Dagger.
Her tavern wasn’t much to look at, but she loved it all the same. Located in the slum quarter, it was surrounded by dirty streets and makeshift tenements. A two-storey timber and brick building, it stood out from the dilapidated buildings around it. The leaded glass windows were many, and well-made wooden tables and chairs stretched across a rickety floor. And every single chair was taken this night.
A tall, willowy female with wide, deep brown eyes stood waiting for her at the wooden bar top. Mariel slid in behind it, wiped her hands on her ragged dress, and smiled at the girl. She was far too young to be in an establishment like this, but Mariel was not one to turn away a paying patron.
“What can I get you, love?” Mariel asked sweetly, wearing her kind tavern owner mask like a second skin. It was not at all who she was beneath the facade, but she did not like anyone to know. Until it was too late.
The girl wrung her hands; her eyes darted around the bustling tavern. “I am not certain here is the best place to entertain this conversation.”
Mariel frowned. “You are not here for sustenance.”
The girl shook her head, her eyes widening in fright.
“Very well.” Mariel turned toward her brother who was squatting at a table in the corner, booming with laughter, along with his fellow blacksmith mates. She signalled at the bar, and then at the girl. His expression darkened.
The girl’s wide eyes followed Mariel’s gaze toward her brother. “Oh no. I thought I only had to deal with you.”
“Do not worry, love.” Mariel edged around the bar and took the girl’s slim arm, gently leading her to the back of the tavern. “Mavis is my brother. He takes care of our patrons while I sort these things out in the back.”
“You do this often then,” the girl said quietly as they pushed through the throngs of celebrators.
“Far too often,” Mariel replied grimly. “The streets of Drunkard’s Pit are riddled with violent crime. The High King does not bother with us. He is far too busy sitting on his stolen throne to care one lick about us low fae.”
Mariel led the fae through a burlap flap and into a chilly store room lined with shelves of ale and cured meats. Two wooden chairs sat waiting for them. Unfortunately, this was not the first time Mariel had held this type of meeting, nor would it be the last.
