I offered him an exclusive glance of my new set of daggers, strapped beneath my tunic. I whispered under my breath, knowing that only his Fae ears could hear me, “I decided to stick to these for now. They’re more discreet.”
“Perhaps I could interest you in a journal,” Feder chimed in, popping his head from behind Marshen and smiling my way. “You could write all of your thoughts in it.”
Gods, no.
Dinner was loud and chaotic—the long tables were filled with food and ale. Men played card games, bookmakers at their sides. Everyone seemed wildly drunk and overly chatty.
I wasn’t sure where to look, who to look at, so I just chewed on my food and sipped on my ale. I strained my ears, trying to make out what Marshen was complaining about, but the moment I heard and recognised the next few notes, his mouth appeared to be moving voicelessly. Not just—it was as if the whole place went sluggish and silent, as if honey replaced air. Iwatched people laughing, slamming their fists, shouting at the scores of their games, yet I could neither hear their laughs nor their shouts. It was as if they soundlessly moved in slow motion, and all I could unmistakably listen to was the nostalgic music, its thumping beat encouraging my heart to mimic its rhythm.
For an aching moment, I was no longer there. I was in a past world, my palm resting on Aegir’s chest as he held me close, guiding our dance. I vividly recalled how my back felt against his chest, and our hands, lightly interlocked at my belly, before spinning me around, only to find his bewitching green eyes staring back into mine.
“It just makes no sense, right?”
“Delia. Delia, are you listening? Delia!” Marshen shouted, snapping his thumb and middle finger a mere inch away from my face. He transported me back to my reality. The clutter resumed.
“I need some air.”
I squeezed my way through the crowd and burst out through the front door, forcing the all-too-familiar warm air to enter my lungs. I carried myself around the corner, placed my left palm against the wall, and shuffled deeper into the alleyway. With my back resting against the sandstone, I tilted my head forward, burying my face in my palms. I didn’t expect the memory of it to sneak up on me like that; it just…took me by surprise.
A surprise. Just like my next sudden, unwanted encounter.
“Oh, look who it is.”
I jolted at his raspy voice and instinctively pushed myself off the wall. Aegir’s voice filled my head, telling me to find an escape route and to never corner myself.
“Here, look at what he did to me,” the bearded man with a scarred eye snarled, showing me his arm. Aegir’s handprint was still there, forever purple.
I tried to walk away, but he lunged at me and yanked me by my arm. I struck his elbow—aiming for that pressure point—causing him to loosen his grip. I snatched my arm free.
I should have run, but that slight hesitation regrettably gave him sufficient time to slam us both into the wall behind me. I winced at the impact. I forced myself to focus. My hand went to the closest dagger hidden at my waist.
“Let go of me and I won’t hurt you.”
He let out a low laugh. “Let go of you? You’re going to pay for what he did to me. I’m going to—”
I swiftly snatched the dagger and drove it into his left thigh.
The noise that came out of him sounded agonising, his face painted with shock and disbelief. I thought he was lucky that the nearest dagger was conveniently the smallest one. I pushed him off me, and he fell ass-first to the floor, holding his bleeding thigh. He flinched and shuddered as I knelt at his side, wiping my dagger clean with the fabric of his shirt.
“The next time you threaten me, I won’t be so gentle.”
His only reply was a choked groan.
I slammed face-first into Marshen’s chest the moment I threw open the inn’s door.
“I was coming to look for you. Is that blood I smell?”
“Shh. It’s not mine.”
“I know what your blood smells like. What happened?”
“Nothing. It’s been handled.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.
“Well, I guess I should expect nothing less from an equestrian warrior.”
