Page 73 of Crownless Heirs

The wolf leapt off her and bounded in a circle before sitting in front of her, tail wagging.

“I’m assuming Noctis adjusted to fit in with the mortal world,” Maelan said as he walked over and gently patted her head.

They moved along the mountain paths, passing miners loading carts with gemstones in rough cut forms. The clang of picks echoed through the stone as they worked.

Suddenly, screams rang out from one of the tunnels. Miners came tumbling outside, shouting as they fled. The group paused as members of the Iron Circle charged in, blue lights crackling in the shadows. Orders were barked over the chaos.

It ended almost as quickly as it began. A tall man stepped forward, cleared his throat, and shouted, “It’s all clear!”

Sorcha turned to one of the miners, a woman covered in rock dust, sweat gleaming on her sun-kissed skin. It gave her a dewy glow beneath the grime.

Her muscles flexed as she picked up a pickaxe, her hair falling across her eyes under a battered hard hat.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but what’s happening?”

The woman glanced over her shoulder. A flicker of amusement crossed her face. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

She adjusted her hat with a sigh. “We’ve had problems with cave dwellers the past few months. The bats. Grogochs. Leprechauns. And other things we don’t have names for. They attack us and make it impossible to work.”

She turned away and disappeared into the crowd of miners, fading from sight. They watched as the Iron Circle gathered, forming a loose ring, whispering among themselves. Noctis kept walking, forcing the others to follow. They moved in silence for a while, boots scraping over the surface rock. The landscape held steady, scattered pines and jagged mountains rising around them, peeking through the mist at uneven heights. Wildflowers bloomed along the path’s edge, forget-me-nots clustering in the grass.

In the distance stood a smelting building, smoke curling from its stack. Large water wheels turned near the far off lake, and the sounds of water tables and minerals sifting filled the air. The path ahead led them to a small village unknown to Sorcha. She had only ever visited the city of Ironridge and knew little beyond it.

They emerged into a loud village, men shouting in the streets as a game of hurling played in the fields just beyond the homes. Women and men bustled through the roads, weaving between merchants and outsiders alike, searching for precious stones and rare gems. It was alive.

The scent of cinnamon filled Sorcha’s nose, and her mouth began to water. Barmbrack. By the halls of Tech Duinn, she missed it so much. Excitement ebbed its way to the surface as she followed the smell to a small tavern.

The Stag’s Head, the sign read.

Kyron pushed open the door, and a rush of voices poured out. Chanting, laughter, and songs echoed between the stone walls. The smell of cinnamon, nutmeg, whiskey, and rosemary hung thick in the air. The tavern was full of people from all walks of life, pressed shoulder to shoulder in the heat and noise.

Sorcha’s gaze caught on a man lounging in the corner, boots resting lazily on a whiskey barrel, a mug of ale in hand.

Next to him, leaning against the wall, stood a large hammer with a long handle. It was worn from use and age, but still ornate and well-kept.

He was tall and ruggedly handsome; his sculpted arms shifted beneath the candlelight as he moved. His hair was dark and sandy. His eyes, when they met hers, were ocean blue.

He looked at her for only a moment before turning away.

“Morning,” a man called from behind the bar as he extended his hand. Kyron stepped forward, returned the greeting, and shook it firmly.

“What can we do ya for?” the man asked. His voice was kind and worn. The ash in his dark hair reminded Sorcha of cracked pepper.

“Sir,” she said, “you wouldn’t happen to have rooms available for the night and a hot meal? I swear I can smell barmbrack.”

The man laughed. “I do. I’ve got barmbrack along with fresh butter and fruit, if you’d like. The rooms are upstairs, and I’ve got one free for the evening.”

Sorcha paused before smiling. “We’ll take it. And the food sounds heavenly.”

The man nodded and disappeared behind the bar.

A few moments later, he returned with a platter of bread, jam, and sliced fruit. The smell was intoxicating. Crushed strawberries and raspberries blended with honey. Mint jam and apple chutney filled the air with sweetness. Wild berries and sliced apples sat beside thick slices of warm bread.

Sorcha handed him a few gold coins and reached for a slice of bread. They finished the food slowly; the warmth settling into their bodies. Sorcha let out a quiet sigh, wiping her hands on her pants. The smell of cinnamon and mint still lingered in the air, but it didn’t cover what clung to her skin.

“I can still smell the bog on me,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose.

Kyron sniffed his shirt and pulled back slightly. “Gods,” he said. “That’s not just you.”