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Again. Fuck it.

I picked up the mug and gulped it all down, the poison and the ale combined. Then I let out a belch.

“I am a soul licker,” I said calmly, leaning back in my chair.

“What the fuck kind of freak⁠—”

“Oh please, you have a horn growing out of your ear. Stop,” I said, annoyed.

“Let her talk,” the creature in front of the hearth making finger soup said.

I looked at the human woman. She looked pale but alive. Good.

“I lick souls.”

“Like a Thren?” One shouted.

I threw my legs up on the table.

“Worse. A Thren sucks out the soul and you die, maybe turn into an undead.”

I paused for dramatic effect. “I lick your soul until it lights on fire and your body explodes into ash,” I said calmly.

“Lies,” another one shouted.

I snorted. “They call it lightcraft for a reason,” I said. “The craft part is real. If you are skilled in the dark arts like I am, then it can be done.”

“What you just saw,” I continued. “Was the remnants of—” I sighed. “Is his name Ervakel? Whoever guards the east wing exit in the northwest corridor. He said he wished to bed the Rathmor whore and wanted to give it a go.”

I gave a small laugh. “I tried to explain that the way my magic works, anyone that fucks me that is not a Rathmor will combust into flames.”

The room was dead silent. I let out another belch.

“He did not listen. I tried to hold back but as you know, the body does what it must.”

I twirled my hair in my fingers. “So I licked his soul, then ate the ash.” I paused. “It was delicious, better than that slop you’re making over there,” I said, nodding at the finger-cooker in front of the hearth.

The human woman frowned, almost as though offended I had insulted her fingers.

The room fell quiet again, as though they were trying to ascertain if the story was real.

“You’re a liar.”

“Would someone like me to demonstrate?” I stood. “Don’t be shy, I don’t mind. As you know, I can handle four at once.” I looked around the room. “Do I have four volunteers?”

Go back to bed, Asharin. You have gone too far.

And yet, I did not stop.

The room remained silent. Then a gasp. “Oh shit, she is not lying.”

A man with boils all over his face and a strange piece of metal protruding from his left eye stood. “The story tracks. The new guard, that was his name, goes by Ernie for short.” He paused. “Didn’t come in today and I had to work extra.” He glared at me. “I put him on the schedule for next week.”

I tried not to smile. What were the odds that the name I made up was the name of an actual guard?

And that he guards the east wing of the northeast corridor. It must truly exist. I would need to tell Fiersa that her subjective location has some objectivity after all.

“You should probably take him off,” I said calmly. “He most certainly has been eaten.”