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As it was their day off work, they’d done some shopping and then decided to eat dinner at the tavern. Not far from the cottage, it was pretty popular. It was also a total throwback to medieval times. Lights flickered in the grease lamps. A cauldron of stew hung above the fireplace. The air was warm enough to be stifling, but the breeze filtering through the open shutters helped.
Most patrons sat at the long-ass, wooden tables. Others stood at the bar or relaxed at the seating area near the fireplace. Servers went back and forth, taking orders, delivering food, and clearing away dishware.
The scents of smoke, baking bread, roasting meat, and fermented drinks laced the air. Beneath the chatter and laughter of the patrons was the crackle of flames and the hiss of stew spilling out of the cauldron and into the fire.
“Okay, I gotta ask,” Xavier burst out from his seat opposite Wynter, his eyes on her. “And don’t be closed-minded about this. Just consider it. On a scale of one to ten, how angry would you be if I killed that fuckhead mage over there?” He briefly slid his eyes to the tavern’s main bartender.
Wynter sighed. It really didn’t take much for Xavier to consider someone worthy of a death sentence—something she’d been working on with him, but it wasn’t easy when his upbringing had led to him forming a somewhat warped conscience.
“You know, I was so proud when you didn’t request the go-ahead to execute him after he told you to stop dating his sister,” Wynter told him. “I thought that just maybe you and I were making progress. Now I see that it was simply wishful thinking on my part.”
“It’s not like he’d be missed,” said Xavier.
Wynter snorted. “Oh, I think the other mages in Will’s conclave would totally notice that their Shaman was missing.”
“Can’t you at least trap him in the netherworld for a little while?”
“On what grounds? Other than that you don’t like him and the fact that he calls you ‘kid,’ neither of which are reasons for someone to die.”
Xavier placed his elbows on the table. “All right, how about the bullshit rumor he’s been spreading about me?”
Wynter felt her brow crease. “What rumor?”
“That I’m a compulsive liar whose word can’t be trusted.”
“That’s not exactly bullshit.”
He shot her a sour look. “It’s still a smear on the Driskel name.”
“Your surname is Gamble.”
He did a slow blink. “I forgot you knew that.”
“You could try being a little grateful.” Beside him, Hattie lifted the pitcher of ale and topped up her glass. “He sent a drink over to you.”
A muscle in Xavier’s cheek ticked. “It’s a cup of milk because, apparently, ‘that’s what little kids drink.’ And does no one care that he stopped me from dating Elena?”
“You don’t care,” said Anabel, who sat on Wynter’s other side. “You took her on one date, and you didn’t even tell her your real name. You just don’t like that he interfered.”
“Well, it wasn’t his right,” Xavier insisted.
“You can’t honestly blame Will for being protective of his sister,” said Anabel. “What if me or Wyn or Del had gone on a date with a guy who’d lied to us the entire time about literally everything?”
“I wouldn’t interfere or spread rumors. I’d just kill him.”
Hattie exhaled heavily. “Xavier, dear, you can’t kill someone merely because they’re bothersome.”
He snorted. “Tell that to your dead husbands, oh little black widow.”
Rubbing at her forehead, Wynter let out a sigh. “I should have ordered something stronger than wine.”
Delilah gently nudged her. “On a whole other note, are you going to suggest our how-to-catch-Saul plan to Cain when you see him tonight?”
Wynter nodded. “Yup.”
“Do you think he’ll go for it?” asked Anabel.
“Nope.” At least not at first. It would take a serious amount of persuasion on Wynter’s part. But she was up for the challenge, because . . . “Something’s got to be done. We can’t leave Saul to roam around Devil’s Cradle. He could start hurting people just because he can’t get to me or Cain.”
