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“Get a healer,” the man in charge barks. “And someone get this man some alcohol!”
“I’m fine,” Dessin grumbles. He’s going to be in a foul mood all day. Goody for me.
“No, you’re not,” he says. “And we’re ashamed. We’ve—we’ve been waiting for you for so long that we stopped believing. But seeing the RottWeilen… a beast that was supposed to be extinct. A myth that said only one would survive and that one would live with the sole purpose to protect the two of you.”
I pull the cage the rest of the way, freeing Dessin from the spikes. Blood spills from the small punctures in his arms. My hands fumble to him, pressing down on the wounds to stop the blood. His dark-mahogany eyes slide from my hands up to my face. That gaze lingers. One moment, two moments… and it’s intimate, it’s full of feeling that’s been buried, hidden, yearning for more. An ache flickers in my chest like firelight. A throbbing pain from the need to hear him say he wants me. He wants me.
Dessin’s eyes shift back to the man in charge.
“He needs everyone to bow to him. Show him you’re not a threat.”
The crowd shifts uncomfortably on their feet until they’re on their knees, bowing before DaiSzek.
Wow, I didn’t know that’s how it works. I didn’t need to bow to show him I wasn’t a threat when we first met. Maybe that’s because I was attacked by the night dawper and it was obvious.
But right on cue, Dessin blows out a rush of pent-up air in his chest, laughing at the cave of kneeling people.
“Dessin,” I hiss.
The people of the tavern groan with eye rolls and embarrassed chuckles, standing back up quickly.
He shrugs, stepping out of the cage. “That was payment for pissing me off.”
“Cute,” I huff, wiping my bloody hands on my black cloak. But I want to laugh with him. To be honest, I’m glad he has a sense of humor about this instead of siccing DaiSzek on them.
“DaiSzek, wait outside for us, please.” It’s all that needs to be said for DaiSzek to trot out of the tavern with four long strides.
An older woman rushes in with a sack of supplies to clean Dessin’s wounds, followed by a young man, not a day older than twenty, holding out a chalice of liquor for him.
Dessin glares at the boy, giving him a once-over with disgust. “I don’t need it.”
“You’re so stubborn,” I snap, taking the chalice from the boy with a smile. “Just drink it.”
“I’d rather sit in the cage again.”
Runa laughs.
And once again, my stomach grumbles with an ache that wants to smack her.
“Let us dress your wounds. Our elders will want to speak with you.” The man in charge allows the healer to stand beside Dessin, dabbing at his arms with a wet cloth.
“We’re leaving after this,” Dessin says, watching the healer move her hands methodically over his punctures to clean the blood off.
“No.” I clear my throat. “I want to see the elders first.”
Dessin glances down at me. The tavern goes quiet.
“Why?”
“Because they said they have something for us.”
He blinks twice and wrinkles his brow.
“You’re right. We wouldn’t want to miss them presenting us with a dungeon cell with both our names on it.”
“They would never.” The man in charge steps forward. “Our elders have held on to something for generations, waiting for the moment to give them to you.”
I can’t wrap my head around this. Elders. Colonies. Prophecy. Legends. More Secrets. I’m always left in the dark. At least these people are offering me a hint, a sliver of the truth I can hold on to. Dessin never gives me anything.
