She scowls, and it looks as if my attempt to make light of our bargain just blew up in my face. Well, you can’t win them all.
With a nervous sound, I hurry to the bar, hoping she has the sense not to talk to any of these creatures. They really will eat her.
I tug my hood over my face as I wade through a crowd of angry patrons. They hiss and jeer—so much for making more friends.
“Traitor,”a hob seethes.
“Dung-fucker,” snarls a winged puca, spitting at my boots.
A cloud of wisps swarms me, sticking out their long tongues, and I waft them away, eager to get to the bar.
Finally, I reach the bar and pull up a stool. Stannog, the sour-faced barkeep, pays me no heed. Instead, he towels a drinking horn made from mammoth’s tusk, pretending he hasn’t seen me.
I cough to get his attention.
The ogre grits his crooked teeth, almost cracking the prehistoric ivory in his meaty hand. “What the hell d’ya bloody want,dung?”
A wry smile bites at the corners of my lips. “And ahelloto you too, Stan.”
“Go away. Ye stink ofdung…”
Dung meaninghuman, of course.
All the Fae likens humans to heaps of manure, yet Ivy is different. She smells like honeysuckle and freshly baked biscuits straight out of the oven.
I drum my fingers noisily on the chipped countertop. “I do have a name, you know.”
He crushes the horn, and the bone-white ivory turns to dust in his fingers.
Next: my skull.
“Well, it’s more satisfyin’ to address ye asdung. So, what’ll it be,dung?”
I heave a breath. “Two tankards of that disgusting gnat’s piss you call ale—and a favour…”
The barkeep plods towards an oversized keg, slamming a hand onto the tap. He pours a black, frothy substance the consistency of tar into two tankards.
Stannog says over his shoulder, “Ye know, I don’t bargain with the likes of ye, right, dung?”
“Well, that's a crying shame. I was really hoping you would be interested in bartering with this golden dagger. Forged at the Gilded Rose Court.”
One of the most prestigious Seelie courts in the faerielands—close to the Pool of Light, the birthplace of all Fae magic.
That makes this dagger one of the most valuable objects in this bar right now—or so it appears. In reality, it’s just an ordinary bronze butter knife.
It’s enchanted with a cloaking spell to make it resemble gold, complete with a fake Gilded Rose Crest on the hilt.
Stannog practically drools when I set the dagger on the sticky bar. Looks like he’s taken the bait. He’s barely got any magic left in his old bones these days, so he fails to spy that the dagger is, in fact, a fake.
The ogre leans over the bar, showing me his magnificent yellow teeth. “Fine. I’ll take the damned blade.”
I give a charming smile of my own, reaching my hand out to officiate our bargain, and the air ripples the moment his large hand swallows mine.
Once our deal is made, he slams the tankards onto the bar, and his gnat’s piss soils my favourite cloak.
That’ll leave a stubborn stain.
“So, what favour can I grant ye, dung?”
