6
GHOSTS
ELYRIA
“Stars damn you, Elyria Lightbreaker,”the tavern master roared. “Ye are a curse on my tavern.”
“Artemicion, please save your shouting.” Elyria placed her hand at her temple. “At least until the pandemonium in my head has subsided to a dull rattle, hmm?”
“Ye’ll never play here again, mark my words,” Artie continued at full volume with absolutely no concern for the state of Elyria’s head. Rude.
“As I recall, that’s not the first time you’ve said as much,” Elyria said with a smirk, even as the movement caused her head to throb. She’d returned to her room at The Sweltering Pig after leaving the duchess—flying straight in through the window—and been holed up ever since. Sleep had eluded her, but she had no particulardesire to face the surly dwarf. Sadly, her desire for food inevitably overtook her desire not to get yelled at, and so, here she was.
She winced as one of the tavern maids wrenched a set of shutters open. The midday sun poured into the space, and Elyria’s eyes flared as she took in the carnage.
The Sweltering Pig was a mess. Shattered glass had been swept into haphazard piles. Sylvan maids mopped away at the sticky pools of ale and blood covering the floor. A stocky fae man was gathering the splintered legs of stools and tables that had not survived the brawl. Elyria didn’t recognize any of them—had Artie called in additional cleaning staff?
She sucked in a guilty breath. “But those men would not have been in here in the first place, drinking your ale and filling your pockets, had I not been performing in the first place.”
“And right back out of my pockets goes their gold, to make up for this mess,” Artie grumbled, though Elyria could tell his temper was fading. “I’ve a mind to kick ye out of yer room and be done with ye entirely.”
“Aren’t you even the slightest bit relieved to see me alive and well after all that hubbub?”
“If there’s one thing I can count on in this bleeding world, it’s that ye’ll make it out of a silly little scrape like that.” He gave an indifferent wave of his hand, like it was nothing, but Elyria felt emotion behind his words. It sparked something warm in her chest.
A member of the tavern staff dropped something in front of her with a grunt. A steaming bowl of pottage with three strips of salted fish. She hadn’t even seen Artie put in the order. She gulped down a spoonful of the stew, cursing as it burned her tongue. Artie barked a laugh, and she grinned behind her spoon.
“So, will you tell me what Tartanis wants with ye?” asked the dwarf.
Elyria hesitated, then shrugged. “What they all want. It’s not really me they’re after. It’sthe Revenant.”
“Why?”
She made a noncommittal noise. “Why do men do anything? Because they have something to prove. Because they have someone to prove it to. Because they want to. Because they can.
“Men more powerful than Master Tartanis have sought me for some manner or another—whether for my name or my power, I do not know.” She traced an idle figure eight in the bowl with her spoon. “But every Arcanian babe born since the war has grown up on tales of the Revenant. It was only a matter of time before it followed me to Coralith.”
“Quartered hell, Elle.” Artie seemed unsure of what to say after that.
Elyria took another scalding sip of stew, wishing it would wash away the memory of a different sort of burn. A heady mix of rage and shame climbed up her spine as she thought about last night. She wasn’t sure how long it would take for her to forget the feel of Raefe’s flametouch, but she suspected it would be a while. The physical marks she now bore would not be her only scars from their encounter.
She wished she had killed him.
Her inner shadow stirred as if in agreement.
Perhaps Artie sensed the shift in her thoughts, the sudden darkening of her mood, because it was with forced nonchalance that he suddenly said, “So, what do ye think about the rumors?”
“What rumors?” Her words were garbled, her mouth full.
“About the Crucible. How the aurora’s brighter than ever. Poke yer head outside—the sun’s brighter than dragonfyre, but ye can still see it. Folks are saying it’s a sign from Solaris or some other kind of celestial-blessed shit.”
Her hand paused mid-air, spoon hovering just above the bowl. Artie didn’t know about her conversation with the duchess, she reminded herself. He didn’t know about Evander—no more than the average person, at least. He was merely making conversation.
“I believe I might’ve heard something about that,” was all Elyria could say. Ollie had called it a sign from Lunara, the Time Keeper, not the Light Goddess, Solaris, but it was all the same bullshit.
“Before yer little showdown last night, it was all folks could talk about,” Artie continued, oblivious. “Speculating over who might enter this year, trading bets. Odds are looking pretty good for this one champion—some noblewoman’s daughter from Aerithia. Fancy name. What was it...” He drummed his thick fingers on the countertop. “Eaglefeather? Something like that.”
Elyria’s fist tightened around her spoon. Had she been payingattention to the banter in the bar last night instead of trying to drown herself at the bottom of her tankard, perhaps she would have heard this too. Perhaps Laeliana showing up wouldn’t have been such a shock.
