“Between the two of us, we’ve interrupted a fair number of rituals.” Tristan pursed his lips, the scar in his cheek quivering. “It certainly becomes obvious enough when the blood has been spilled and those bastards are drawing from the dark magic within.”
“And you never thought to ‘interrupt’ before blood is spilled in the first place?”
Cedric released a nervous laugh. “By the time word typically reached us in order to interfere, it was because the Cult of Malakar was in the midst of something particularly nefarious.”
“Blood magic is against the law and the king especially does not condone the rituals that accompany its practice,” Tristan added, “but we cannot simply go around accusing every seedy-looking bastard of beingsanguinagi.”
“Hmm,” Sephone tutted, “if only you all maintained that attitude every time you came across an Arcanian in Havensreach prior to the accords. Perhaps there would be fewer of us wasting away in the Ironridge dungeons at this very moment.”
An awkward silence fell over the table.
Surprisingly, Elyria was the one who broke it. “Kit said that prisoner exchanges have been going smoothly.”
“Have they?” Sephone mused, taking a swig from her cup. “Interesting that you would even consider it anexchange. The only prisoners Aerithia even had to send back were cultists and anti-Arcanian fanatics. Heretics. Whereas you all”—her black eyes darted between Cedric and Tristan—“have always been more than happy to arrest our kind at first sight, clipping their wings for no reason other than existing.”
Shame was an iron-hot poker in Cedric’s chest, lancing at his heart. He thought about the last arrest he’d been part of prior to entering the Crucible. Thought of the fae he’d had a hand in dragging away, the human woman, pregnant with a mixedborn child, crying his name.
Tristan cleared his throat. “Yes, well. I don’t think any of us are short on new perspective lately.”
More silence followed, punctuated by the occasionalthudof a mug being placed on the table, until it was finally pierced by the innkeeper’s return. He placed a large tray piled with square biscuits, pots of jam, and several bowls of stew in front of them, plus an additional pitcherthat boasted the tangy scent of cider.
Elyria’s eyes widened noticeably, and she was quick to reach across the table, dump the remainder of her ale into Cedric’s mug, then proceed to fill her own cup with cider.
Cedric had to bury the instinct to smile at her reaction—wholly inappropriate, given the seriousness of the conversation. He briefly thought about voicing his question of how the innkeeper had known to bring the cider, but the answer was provided when Cedric looked over to the bar and saw Thraigg grinning at him, his mug raised in toast.
Clever dwarf.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, the tension in the air easing with every bite they came closer to satiety. Cedric was just thinking that perhaps they’d be able to move on from this awkwardness without further incident when Ollie leaned back, licked his fingers, and said, “Now, back to the topic of blood mages.”
Cedric groaned internally.
“What about during the Crucible?” the guard continued, looking at Cedric. “You had a rather close call in there with one, didn’t you?” A lightthumpsounded from under the table, and he winced.
Elyria took a moment to wipe the smirk from her mouth before replying. “None of us suspected that Belien wassanguinagibefore he went off the deep end.”
“Which only serves to prove Ric’s point,” Tristan said. “It’s not such an easy thing to identify them. So how do you”—he looked pointedly at Sephone—“know that the people who led you, well, here, were in fact cultists at all.”
Sephone rolled her eyes, reaching into her cloak and pulling out a small, rolled piece of parchment. Handing it to Tristan with a sneer, she said, “Nothing was ever a guarantee. But Raefe slipped this off onesuspected cultist”—she gave Tristan an arch look—“and it details an alleged meeting between Malchior and someone who goes by the name ‘Audaxus,’ to take place here in Dawnspire.”
“What was the timing of that meeting supposed to be?” Cedric wondered aloud.
“It would have happened several days ago,” Sephone said, handing him the parchment.
Elyria huffed. “And you didn’t think that trying to get here in time for it was important? We might’ve been able to catch him if you hadn’t taken so long to arrive.”
Sephone leaned forward. “If we hadn’t taken so long, we wouldn’t have that missive in the first place,” she spat. “And there was zero possibility of making it to Kingshelm, informing you all, and then getting here in time to crash it anyway. Especially not with the humans’ insistence on us all traveling on horseback instead of flying.”
“That was only ever for your safety,” Cedric said quietly. “Lord Church said that being inconspicuous was the best way to ensure?—”
“Yes, well, Lord Church didn’t tell us that they’d already know we were coming, did he?” said Elyria. “So, tell me, what point was there for us to beinconspicuous,hmm?”
“Hey now, kids,” Tristan tutted gently, refilling her cider with a shake of his head. “Easy does it.”
Elyria sighed and leaned back in the booth. “What do you suggest we do then, Sephone? Malchior is long gone by now, I’m sure.”
“Gone, perhaps, but there are always traces. Trails. Another lead to follow.” Sephone snatched another biscuit from the table and took a bite. “So, I suggest we do what our friends over there are already doing,” she said with a full mouth, turning in her seat and inclining her head at Thraigg, Hargrave, and Thibault. The three of them had moved from the bar to a nearby table, the man they’d been sitting with perched across from them, a deck of cards dealt on the tabletop. “We talk to folks. Ask our questions.”
Elyria huffed. “Ask our questions,” she repeated. “Fine. But carefully. They may be perfectly fine drinking with dwarves right now, but something about this entire village sets me on edge. Just because they tolerate us at present doesn’t mean anything for how they’ll feel later.”
