“We need togo,” Ollie urged, but it was already too late. Two large men to his left overturned a table in an attempt to move forward, and Elyria realized with grim understanding that they were being quickly boxed in.
A tankard flew through the air in a perfect arc, aimed right at Elyria’s head. Cedric, despite—or perhaps because of—his tipsiness, lunged forward as if to take the hit in her stead. Eyes wide, she yanked him back just in time to avoid it colliding messily with his face. Metal clanged as it ricocheted off the wall behind them, ale splashing across Elyria’s arms.
“I rather like his face,” she said darkly, defensive rage flaring in her chest as she searched the crowd for whoever had lobbed the throw. “You would all do well to avoid ruining it.” Her shadows twitched at her fingers, crawling defensively up her arms. The ground rattled as her wild magic surged in her veins.
“Put those away,Lady Victor,” Ollie said sharply, one hand suddenly gripping her upper arm, the other wrapped around Cedric’s as he hauled the pair of them farther back. “Unless you’d like to undo all that goodwill you’ve been fostering with the people of Kingshelm inone fell swoop.”
“What exactly is your end goal here then?” she hissed, gesturing to the tavern wall behind them. “Where do you propose we go? And where thefuckare Tristan and Thraigg?”
Right on cue, the jingle of a beaded beard cut through the din around them, and although Elyria couldn’t see Thraigg through the chaos, she did catch a flash of wavy blond hair. She lost sight of it just as quickly, however, when a chair came flying toward Elyria, forcing her to the side. She leveled the misguided fool who’d kicked it over with a glare that had the man clawing his way toward the exit.
“Shit,” Cedric muttered. He surveyed the explosion of chaos with a stunned expression, as though he couldn’t believe how quickly the situation had devolved. “This is all my fault.”
Elyria didn’t disagree with him, but it was hardly the time to voice that. She would give him shit about it later.
“Everyone remain calm—” Tristan’s placating voice was lost to a new swell of excited shouts as he broke through the crowd, looking just slightly worse for wear. His hands were raised, palms out, as he tried to settle some of the rowdier patrons.
“We just want to see the victors!” cried someone.
“Get that fuckin’ pixie out of here!” shouted another.
Lovely.
“You all need to go,” Tristan said as he backed up to where Elyria, Cedric, and Ollie were pinned against the back wall. Though the crowd kept a wary berth and weren’t actively approaching them just yet, that divide was getting smaller and smaller by the second. “Get out before this all gets worse.”
“I still don’t see Thraigg,” Elyria hissed, though as she said the words, she caught sight of the dwarf on the far side of the tavern, back braced against the open door, mid-argument with a man roughly two feet taller and a hundred pounds heavier.
“We should stay together,” Cedric protested. “They only want an audience with us. Perhaps we should?—”
“You are not the one most at risk here, O Beloved Lord Victor,” Tristan said. “They need to leave before things get messy.” He gestured to their surroundings. “And I know if youweren’t stars-knows how many pints in and moving slower than a Verdentian slug right now, you would agree with me.”
Cedric looked around as if needing a moment to absorb the restlessness pulsing through the tavern. The initial bout of fighting had abated, but new arguments were forming between the remaining patrons, several of them divvying up into groups, eyes narrowed suspiciously on Elyria and Ollie.
With a frown, Cedric gave a slow nod.
Elyria hesitated for just another heartbeat. She didn’t relish the idea of separating either. Shereallydidn’t like the idea of leaving him behind. But the patrons who hadn’t fled from the tavern were getting rowdier. Those who were clearly displeased at having the Arcanians in their midst were getting bolder. And through the shouts and cheers and shoving bodies, Elyria heard the sound of a blade being unsheathed.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Fine, if they want a show,” she said, unfastening the clasp of her cloak and letting it fall to the floor, “then let’s give them a show.”
Ollie’s eyes lit up with wicked glee. “Gentlemen,” he said, tipping his head at Tristan and Cedric, “it’s been a pleasure. See you back at the palace, eh?” And with that, he swept his cloak aside and unsheathed his brilliant blue wings before flitting into the air. Elyria followed suit, her own wings bursting from her back in a shimmer of purple and green. The next second, they were both dodging the light fixtures hanging from the tavern ceiling as they zoomed over the crowd, whose mouths gaped open—equal parts fury and wonder lighting their faces.
“Our apologies,” Elyria shouted behind her as she and Ollie flew over to Thraigg. “Please feel free to send our bill to Lord Church.”
Thraigg yelped in alarm as the two fae hoisted him into the air by the armpits.
“Hold tight,” said Ollie, and with a synchronized beat of their wings, he and Elyria launched themselves out of the tavern and into the night sky.
20
WELCOME WAGON
KIT
“Well?”
Kit narrowed her eyes at Tenebris Nox, the candelabra light glinting off their horns, casting sharp shadows across their indigo cheekbones. The effect made them look even more imperious than usual.
