“Thanks, Duchess,” he murmurs, pulling away. “You be good for the stablehands here, all right?”
She nudges his shoulder. He laughs and produces one last treat before heading back into the tavern. The dining room isn’t full yet, but working men and women are starting to come off their shifts, and the air is loud with laughter and fragrant with fresh food.
Finding an empty table by the fire, Arthur barely sits before a woman rushes out with ale and bread. She looks like a much-younger Marion, and he takes her to be the tavernkeep’s daughter. “Sorry if I kept you waiting in the kitchen,” he says with a grin. “Thank you.”
“It’s no trouble, sir, the cook’s only just—”
The tavern door opens, then closes. Silence follows, spilling out like rippling water from the slight figure at the door.
Moments ago, Arthur would have said he prefers men like Wyatt the stablehand. Strong, working men who can play rough with a smile. Friendly. The man at the door is nothing like that. His chin-length dark hair makes a stark contrast with his features, pale as ice and twice as sharp. The golden light of the setting sun outside and the lanterns inside seem to break on the fragile lines of his face, fracturing into ethereal starlight. His lips are thin, and his dark eyes search the room.
More than anything, the young man looks lost.
Arthur notices the silver in his ears a half-second before their eyes meet. He flinches in instinctive revulsion as he recognizes the signs of a necromancer.
The second shock comes right on the heels of the first. Against the cold, a flame flickers against his heart. A touch of divinity he hasn’t felt since he was first called to Vara’s service. That he feared he might never feel again. It’s barely there, then gone again, and he doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know what Vara wants.
All he knows is it has something to do with the necromancer currently walking directly towards him.
?
CHAPTER THREE
Shae
Shae spots the paladin almost immediately. The sun-blazoned white tunic over leather armor stands out like a beacon across the room. Shae nearly sags in relief—the Riverswords lecher told the truth about this, at least.
Then the paladin makes eye contact with him and flinches, and Shae’s stomach drops. Typical.He steels his nerves and crosses the room, ignoring the whispers springing up around him. He can’t help noticing the woman behind the bar crossing her arms in a warding gesture.
A waitress flees from the paladin’s table at Shae’s approach. The paladin doesn’t move, except for a slight furrowing of his brow. “Do you need something, necromancer?”
Shae almost trips over his own feet.
The paladin’s voice isn’t friendly at all, but the low, warm timbre of it sends shivers down Shae’s spine. The man is shockingly handsome—a painting come to life, all broad shoulders and square jaw, wind-mussed blond hair and a hint of stubble. But Shae barely notices that. He’s too enraptured by the man’s aura, the waves of warm and light coming from him. They’re not even touching, but Shae feels warmer than he has in months.
Hoping his desperation doesn’t show on his face, he sits down across from the paladin. “My name is Shae Nightven. I need to hire a sword, and I heard you were looking for work.”
The paladin raises a perfectly rugged eyebrow. “I’m Arthur Davorin of the Radiant Order,” he says after a moment. “And I heard there was a necromancer wandering around town scaring folks.”
Shae folds his hands together on the table, stomach twisting with hope and worry in turn. The paladin—Arthur—certainly sounds skeptical. But he hasn’t rejected Shae yet. This is the worst part, the wondering and waiting, before someone leaves.
“The sooner I hire someone, the sooner I leave.” As much as he wants to make a good impression, he can’t quite keep the exasperation from his voice. “And the sooner I can stop scaring these pitiful souls.”
To his surprise, Arthur chuckles. He leans forward with one forearm on the table, searching Shae’s face for something. There’s a slight flicker of warmth, energy passing through him. Nothing harmful, or Shae’s rings would have deflected it. Probably some sort of detection spell—with the unintended side effect of making Shae’s heart race. He’s never felt Varan magic before. Never tasted so much sunlight from one person.
“My sword might be available, then,” Arthur says eventually. Still skeptical. “If the task doesn’t run counter to my oath.”
Shae has definitely never hired a man like this before. He hasn’t even asked the price or the length of the journey. “I don’t need help raising the dead and terrorizing the peasantry,” he says tiredly, then hesitates. If he asks for too much, will Arthur turn him down? But if he asks for too little, the man won’t believe him. He’s heard tell that Varan paladins can sense truth and lies. In the end, he lowers his voice, so nobody else in the tavern can hear. “I’m going to Lyrisenia, where I want to banish a demon. I can handle the demon, but I need protection on the journey there.”
If I can’t handle Izen, I’m dead anyway.
Arthur gives him another long glance, then sips from his tankard. “All right. As long as we’re not terrorizing the peasantry.” He stretches his hand across the table.
Shae stares at it. The worn edges of the metal gauntlet, and the well-kept gleam of the leather gloves. He hasn’t even named a price yet, and the paladin wants to shake his hand.
“One gold a day, and twenty more when the task is done,” Shae says, wanting everything laid out clearly. “The journey could take anywhere from three weeks to a month.”
“All right,” Arthur says again. “It’s a deal.” He keeps his hand out.
