“Why risk it?” Emmaline gestured vaguely at the cluttered office, her hand flopping back down to her lap. “Gods, I wish I’d thought to stash a bottle of… something. Anything. I have no idea how I’m supposed to just sit here twiddling my thumbs until it’s time to back up Margo.”
“Bloodthirsty, little…” Ursula’s chuckle rolled through the crystal. “Good. I’m glad you’re eager. Because I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?” Emmaline sat up straighter.
“Can you slip out for the rest of the day without arousing suspicion?”
Emmaline grabbed her schedule, flipping it over with one finger. “Lady Isolde will be terrorizing Fergus until sundown, at least.” She drummed her nails against the desk, considering. “Yes… yes, I can manage that.”
What could Ursula possibly be planning?Whatever it was, the bubbling excitement building low in her belly felt suspiciously like trouble.
“Good. Then meet me at the tavern near the public glider stop.” Ursula lifted the speak-easy, angling it so Emmaline could see the entrance.
The tavern door sat half-hidden beneath a sloping thatch awning, worn to a soft silver-grey with age. Wildflowers crept up the walls, weaving between rough-hewn logs, and the sign swinging overhead had lost most of its paint, leaving only the faint outline of a stag’s head.
“And my dear?” Ursula's lips stretched into a smile so smug it practically deserved its own title. “This is going to be far better than any drink you could get.”
Chapter twenty-eight
Thetaverndoorcreakedas Emmaline stepped inside, the air thick with woodsmoke, fried roots, and a trace of burnt cacao beans. The place leaned traditional with age-warped beams and floors uneven enough to trip the unwary, but flashes of modernity glinted between the cracks. A brass espresso machine hissed behind the bar while a tarnished human jukebox flickered in the corner, stuttering through its playlist. Most of the crowd looked fresh off a farm, but one fiddled with a pocket weather scanner, while others adjusted enchanted ear cuffs streaming the latest gossip.
At the far end of the bar, Ursula sprawled across two stools like she was holding court, her laugh booming loud enough to shake the dusty antler chandelier. Her palm slammed down on the counter, sending silverware clattering, and the pretty bartender—wearing a crop top that read Goddess Bless This Mess—grinned back, clearly unfazed.
“My dear!” the witch’s voice carried across the tavern the second Emmaline walked in. “Over here!”
Emmaline slid between tables, sidestepping a tray-laden server and narrowly avoiding a trader showing off a pocket-sized crystal projector that was glitching mid-image. She reached the bar just asUrsula shoved a glass toward her, amber liquid sloshing close to the rim.
Picking it up, she sniffed cautiously, her nose wrinkling at the memory of that gods-awful blood-tainted beer Ursula had poured her back at the club.
“This isn’t…?” She gave Ursula a look.
“If I recall, I did warn you not to drink the Dwr Anwn.” She pressed a hand to her chest, dramatic as a stage actress. “But no. You had to prove you weren’t afraid of a little troll rotgut.”
Emmaline muttered into her glass. “I wasn’t stubborn. I was resolved.”
“Sure, darling. And I’m a delicate woodland flower.” Ursula clinked her glass against Emmaline’s before tossing back half of it in one go.
Emmaline snorted. “You’re about as delicate as a warhammer wrapped in lace.”
“Oh… I like that!” She cackled, then braced an elbow on the counter, leaning in toward the barmaid. “If I didn’t have places to be, I’d beg you to pour me another, and maybe stay to watch me drink it.” Her fingers brushed the back of the barmaid’s hand as she dropped a gold coin onto the counter—far too much for a single drink or even ten.
The young woman’s blush lit up her ears as Ursula pushed off the counter, already heading for the shadowed corner at the back of the room. Glancing over her shoulder, she tossed Emmaline a quick, “This way.”
“So much for discretion,” Emmaline muttered, trailing after her.
The corner table was almost invisible from the bar, tucked so deep into the shadows that Emmaline wouldn’t have noticed it if Ursulahadn’t pointed it out. The candle at its center sputtered weakly, the wax pooling in uneven lumps across a scarred wooden surface.
“They’ll remember me.” Ursula dropped into a chair, the wood creaking beneath her. “But not you.” She held up another gold coin. This one’s surface rippled with magic Emmaline couldn’t quite identify.
“Oh.” Emmaline settled into the other seat. “You always have the best toys.”
“Not the best,” Ursula said, eyes sweeping over Emmaline like she was debating saying more. Whatever thought crossed her mind, she sighed instead. “Besides, I’ve built my whole reputation on showing up places I’m not supposed to be.” Her grin went roguish. “At this point, people expect it.”
“And you’re not worried?” Emmaline swirled her drink. “About the Patrol? The nobles?”
“They need me more than they’d ever admit.” Ursula shrugged, unbothered. “Despite the fanatical lurch toward the Light these past few centuries, we’re still Ellyllon. We’re still bound to the Goddess.”
“And the Balance.” Emmaline frowned, then let out a slow breath. “I worry about you anyway.” She lifted her glass before arching a brow at Ursula. “You’ve gotten cocky lately. And this plan? It’s not exactly your usual quiet, backroom kind of trouble. This is front-page shite.”
