Page 7 of Badmouths & Bards

“Oh… well… it’s really good,” she complimented, before sending him an offended stare as she reached for the door handle. “But also you really shouldn’t be pretending to be Casimine. He’s the best bard in all of Ordia and he works really hard to look like that, just so you know. I’m a fan but I’m not that crazy.”

Wincing, Casimine sent her a tense smile. “Got it.”

She nodded.

The moment the door shut, Casimine ran forward, locked it, and immediately sunk to the floor. His back pressed against the door, knees drawn tight to his chest. Casimine buried his face into his crossed arms and let out a gasping breath.

“I’m lucky,” Casimine murmured against his arm. “I’m lucky, I’m lucky…”

The words became a mantra, a reminder that Casimine was lucky to have the supporters he did. Not every bard was as lucky as him. Not every bard made it past their first few adventures to tell the tale, let alone reach a level of notoriety that he had. To be known on several continents—to know that people traveled just to hear him perform? That was what made all of this worth it, wasn’t it? It’s how he was able to travel, to have a full belly every day, to not have to worry about finding shelter at night.

And yet…

That was too close. Too much like what happened before.

Casimine wasn’t certain how long he sat in front of the door, only that when it opened again he nearly screamed. In his attempt to flee, Casimine got tangled in his robe, falling onto his butt as the door revealed Ameriden’s confused face.

“Casi? What—” Ameriden’s eyes widened.

He dropped to his knees next to Casimine, large hands hovering around his shoulders.

“Are you okay? What happened? Did someone try to break in again?” Ameriden questioned, scanning Casimine’s body. “Did they hurt you?”

His chest was shuddering or was he trembling from the scare? Casimine wasn’t sure, but he tried to will his mouth to form words. To say anything, even a whisper. Only, just like his lyrics, the words weren’t there. They weren’t there and that—

Ameriden must have seen something on his face that scared him, because suddenly Casimine was being pulled close. For a water hanfen, Ameriden always radiated so much heat. They used to joke that Ameriden must have had an ancestor that married a fire hanfen. How else could Ameriden be so warm when Casimine felt like his skin had turned to ice?

“Hey, you’re okay,” Ameriden said against his temple. “Whatever happened, you’re gonna be okay.”

Casimine wasn’t sure if that was true. It didn’t feel like it was true as he buried his face in Ameriden’s chest. The solid muscles beneath the traveling cloak were tense with worry and Casimine hated that he couldn’t voice what was wrong. That he couldn’t just tell the fellow bard that he had overreacted. That there was nothing wrong because nothing had actually happened. Just an encounter with an excited fan—something that was completely normal.

Instead, he clutched Ameriden’s back so tightly, his knuckles hurt.

“You’re safe,” Ameriden assured.

But am I?

Chapter 4

Taldesa

High Conservator Aelidon was a hard-ass.

If Tala was honest, it was probably the thing that she respected most about her. To an unskilled warrior, the High Conservator looked like an easy target. Tall and lean, and pale enough that Tala, at first, thought she was sick until she realized that’s just what her superior looked like. The silver hair and fine wrinkles only added to the look, but it was nearly impossible to tell how old an elf was based on appearances alone.

Tala had guessed the High Conservator was probably three thousand years old. More a commentary on the woman’s perpetual stuffy behavior. After all, that’s why Tala was standing in front of her chamber door.

You’re not a chicken shit, just open the door, Tala.

Swallowing her nerves—not that she had any—Tala grasped the door and slid it open. Her own room—which she had been fortunate to have alone—would always catch if she opened it too quickly.

The interior of the High Conservator’s chambers looked no different than it had the last time Tala was there. A fact that was a little worrisome when Tala realized she was starting to remember some of the designs. White curtains with pearlescent embroidery in the archways, lanterns casting enough light to the small round table in the center of the room where a pot of tea was being kept warm over a small fire. The wood engravings, calligraphy, and paintings were some of the high points. All of them centering around the White Dragon, of course.

But no High Conservator Aeli—

Tala’s eyes widened, body jerking an inch back just in time to avoid the dart that had been aimed at her neck. It landed somewhere behind her as Tala snapped her arm up, fingers barely catching the end of another dart before it connected with her chest. The relief was short lived as the next dart pierced her exposed bicep, embedding itself deep into her muscle.

There wasn’t enough time for Tala’s brain to question what was happening. Her body had quickly filled with adrenaline, and before Tala could think, she had flung the dart in her hand back in the direction it came from. Tensing, Tala yanked the dart out of her arm and threw it as well, arms preparing to pull her batons from her sash—