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“Yes. I cannot have anyone seeing your talisman. It will mark you as a terrestrial immediately,” I said. That was as much explanation as I planned on giving him.
“There are a fair number of us in Baylaur now,” Arran pointed out, looking over my shoulder to the busy street in front of us as if he would conjure one of his companions up with merely a thought.
“Stop. Arguing.” I bit down on my tongue but a growl still gurgled low in my throat. “We don’t have time for it. Buy it, steal it, I do not care. But when you arrive at the tavern, make sure the hood is up.”
The struggle playing across Arran’s face would have been humorous to watch if the moment wasn’t so dire. He had a million questions and a million and one arguments. But somehow he managed to stuff them down.
His black eyes glittered with warning even as he inclined his head in acceptance.
I gave him brief directions to the tavern and then merged into the flowing crowd on the streets without a backward glance. The less that people saw us together here in Baylaur, the better.
* * *
He was an unqualified pain in my ass, but at least he was on time.
Clever too, despite my less than flattering thoughts to the contrary. Arran waited for me in the shadows just beyond the tavern. I might have missed him completely if I had not been on the lookout for an uncomfortably tall brute hidden beneath a too-short cloak.
His ankles stuck out, but his head and chest were covered. It would have to be enough.
“Who are we meeting?” Arran asked.
“I am meeting—you are sitting on a barstool in the corner and keeping your mouth shut,” I reminded him.
I glanced downward. He’d moved his belt to the outside of the cloak, axe and sword visible. In a tavern after midnight, it was probably the wise choice. But I didn’t share that compliment. I adjusted my own daggers inside their jeweled scabbards and pushed into the tavern.
The place was crowded to bursting, even this late. In the summer months, the citizens of Baylaur often stayed up into the wee hours of the morning to avoid the worst of the heat, sleeping through the afternoon to compensate. In the goldstone palace, we had the breezes off the mountains to cool us, as well as the magic of ice and wind wielders.
The benefit of being a courtier was you could use your servants’ magic, with no thought to the cost it might inflict. I thought of Cyara and her aching wrists. I’d told her time and again I didn’t need that damn ever-burning hearth. But short of dismissing her, I could not force her to stop.
I spotted my mark immediately.
At first glance, he might have been mistaken as some relation of Arran’s—dark hair, dark eyes, powerfully built. But as I wound my way through the crowd, I could see the differences emerge. His dark hair was in a bun at the nape of his neck, similar to how Arran wore his, but it had streaks of brown in it where Arran’s was pure black. His eyes were a dark brown as well.
His eyes immediately reminded me not to be fooled—the male was handsome, but he was a Shadow. Which meant he was as likely to stab me as share the information I wanted.
Arthur had made it his personal mission to stop the smuggling in and out of Baylaur. He’d caught many individuals, even smaller rings, disposing of them and redistributing their wealth to the poorest fae in the city. I didn’t know for sure if he’d threatened the Shadows, but it was easy to guess they could have had a vested interest in his death. Which meant I had a vested interest in them.
“Thank you for saving me a seat,” I said as I slid onto the empty stool beside him.
I couldn’t see Arran, but I hoped he’d faded into the crowd. At the very least, I did not feel his overbearing presence directly over my shoulder.
“They told me you were barely more than a child,” the male said, raking his eyes over my layers of translucent clothing. “But you are all female.”
The hood still covered my hair, though I’d thrown the cloak back over my shoulders. If my breasts helped me get what I wanted, I’d happily put them on display.
“They told me you would answer my questions,” I said pointedly, though I tucked one arm under my breasts purposefully.
Behind me, a low growl cut through the din of tavern goers. My hand curled into a fist, but I kept my eyes on my new companion, ready to try and defuse his reaction. But none came. Was I the only one who could hear it?
“A drink, first.” The male lifted his hand to the barkeep. “Two cups of—”
“Ambrosia,” I cut in.
It was a poor imitation of aural, but potent still. Outside of the goldstone palace, it was the strongest spirit available. Only the strongest, most powerful fae dared to drink it. I had no powers, but I was willing to wager that if I could handle aural, I could take this.
The male raised his dark brows, but nodded to the barkeep. Two roughly carved cups were set in front of us, the swirling pink liquid within giving off a faint rainbow mist.
My new companion lifted his cup. “To beautiful females named…”
