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“But you don’t agree.”
My jaw tightened. “I—I don’t know.”
“Look around.”
I turned to take in the tavern. Unlike when we’d entered, no one watched us any longer.
“What’s different here?” Roar prompted.
It took only a few moments for me to notice something off. “No one has wings here. Or if they do, they’re vanished.”
As my magic remained stifled by the potion my old master had forced down my throat, I had not yet learned to vanish my wings into the aether, but vanishing, a basic form of glamouring, was a very common fae ability.
Roar shook his head. “Not glamoured. The blight has hit this village harder than most. Jobs that used to require flying are all but gone and industries have shifted. Now they fish or make fabric, but it’s not enough. In that shift, visitors became important in propping up the economy. In fact, the blight here was so bad that some fae here have even had the remains of their wings removed. You’re seeing the results of that.”
“What does that mean, though?” I asked carefully.
His own wings had been stunted from the illness called the blight, and that had to be hard to bear, but I was so curious. Plus, he’d been the one to bring it up. Clearly, he seemed open to speaking about it, and as a lord, he’d probably know more than Frode had told me.
I shifted in my seat, crossing my ankles for comfort. “Does anyone have an idea what exactly causes the blight?”
Before he answered, Galfu arrived with two steaming bowls in hand. Behind him, a young, short male brownie carried a basket of rolls. Freshly baked too, by the smell of them. “My lord and my lady, the famous fish stew of Traliska!”
Roar beamed. “It smells as good as ever.”
As Galfu set the plates in front of us, I had to agree. Fish and vegetables swam in the creamy stew and an herby delectable aroma had me salivating. I’d had fish before as a blood slave, but never freshly caught.
“And skillet bread right out of the oven.” Galfu motioned for the brownie to come forward. He did so on trembling legs and presented us with a small loaf of brown bread to share. “My lord.”
“Thank you.” Roar smiled. “We can’t wait to devour this feast.”
“Ale?” Galfu asked, cheeks rosy with pleasure.
“Please. And wine for you, Lady Neve?”
Galfu turned to me.
“That’d be lovely.”
Without being asked, the boy darted away, only to return seconds later with our drinks. Once Galfu took care of us, he bowed and left us to our meals.
“Try it.” Roar nodded to the stew.
I hadn’t forgotten my question, but the soup tempted me more than answers. I dipped a spoon into the bowl and took a bite. My eyes popped open as a heavenly melding of flavors tantalized my tongue. Delectable.
“Stars alive,” I breathed.
“Good, right?” Roar took a bite and closed his eyes. “My cooks can’t recreate this magic, and believe me, they’ve tried. It’s actually a bit of a sore spot for them.”
I reached for a slice of the bread, determined to make this meal last as long as possible. “So, what about the blight? What causes it?”
Roar’s smirk dripped with amusement. “You don’t miss a beat, do you?”
Where I came from, anyone who missed a beat ended up dead. “Rarely.”
“Well,” he glanced about as if to let me in on a secret, “no one really knows what caused the blight. But my mother had a theory that she shared before her passing to the afterworld.”
“Which is?”
