Page 13

A seraphe.

And a strikingly beautiful one at that. Enid’s pulse thrummed, something in her tugging and pulling like a rope of glinting gold. Her breath became shallow, and her thoughts disappeared.

The seraphe’s feathered wings were a myriad of cream, brown, and white that faded in a gradient. Light fell directly on her, like a god’s touch, making a halo about the tight, black curls of her hair. She turned to take in the room, her dark, slender neck exposed with the movement, long lashes fluttering as her gaze swept over the room, then fell back down to the map she held.

“How can I help ya?” Jorah called out from behind the bar, making the seraphe startle.

She hastened to the counter, setting the map down. “I think a gust of wind altered my course, and I didn’t realize.” Her brow furrowed, desperate. “I’m supposed to be in Elf Glen, but this place doesn’t match the description I’ve read of it.”

Jorah chuckled. “No indeed. Elf Glen is northwest of here, in another mountain range.”

She groaned. “Of course. Just my luck. How far is it from here?”

Jorah looked at her wings. “Hmm…” His gaze shifted to Enid and her brothers, and he beckoned.

The visitor’s attention shifted to Enid and their eyes locked for a moment that stretched into a beautiful eternity. Her heart beat loud and rhythmic, every part of her lighting up as if a fire consumed her. She practically sprinted to be next to the female, who took a small step back.

“How long does it take to get to Elf Glen flying?” Jorah asked her.

Enid’s eyes never left the seraphe’s as she spoke. “Half a day.”

The visitor exhaled a long, exasperated breath. “Of course. There’s no time today.” She let out a defeated chuckle.

Jorah nodded. “It’ll be gettin’ dark soon enough. We have several rooms left here if you need one.”

She nodded, pulling out her coin pouch. “Yes, I’ll take one room.”

Enid shifted on her feet, antsy. She could offer to take her to Elf Glen. Show her around. Enid opened her mouth when Kalen was suddenly next to her.

“We need to talk about our plan with Melina,” he said, leaning on the counter between her and the seraphe, clearly unaware that he was interrupting. She cut him a nasty look.

“We have no plan for Melina. Talk to Kaemon.” She shooed him with her hand, but it was too late. The seraphe was gone. She craned her neck to see. A pair of dusted feather wings disappeared up thestairs. Mandel crowded in next, then a couple more demons in Dryston’s troupe, all bombarding her with questions about Melina’s safety in Orc Haven, and she sent up a prayer to the twin goddesses that she’d see the visitor in the morning.

Chapter 4: Avenay

Avenay closed the door to her room and leaned against it, wrangling her thoughts in place. She had imagined that, right? She had been seeing things, hadn’t she?

Enid Erebus, under the same roof as her.

In the corner had been Lord Dryston and another male that looked so eerily similar to Enid and Dryston that he had to be Kaemon. But that would mean Kaemon was alive. Was this a recent development? It had to be. And Enid was found? It felt as if she had stepped into thetwisting plot of a story with no context and she didn’t know what to make of it.

She breathed in and out to calm her racing heart. She’d imagined seeing Enid again a million times. Running into her at another ball in Lesern, or maybe at the university, or a random encounter in one of the little bookshops in the Forest District of Lesern. They had all been romantic encounters where Avenay was in full control of her faculties—cool, collected, and as seductive as a demon’s thrall.

She sure as the darkest pit was never so nervous and shocked in the fantasies that she couldn’t say a word and instead of talking to Enid, she fled to her room.

She groaned and walked to the bed, taking out her pack and map and figuring out where exactly she was. Orc Haven. It was a shame she had no time to explore, because she’d heard much of this merchant city. It was a crossroads of cultures and the Orc Lord in Yeolent aggressively protected the people traveling through. That would make sense why the demons were here. Humans and elves alike wouldn’t dare attack them while in this city. They were also the main stopover city for travelers across the continent.

The tavern noises grew, climbing the stairs and needling through the floorboards. Someone played the lyre and a melodic, clear malevoice sang in Old Salian, the rarely used language of satyrs. She, of course, was fluent and had rarely had a chance to hear it spoken. The scent of smoked meats, pepper, and other spices made her stomach growl.

That decided it—she was going downstairs, even if she was terrified of seeing Enid again and not knowing what to say. She halted at the door. Maybe she should rehearse? Think of things to say if she saw her? But a gnawing hole was forming in her gut and she hadn’t eaten since that morning. It didn’t matter, anyway. If she did or didn’t rehearse, she suspected she’d have disastrous results, anyway. She grabbed her satchel withThe Tales of Lemiain it, deciding that at the very least she’d have something to read and be productive while she ate.

The tavern was much more crowded than it had been an hour ago. A male satyr sat on a small dais at the end of the stairs, playing a lyre. He was gorgeous in a delicate and earthy way, his blond hair falling in waves about his shoulders. He made eye contact with her as she came down the stairs and winked while singing in Old Salian. She had half a mind to interrupt him and speak to him in it, but he was the main entertainment, so instead she took out a few coins and dropped themin the bucket at his feet. He grinned and tipped his head as she grabbed a stool at the bar.

A female orc came up, pouring her water. “You look hungry, dear.” She gave Avenay a motherly look, one that slammed into her with a force of nostalgia that made her spirit flutter in a bittersweet way.

“I’ll take whatever you have for dinner tonight,” she said.

“Any beer?”