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Slowly, Wilder looked to Thea, stunned.

Her smile was radiant. And then she tipped her head back and laughed, deep and rich and melodic.

It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

THEA

Thea laughed, truly laughed, for the first time in what felt like forever. The weight that lifted from her shoulders as she did so was indescribable. She wiped away a tear and met Wilder’s gaze.

His silver eyes were bright, his shoulders tense, as though he’d taken a breath and forgotten to exhale. He was looking at her in a way that made her stomach flutter, taking in her face as though she wasn’t the apprentice he’d never wanted, or the lover who’d had no faith in him. He was looking at her as though he’d known her his entire life, as though she’d always been a part of him.

‘What?’ she asked, suddenly nervous, despite the tavern humming with noise and activity around them.

He gazed at her a moment more. ‘I —’

‘Your table awaits!’ Everard barged between them enthusiastically, motioning for them to follow.

Thea hesitated, but Wilder simply followed the tavern owner, a small smile playing on his lips as they moved deeper into the Singing Hare.

Thea hadn’t realised how enormous the place was. There were several sprawling rooms throughout, all filled with mismatched tables and chairs, a fire blazing in every hearth. Exposed weathered oak beams and doors embellished with wrought iron vines gave it an intimate feel despite its size, and the air was thick with the comforting aroma of spiced mead and roasted game. It was well lit, with flickering candlelight creating a warm glow that spilt onto the worn stone floor. With Everard guiding Thea and Wilder through, the patrons didn’t look twice at the pair; they were much too enamoured with the host himself. In that respect, he reminded her of Kipp.

As it turned out, Kipp – or ‘the Son of the Fox’, as everyone in the Singing Hare referred to him – was incredibly well connected. Everard showed Thea and Wilder to a curtained booth with cushions covered in velvet and a pile of fur blankets to keep their laps warm.

Thea settled herself against the wall, drawing a plush throw across her lower half, realising that she liked the Singing Hare more and more with each passing moment.

‘What will it be, then?’ Everard said, clapping his hands together as though the prospect of feeding them gave him great joy. ‘I have boar and an array of dishes on the way, but to drink? What’s your poison, friends?’

Wilder went to reply, but Everard cut him off by clapping a palm to his forehead in sudden realisation.

‘It all makes sense now!’ he declared. ‘Marise sent something —’

Without finishing his sentence, he was off.

‘Are all the tavern owners like him?’ Thea asked, watching him disappear into what she assumed was the kitchen.

‘Well, you’ve met Albert at the Fox,’ Wilder replied. ‘He’s certainly less… eccentric?’

Before Thea could answer, Everard was back, holding two glasses and a dark bottle of wine, a note attached around its neck with a piece of twine. The tavern owner pushed it across the table. ‘I suspect this is for you?’

Wilder’s brows knitted together as he read the messy scrawl. Then, a slow smile broke across his handsome face and he sat back in his seat with a huff of laughter.

‘What does it say?’ Thea asked.

Wilder handed her the note while Everard removed the cork from the bottle and poured them each a generous glass. Thanking him, Thea returned her attention to the note. The ink had splattered with every word across the parchment and Thea had to squint to make out the letters.

You missed the Dead Red event. You’ll be sorry.

Thea frowned. ‘Is he threatening you?’

Wilder barked a laugh. ‘Threatening? No.’ He looked up to Everard. ‘Have a glass with us, friend. We have some logistics to discuss with you.’

Thea didn’t think she’d ever seen a person look so thrilled to be invited to talk logistics. But she soon realised it wasn’t the conversation that was the drawcard, but the wine.

‘I warn you, it’s entirely possible we’ll need another,’ Wilder told him, clinking his glass against Everard’s.

‘I warn you, that’s never a problem in this tavern.’