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Alora snorted at Thalon’s remark while Jade shrugged in smug satisfaction.

“Seventh N,” Blythe’s voice trailed in a taunting melody at the threshold before she disappeared within.

Thalon growled, “Come on, get inside.” And he shook his head before wrenching the half-broken door open courteously for Jade and Alora.

The tavern was as expected. Grimy, green leathered booths lined two liquid splatter-stained wooden walls to the left and right. Round tables filled the center of the room. Directly inside the front door, one long bar waited with few empty round seats.

Two exits. One in the front and one atop the staircase to where she could only assume was an alley. No Dragon would enter a building without scoping out all obstacles and exits. Jade had pounded that into her so often that it was the first thought when she entered. And by the shuffling of feet of males leaving tables and the vicious whispers at others, a quick escape might be a rising possibility.

The air was heavy with the sweet aroma of tobacco, spices, wood, and leather, set in a seemingly permanent haze of smoke from a blistering fireplace.

Alora was suddenly thankful for her unique armor.

A smoke cloud rose from one table in the center toward the melting candle iron chandeliers. Four males played a hand ofcards and sloshed tankards of ale to their mouths. One couple, with cold faces that showed a recent argument, sat in the shadow of a tall staircase resting against the far back wall. Leading up to a mezzanine that overlooked the tavern, a hallway broke off in the middle, full of doors lining both sides. Since Alynthia wasn’t a tourist town, it was unlikely these were lodgings for travelers. And from the loud moans escaping the closed doors above and raised voices at the tables, it was obvious the rooms were for rent—most likely by the hour.

Through the lull, Thalon scanned each chair. When Alora saw that his eyes didn’t find whatever he was looking for, they settled on Blythe sitting at a booth against the left wall. From the invitation of a quick flick of her wrist, Thalon turned and nodded to her and Jade before he settled at a two tankard table, sword resting on the leather seat beside him.

“Should we sit with Thalon?”

Jade was halfway to the bar, uncaring about the male’s foot sheaccidentallystepped on as he left the tavern. “Leave him,” she dismissed and plopped herself down on a stool within earshot of the Guardians, digging her hand into a bowl of salted nuts without a single care.

Alora claimed the stool beside her. It wasn’t long before two tankards slammed in front of them, ale spilling over the tops as the contents settled inside. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Thalon. His back straightened and thick, muscled arms crossed when Blythe began to speak.

“So, Seventh N.” Blythe paused, the glow of her cobalt eyes raked over him. She leaned forward, resting gold cuffed wrists on the wooden table.

“Thalon,” he offered. “And hearing how little you reveal, I’d say you’re not from the Third. Seeing as communication falls short with you.” Thalon raised his chin higher, distaste burned in his glowing golden eyes.

Blythe grinned like she’d been found out. “Such peace-keepers, you House Sevens.” The corners of her eyes crinkled. “Mother was Ninaj, once House of the Fifth J. Now Ninaje, the Protected of Dondreste, House of the First E. Thefavoritehouse,” she supplied, her lip curled in a coy taunt, “original warriors. And you”—she set her blue eyes on a small marking inked near Thalon’s heart. Three braids, woven into a circlet, a sword cut down through the center as they twisted around the hilt and sharpened edge—“Guardian and Protector. Are you still tied?” Thick twisted locks fell behind her shoulders as she reclined, Earned glistening in the tavern light.

Within his crossed stiff arms, Thalon involuntarily brushed his thumb across the mark. “No.”

Brows crunched, Blythe’s face twisted. “How did your Protected die?”

Thalon’s face mirrored hers, yet he didn’t move. “Not that it concerns you in your sacred duties or is in any way your burden, she was murdered—an accident,” he quickly corrected.

A ruby-crested, golden dagger slammed into the table, cracking the wood under it. The tavern seemed unaffected by the sudden outburst and seething Guardian against the wall. “Unleash Michael… one of our Guardians was murdered. How would that not be a concern to me? She was avenged?”

“She wouldn’t have wanted me to.”

“Peace-keepers,” Blythe hissed a curse and dug the dagger further into the table. “And your child? Training at Tarrent-Garren?”

Uncrossing his arms, scraping against his leather vest, Thalon pulled the white fabric to cover the markings on his chest.

The bonded mark held one small golden bead inked into his skin.

“Fallen. With his mother.” He swiftly raised the tankard in front of Blythe, not his which sat closest to him, and threw it back against his lips. The table cracked as he slammed it down, emptied. “Enough. Why did you call me in here?”

Alora couldn’t focus. Not after what she’d heard.

It had been several minutes since she watched Blythe cut a bead from her hair and offer it to Thalon.

After, he stood with relaxed shoulders, leaving the tavern with a sadness in his eyes as Blythe tugged his hand. Through the windows and under the dropping sun outside, Alora watched them stride up the street and fade around a corner.

Jade was sitting with her usual scowling face, peering into her second tankard as if it was speaking to her. She swirled the ale until small waves crashed against the wooden inside.

They would be expecting Garrik soon. Whatever—whoever—they were waiting for wasn’t inside. Thalon would’ve made it known if so.

“He’s never spoken about having a family. I didn’t know.” Alora rolled the velvet ties of Jade’s coin bag between two fingers, staring at the shimmer of crimson.