Page 38 of Anwen of Primewood (The Eldentimber #2)

The barman’s sharp eyes snap back to Galinor. “Before the Dragon Wars, there were few as renowned as Penrith. He was a ruthless slayer. They say he bested every scaled beast he came upon.”

“But can he hunt an iktar?” Galinor demands.

“If anyone can track and kill the beast, it will be Penrith.”

“Is he trustworthy?” I ask.

The barman raises his hand to the slayer. “Welcome, friend,” he calls, and then he turns back to me. “More than most. You will be safe with him.”

But Galinor appears unconvinced.

Penrith joins us at the bar, and he tips his head to me. “My Lady,” he greets.

Ten years older than Galinor at most, he must have been a young, eager slayer. He slides into the seat the leering man recently vacated.

The barman hands him a tankard. “This man here would like to hire your services.”

Penrith snorts. “I doubt you can afford me.”

“Gold is not a limitation,” Galinor states wryly.

I bite my lip and peer around us. No one seems to be paying attention, but I’m not sure it’s wise to announce our worth in this company.

A small smile tips Penrith’s lips. “Not a limitation? Then—please—proceed.”

Before Galinor can begin, the barman says, “They’re hunting iktar . I told them if any could track and kill the fearsome creature … it’s you. ”

Penrith snorts a laugh and takes a long drink of mead. He gives the barman a questioning look before he turns to Galinor. “You’re serious?” He takes another sip. “If you’re seeking death, by all means. When do you wish to leave?”

“In the morning,” Galinor answers.

Penrith eyes me. “This will be a dangerous hunt. The girl doesn’t go with us.”

“The girl does go with you,” I snap.

The corners of his eyes crinkle, and he laughs. “Fancy yourself an adventurer, do you?”

Instead of answering, I clamp my lips shut and glare at him as I try to think of something witty to say. The long scar is unsettling, but I try not to let him see how nervous it makes me.

Galinor wraps his arm around my shoulders. “I will not leave her here.” He looks at the barman and holds up his hand. “No offense.”

A loud chorus of cheers breaks out from the gambling tables, followed by a bellow of rage.

A man turns toward the man next to him, takes hold of his tankard, and then crashes it down on the fellow’s head.

This sets the whole mess of them in a fit, and for a minute, maybe more, they all go at each other, screaming and taunting and threatening, before they finally calm down.

The barman turns his attention back to us and laughs. “No offense taken, friend.”

Galinor watches them a few moments longer, his face lined with disgust. “How long will the hunt take?” he asks Penrith when he looks back .

Penrith mulls over the question, seemingly unaffected by the violence. “A week, maybe two.”

That’s too long.

I’m about to tell Penrith that’s unacceptable when he says, “Get some sleep. It will be an early morning.”

And just like that, we’re dismissed. I look at Galinor, wondering how he will respond.

Apparently, he’s not eager to linger in the company of the hunter.

With his hand on my waist, he leads me away.

We avoid the men as well as we can, but the crowd is thick.

A few dare to stare, but they look away when Galinor’s eyes meet theirs.

It’s fortunate he’s so intimidating.

We pass the leering man, and he grabs hold of my arm. “Don’t make company with Penrith, lovely. You can’t trust him.” He grins, and I recoil at the sour smell of his breath. “Cozy up to me. I’ll take care of you.”

Galinor is fast, and before the man realizes what is happening, the point of the prince’s sword is pressed to the man’s jugular.

“Touch her again,” Galinor says, “and you will no longer enjoy the drink you are so fond of. Do you understand?” His words are spoken coolly, but his eyes are hot with anger.

The man blinks and gulps. “Yes, My Lord.”

The tavern has gone quiet. All attention is on us, the patrons wondering if Galinor will shed this pathetic man’s blood. None come to the man’s rescue. They watch with cold, curious indifference.

“Good.” Galinor withdraws the sword, but before he sheaths it, he surveys the crowd. “That goes for the rest of you, as well. Does anyone wish to dispute it? ”

A head taller, and significantly more muscular, than any in the tavern, Galinor is an impressive sight. Heads shake and slowly the spectators go back to their alcohol, gambling, and women.

Galinor nods, satisfied his point has been made, and gently pulls me out of the room.

Once in the hall and up the back stairs, Galinor releases me.

I cross my arms and follow behind him, worrying my lip as he searches for our room.

We come to the door at the end of the hall.

The torch light is weak in this corner, but it feels farther from the chaos downstairs, and that’s somewhat soothing.

Galinor opens the door and motions for me to enter. I hesitate outside.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he says quietly.

I shift my weight to my other foot. “Still…”

The crowds roar downstairs, and Galinor pulls me into the room, locking the door behind us.

“Do you think the barman keeps extra keys?” he asks.

My brow furrows. “I’m sure he does. He may need to enter a room at some point.”

Galinor cocks his head to the side.

“Oh.” I look at the floor. “You think he’d give out that key?”

“I think it would depend on how much someone was willing to pay.”

I shiver and let the subject drop, accepting this is the only safe way to spend the night.

Self-conscious, I go to the bed and pull back the covers to inspect them. As far as I can tell, the furs on top seem somewhat clean…but the blankets underneath are not. I cringe and lay the furs back down .

“That bad?” Galinor asks.

I nod, feeling a little sick.

“It’s only one night,” he reminds me. He stretches out on the rug in front of the door and clasps his hands behind his head.

I debate finding a spot on the floor for myself, but I’m not sure it’s cleaner than the bed. Finally, I wrap myself in my cloak and lay fully dressed on top of the furs. I’m exhausted from the night before, and I find sleep easier than I expect.

I wake up, mid-scream. My heart races. I sit up and try to catch my breath.

The weight of Galinor’s body shifts the bed as he sits next to me. “Anwen.”

It’s cold in the room now, and I shiver. “I’m fine.” I hold my hand over my heart and wait for it to slow its frantic pace.

“Nightmare?”

I nod and take a deep breath. It’s the same as usual, and I always awake with a sense of urgency. “I feel as if we’re running out of time.”

Galinor shifts and sits with his back against the headboard. He holds out his arm, inviting me to sit with him. I scoot back so I’m next to him, and he wraps his arm around me.

He lays his head back against the wall. “We’ll save him.”

I yawn, still exhausted despite my desire to stay awake. Every time I close my eyes, I see the monster again.

He nudges my shoulder. “Tell me about how you came to have Danver.”

He’s trying to get my mind off the dream, and I am happy to oblige. Long before I finish my story, my eyes get heavy. I set my head on Galinor’s shoulder and finally fall asleep.

The nightmares don’t return.