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Chapter Thirty

VICTOR

“Definitely not. I refuse.” I glared at the offensive object Runa thrust under my nose.

Moments ago, the sorceress confirmed that Yaga was tucked safely into bed. Her snores echoed into the hall of the inn now her quest for adventure was satisfied.

The night was ours to explore.

We’d claimed a coarse table beneath a brightly striped canopy. The dirt-packed dance floor beside us teamed with twirling villagers. Huddled tightly on a short platform, a ragtag group of musicians played a rhythmic song with an enthusiastic beat.

“Have I led you astray yet?”

I scowled. “The puppet show was fairly disturbing.” It wasn’t often that you discovered an exact replica of yourself made from sticks and scraps charging across a miniature stage.

Runa laughed. “I thought you were quite dashing when you defeated the mighty dragon.”

“I’m pretty sure my silver hair was stolen from a horse’s ass.” The fairytale was a comedic reenactment of my adventures in the pits. Apparently, news of the lost king’s return blazed like a wildfire across the land.

“Why anyone would want to entertain children with that story is beyond me.”

Runa grew serious. “You’ve given them hope.”

“It’s a shame that hope is based on fiction.” The villagers assumed I was there to save them. They assumed a lot.

At my declaration, Runa grew somber, her joy sliding away like globs of caramel on tart fruit.

The loss of her smile kicked me in the stomach. I turned her attention back to the dessert she held. “Tell me more about this treat you insist I try.”

She waggled the goo-covered sweet under my nose, her smile returning. “I promise you have not truly lived until you’ve tried a candied fire zapple.”

In answer, I pressed my lips together.

Runa used my silence to work more of her wiles on me, rolling out her bottom lip, blinking thick lashes. It was a childish tactic that was beneath her and delightfully entertaining.

I’d not seen this playful side of her before. She was a much different person without her brothers and the threat of Idris’s trials hanging over her head.

I had to admit, I didn’t hate it. “Nice try. The answer is still no.”

So far, I’d experienced—or rather Morgue Sweatzer, a name Runa had given me—had experienced everything the festival had to offer, from drinking games to something called “arm wrestling,” a game of strength in which I’d excelled.

To a challenge with feathered darts where Runa had won a miniature dragon figurine, which she’d promptly gifted to me, tucking it into my pocket.

I had to draw the line somewhere.

At my continued obstinance, Runa narrowed her sparkling eyes. Even with the glamour, I sensed this look meant trouble for me.

“Remember those boons you promised me in exchange for my help?”

I groaned. “I knew that would come back to bite me.”

She held up a finger. “I’m calling in the first one.”

“Fine,” I growled. It wasn’t enough that we’d sampled every fermented brew in the village, carved hideous faces into gourds, nor lost several coins while gambling on a maze full of racing rodents.

“May I remind you I prefer to consume a liquid diet.”

“I’m aware. As is half of Carcerem.”

Was that…a note of anger I detected? Something akin to jealousy, perhaps? The thought titillated.

I opened my mouth, and she tucked the sugared fruit between my lips. Before she could withdraw, I trapped her fingertip, grazing it with an extended fang, hard enough to break the skin.

The sorceress inhaled a breathy gasp yet didn’t pull away.

Despite the sticky treat, Runa’s unique flavor washed over my tongue. My eyelids grew heavy, a low growl rumbling in my throat.

Runa’s luminous eyes turned languid, her breath coming in short pants.

Of all the veins I’d tapped since my arrival, hers wasn’t one of them.

Runa was forbidden fruit .

And may the gods help me, I prayed this taste of her wouldn’t be my last tonight. I grasped her wrist and released her finger, taking care to draw my tongue along the quivering digit.

“How—” Her voice cracked. “How was it?”

“Delicious,” I purred, desire heating my veins.

“Would you,” she gulped, with her eyes still riveted to my mouth, “like more? ”

“From you?” I kissed the inside of her wrist, her fingers trapped in my hand. “Always.”

“Holy bula dung,” grated a coarse voice. “Would you get a load of you two?”

I broke free of the enchantment the sorceress had me under and turned my attention to a woman seated at the end of our table.

At least, I believed the creature to be female. Thick tusks jutted from her bottom lip. Her flesh had a greenish cast to it, and her nostrils sat within a broad nose. Beside her was a male with similar features.

“Excuse me?” I asked in my most disdainful voice, irritated at the interruption.

Pain erupted in my shin, and I cut a glance at Runa, who waggled her brows at me. Oh. Right. I was Morgue, the peasant. King of the Dung Merchants.

I cleared my throat, relaxed my posture, and drawled, “What’s this now?”

“Little old to be newlyweds, ain’t ya?” the woman asked.

“Newlyweds?” I scoffed, only to receive another kick under the table.

I cast Runa an evil smile in retaliation. “Nah. Me and my old lady been mated for five turns.”

“Best two turns of my life,” Runa crooned, again batting her lashes.

“Well, nonetheless, good to see a couple keeping the spark alive. Me and my Eldorth are still randy as two nymphs. Though it can be difficult to find a moment with a pair of pups running about.” She hiked her thumb at a group of children who tussled in the dirt.

Two had tiny tusks. One of the younglings stood separate from the others, staring over at our table.

Little fellow had a strange gleam in his eyes and a head full of explosive orange hair.

I frowned. Odd little chap .

“Morgue and I have half a dozen little ones of our own,” Runa said. “Right, Morgue?”

“That’s right, Fungaria. That’s why we locked ’em in the cellar for the night. Everyone deserves an evening off.”

At the female’s horrified gasp, I realized my mistake. What did I know about younglings?

This improvisation earned me another kick. “Dance with me,” my blushing bride demanded.

“I couldn’t possibly, my love. See, I have this throbbing pain in my shin.”

“You’ll live,” Runa bit out, pulling me upright.

We joined the outer circle of the writhing group. I eyed the couples next to us with their spry, stomping feet.

It wasn’t a waltz, certainly not a foxtrot. “I do not know this dance,” I declared, managing one step back toward our table and obtuse friends before Runa snagged my wrist.

“Boon number two.” She held up her fingers.

And to think I’d found her attempt to blackmail me earlier charming. She’d been speaking my language, after all. I’d lost count of all the people I’d manipulated over the years. Though I’d expected her to demand something far more dastardly than sweets and dancing. Preferred it, in fact.

“Must I?” I growled.

“You must.”

“Very well.” I sighed, and off we went.

As it turned out, the dance was exhilarating, reminiscent of an Irish jig. The entire group moved as one, coming together with our arms raised and then stomping back to form a larger circle. Being agile and quick on my feet, I picked up the steps with ease.

Runa’s elbow hooked with mine, and we twirled in a circle.

The dance floor whirled. Laughter sparked in her eyes.

A joyful blush darkened her cheeks. Despite the glamour, she demanded my full attention.

I didn’t need to see her true face to know she was more beautiful than any other female.

In this world and mine. It was possible the fates weren’t completely mad when they selected her for me.

Dancing with Runa, I felt freer than I had in decades. Unburdened. In that moment, I was no one and yet everyone.

Emotions engulfed me—more than I’d experienced in years. It was odd, taking pleasure from such simple things or pleasure in much of anything, for that matter.

Too soon, the song drew to an end, and we bowed to our partners. My body and mind reeling, I slumped onto a hay bale near the dance floor.

The band started a rowdier tune, and Runa tapped out a smart rhythm before me, tugging my hand. “One more,” she begged.

“You go on,” I demanded.

A posse of dancing females swept by, recruiting Runa into their ranks. She spun away from me, a broad smile upon her lips.

As I observed from the sidelines, contentment rising in my center, a small figure settled beside me on the hay bale. Uninterested in the interloper, I watched Runa twirl. She really was a sight to behold.

Grubby fingers pulled at my sleeve. Tug. Tug. I dragged my attention away from the sorceress to focus on the young boy who sat at my side.

“Your face looks funny,” he declared in a squeaky voice.

In response, I arched a brow and returned to the dancers. The center of my chest drew tight, and I rubbed the ache. What was this?

Tug. Tug.

This time, I didn’t bother glancing down.

“Why does your face look that way?”

The tightness in my chest grew stronger, and my focus sharpened. Something felt off. Could it be the feeling Runa described? I sat straighter, scanning the crowd.

Tug. Tug .

“Her face is strange, too. Why is her face strange?”

“What?” I said absently. Again, that sensation pulsated. Was the guardian near? I scanned those closest to me. None of them appeared divine. Rather, the opposite, in fact. Most stumbled about, fairly inebriated.

Tug. Tug.

At last, I scowled down at the child beside me. It was the little outcast. Bright orange hair stood up at odd angles along his head.

“Return to your mother, boy. I’ve no time for this.”

His heavy sigh brushed my forearm. “As you wish.”

With the child’s disappearance, the tightening in my chest eased, and I frowned, scanning those gathered, finding nothing out of sorts, except for one thing.