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GHOSTS

ELYRIA

“Stars damn you, Elyria Lightbreaker,” the tavern master roared. “Ye are a curse on my tavern.”

“Artemicion, please save your shouting.” Elyria placed her hand at her temple. “At least until the pandemonium in my head has subsided to a dull rattle, hmm?”

“Ye’ll never play here again, mark my words,” Artie continued at full volume with absolutely no concern for the state of Elyria’s head. Rude.

“As I recall, that’s not the first time you’ve said as much,” Elyria said with a smirk, even as the movement caused her head to throb. She’d returned to her room at The Sweltering Pig after leaving the duchess—flying straight in through the window—and been holed up ever since. Sleep had eluded her, but she had no particular desire to face the surly dwarf. Sadly, her desire for food inevitably overtook her desire not to get yelled at, and so, here she was.

She winced as one of the tavern maids wrenched a set of shutters open. The midday sun poured into the space, and Elyria’s eyes flared as she took in the carnage.

The Sweltering Pig was a mess. Shattered glass had been swept into haphazard piles. Sylvan maids mopped away at the sticky pools of ale and blood covering the floor. A stocky fae man was gathering the splintered legs of stools and tables that had not survived the brawl. Elyria didn’t recognize any of them—had Artie called in additional cleaning staff?

She sucked in a guilty breath. “But those men would not have been in here in the first place, drinking your ale and filling your pockets, had I not been performing in the first place.”

“And right back out of my pockets goes their gold, to make up for this mess,” Artie grumbled, though Elyria could tell his temper was fading. “I’ve a mind to kick ye out of yer room and be done with ye entirely.”

“Aren’t you even the slightest bit relieved to see me alive and well after all that hubbub?”

“If there’s one thing I can count on in this bleeding world, it’s that ye’ll make it out of a silly little scrape like that.” He gave an indifferent wave of his hand, like it was nothing, but Elyria felt emotion behind his words. It sparked something warm in her chest.

A member of the tavern staff dropped something in front of her with a grunt. A steaming bowl of pottage with three strips of salted fish. She hadn’t even seen Artie put in the order. She gulped down a spoonful of the stew, cursing as it burned her tongue. Artie barked a laugh, and she grinned behind her spoon.

“So, will you tell me what Tartanis wants with ye?” asked the dwarf.

Elyria hesitated, then shrugged. “What they all want. It’s not really me they’re after. It’s the Revenant. ”

“Why?”

She made a noncommittal noise. “Why do men do anything? Because they have something to prove. Because they have someone to prove it to. Because they want to. Because they can .

“Men more powerful than Master Tartanis have sought me for some manner or another—whether for my name or my power, I do not know.” She traced an idle figure eight in the bowl with her spoon. “But every Arcanian babe born since the war has grown up on tales of the Revenant. It was only a matter of time before it followed me to Coralith.”

“Quartered hell, Elle.” Artie seemed unsure of what to say after that.

Elyria took another scalding sip of stew, wishing it would wash away the memory of a different sort of burn. A heady mix of rage and shame climbed up her spine as she thought about last night. She wasn’t sure how long it would take for her to forget the feel of Raefe’s flametouch, but she suspected it would be a while. The physical marks she now bore would not be her only scars from their encounter.

She wished she had killed him.

Her inner shadow stirred as if in agreement.

Perhaps Artie sensed the shift in her thoughts, the sudden darkening of her mood, because it was with forced nonchalance that he suddenly said, “So, what do ye think about the rumors?”

“What rumors?” Her words were garbled, her mouth full.

“About the Crucible. How the aurora’s brighter than ever. Poke yer head outside—the sun’s brighter than dragonfyre, but ye can still see it. Folks are saying it’s a sign from Solaris or some other kind of celestial-blessed shit.”

Her hand paused mid-air, spoon hovering just above the bowl. Artie didn’t know about her conversation with the duchess, she reminded herself. He didn’t know about Evander—no more than the average person, at least. He was merely making conversation.

“I believe I might’ve heard something about that,” was all Elyria could say. Ollie had called it a sign from Lunara, the Time Keeper, not the Light Goddess, Solaris, but it was all the same bullshit.

“Before yer little showdown last night, it was all folks could talk about,” Artie continued, oblivious. “Speculating over who might enter this year, trading bets. Odds are looking pretty good for this one champion—some noblewoman’s daughter from Aerithia. Fancy name. What was it...” He drummed his thick fingers on the countertop. “Eaglefeather? Something like that.”

Elyria’s fist tightened around her spoon. Had she been paying attention to the banter in the bar last night instead of trying to drown herself at the bottom of her tankard, perhaps she would have heard this too. Perhaps Laeliana showing up wouldn’t have been such a shock.

Kit .

Just thinking her name sent a shiver of remorse down Elyria’s spine. Artie was still talking. The tavern bustled with activity as the staff continued cleaning up. It all faded as Elyria was pulled back to a time when her life was filled with laughter instead of regret.

Golden sunlight bounced off Kit’s moonlight-colored hair as Elyria watched her. Her hands were clasped together, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Come on, Kitty Kat. You’ve got to focus,” Evander said. He held out his hand, a swirling orb of water dancing over his palm.

“I am focusing. It’s harder than it looks, you know.” Kit drew her hands apart, and a ball of water materialized between her palms ... then dribbled through her fingers a moment later. She groaned in frustration, her mismatched eyes—one blue, one green—swimming with misery when she met Elyria’s gaze. “Four hells, I’m never going to master this.”

“Chin up, darling.” Elyria reached over and gently adjusted Kit’s hands. “It takes practice, and your brother has a century on you. Remember what he told you before—you have to feel the magic. Feel the moisture in the air, the water in your blood.” She pointed across the grassy meadow to the small brook babbling quietly nearby. “Feel it there. Then, grasp it, embrace it. Let it course through you. But don’t fight it. Don’t try to trap it.”

Evander chuckled, his deep voice a comforting rumble. He draped his arm over Elyria’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

Kit sighed but cracked her neck and folded one hand over the other once more.

“Your magic is a river. You have to let it flow,” reminded Elyria.

Kit loosed a slow breath through her mouth, then parted her palms. A sphere of water formed between them, swirling and eddying just like Evander’s—a miniature ocean in her hands.

Her eyes lit up, her blue iris rippling as if it were made of water too. “I’m doing it!” she exclaimed.

“You’re doing it,” murmured Elyria, pride flaring in her chest .

“One day, I’m going to be as strong as you, Ellie.”

Elyria’s lips parted in surprise. Pressure gathered in her chest. She looked at Evander. Caught the sad, knowing look in his eyes.

He cleared his throat. “Not bad, Kitty Kat. Now, just do that a few hundred times more. Easy.”

Elyria ducked as the sphere suddenly zoomed toward Evander. The cool water splashed her as it exploded on his face.

“Katerina,” he scolded, sputtering as he pawed at the black hair that was now plastered to his forehead. Kit stuck out her tongue at him, and the pressure in Elyria’s chest deflated as she doubled over with laughter.

With a jolt, Elyria slammed back to the present. “Damn it,” she muttered, her hand shaking as she reached for the mug of water that had been placed in front of her.

“All right there, Elle?” Artie’s voice was laced with concern.

“Fine, fine,” she lied, “just memories.” She closed her eyes, unsure if she wanted to shake the images from her mind or keep them there forever. “Memories...and ghosts.”

He didn’t press further, but she could see the question in his eyes. She pushed her bowl aside and stood, glad she shoveled down what she had, when she had. She suspected her appetite would not return for some time, given what she now had to do.

“Taking off, then?”

“There’s something I need to take care of.” She hesitated before adding, “Not sure when I’ll be back.”

The tavern master nodded, his expression difficult to read. Elyria wanted to tell him how much she appreciated his hospitality; how much it meant that he’d put up with her these past months. But given the mix of emotion churning in her, she didn’t know how to do so without making a blubbery scene. And she knew that would have the poor dwarf running to the first quarter of hell in embarrassment. So, she simply said, “Until next time, old man.”

Elyria took a deep breath as she stepped onto the bustling streets of Coralith. With her belly full and thirst slaked, her head was vastly improved, and she threw a quick prayer of thanks up to Solaris, or Lunara, or Earth Mother Gaia—whichever celestial would claim credit for the small mercy. Hells, she would even have been willing to lay her gratitude at the feet of Noctis, Warden of Shadows, for how much better she felt. Any of them would do, she supposed, aside from the banished star god, Aurelia. Even Elyria knew better than to invoke that cursed name.

She squinted at the sky and true enough, the clouds were alight with faint beams of purple and green. She still had time.

She needed to find Kit. Had to talk to her. Had to try.

She owed her that much.

She owed her much, much more.