Page 20 of The Ballad of the Last Dragon

Chapter Twenty

“ A drink for the lass!” The boisterous voice of the tavern patron, a man with a bushy blond beard and heavy brow ridge, calls out. He told us his name but between the din of noise and his tongue softened by drink, I couldn't catch it.

This is one of the finest taverns I’ve ever been in. Suspended from the rafters, flickering lanterns swing each time someone opens the door and the summer breeze blows through. Beneath the bar, it’s as if wild roots have sprung from the ground, wrapping their way up to frame each edge. A delicate arch of white wisteria hangs above the bar, filling the air with a sweet floral scent. It’s far too lovely a detail amidst a crowd of drunken hollers and competing conversations.

I love it.

We arrived in Stoneridge a few hours ago, ready to hit the ground running. The days we spent traveling after Jaromir's fever broke were a blur. Mostly because he insisted on no delays, even going so far as to ride Turnip with me so I might sleep in the saddle.

I'm not complaining.

I flash Jaromir a grin and earn that smile I've decided belongs solely to me. The one that's all warmth and fondness. Even if I tend to quickly chase it away with a joke that earns me his famous scowl.

Neith is chatting up a group of dwarven merchants who have been traveling the main roads to Bridgebarrow. Clever to make friends with those who might spread word of our exploits.

I even added a few lines to my ballad detailing the arachnida fight. Of Aeron's dauntless attack on those beasts, armed with nothing but river rocks and a refusal to accept defeat.

It's funny how the same story featuring different people can sound so different. When I imagine myself, all I see is my fear, my weakness.

An elven woman, the first I've seen in this town, places a tankard in front of me. Her hair is bound beneath a patchwork kerchief, and her blue eyes shine with the brilliance of a mountain lake. Her ears have also been tucked beneath her kerchief, but their shape against the thin fabric is unmistakable.

The blond man claps me on the back, spilling the drink he'd just purchased me. I think it's ale. Goddess, that smell, I hope it's ale.

“You're a good kid,” he says, ruffling my hat atop my head. “You've got a bright future ahead of you.”

“How do you know I'm not your elder?” I ask, adjusting my cap and pretending to sip my drink. Jaromir angles his body to stand closer, and I want to tell him to relax but that's too obvious. In my experience, towns like Stoneridge are protective of their own. Many travelers come through, but outsiders can ruffle more than a few feathers.

“You're tiny! Like a child!”

I laugh even as something cold settles in my gut. I hate appearing an easy target. I'm not tiny, not by elvish standards. But I suppose I'm slight of build and on the shorter side.

I gesture to him. “And you're large which makes you ancient, is that how we equate age now?”

He snorts into his drink, spurting foam over the side. “Fair enough.”

The tension flees Jaromir’s body, and he leans against the bar. I reach out to grab his hand, reveling in the easy affection we’ve come to share. His thumb runs circles against my knuckle, and he smiles down at me.

We still haven’t spoken of what was said—of when the fever spilled confessions from his lips I’m not sure he wanted to share. But I haven’t caught a whiff of shame or regret from him.

Unless he doesn’t remember. That would be unfortunate.

As if sensing my thoughts, he places a quick kiss to my knuckle, much to the disappointment of a nearby brunette who’d been valiantly attempting to ensnare him with her charms.

A right shame.

“Are you ready?” Jaromir’s gaze darts to the door, and I catch his meaning.

Tonight is the night Cadoc will don Aeron’s armor. I will take to the stage once more, to sing an encore no one asked for when he makes his grand entrance.

I slide my questionable ale in front of him and give a short nod. “I’m always ready to put on a show.” I fasten my brightest smile to my face. He hands me my lute, letting his fingers linger on mine before he lets go.

I take the stage, head held high and feather bouncing with each step. I wish I hadn’t worn my thickest stockings. The night is sweltering, humidity thickening the air, and within this crowded tavern, there is no reprieve. But there are worse things than sweating.

I pluck a jaunty little tune, glancing about the room until I get the general sense people are quieting down to listen.

There’s power in this, the ability to command the attention of a room filled with strangers. I knew even when I was little more than a gutter rat, I would never allow myself to exist powerless forever.

“Ladies and gentlemen… and the reprobates in the corner!” A hearty chorus of cheers call out from where Neith has been rubbing elbows with those merchants, and a real smile forms on my lips. “Did you think I was finished? Nay, there aren’t enough songs in Common Tongue to lend our hero’s exploits justice!”

I launch into a strum, allowing ample wait time for some of the rowdier patrons.

It’s a dance, really. A give and take between entertainer and audience. Alienate your audience, and don’t be surprised when they turn on you.

It’s happened many times. Rotting fruit takes ages to wash out.

My gaze passes over laughing faces, clinking of tankards, and the occasional couple expressing their passions in a very public way. But closest to the stage, a table filled with unfriendly faces snags my attention. There’s nothing remarkable about the five people seated nearest me, save for the coldness of their expressions. One man in particular glares daggers at me. His dark hair is shaved on the sides, and the longer top portion is tied back in a knot. His ruddy face, from either drink or heat, is twisted in disapproval, and his eyes… it’s too dark to make out their color, but the anger reflected in them is clear as day.

Perhaps he doesn’t like bards. Or music. Or fun. It’s no matter to me. Can’t dazzle everyone with my brilliance.

I shift my focus to find the only face that holds my interest.

Jaromir.

He watches me with his penetrating gaze, a twitch of his mouth revealing his amusement.

I leap to stand atop my stool, showing off a little.

“ Sir Aeron has the heart of a warrior and the mercy of a saint

With warmth that rivals the sun and drives darkness away

Man or beast of evil intent will fall to his sword, fall to his sword

He’ll bring us deliverance, mark my words, mark my words”

At his cue, Cadoc strides in, decked out in Aeron’s armor. We took painstaking attention polishing it to a high sheen, and in the candlelight, he looks like a fierce guardian descended from the Welkin.

“Ah, fair lass! You’ve sung of me long enough, I should think.” Cadoc turns to survey the room, a proud smile on his handsome face. Ideally, we wouldn’t have revealed anyone’s face in Aeron’s armor, but since it’s illogical for him to wear a helm in the tavern, especially if we’re to have him mingle with the patrons, we’ll make do. Since both he and Jaromir will show their faces, eyewitness accounts won’t align.

Drunk eyewitnesses are most preferable.

All the quicker to make him the mythic hero he deserves to be.

“Come! Let us all have a round of drinks on me!”

The erupting cheers and howls are deafening, but this is almost as important as my ballad. Nothing says hero quite like a man willing to part with his own coin to get a stranger drunk.

Two things that bring people together: pain and drinking.

I stash my lute upon my back, leaping down from my stool to join Jaromir at the bar. Cadoc has already been flooded with admirers and thirsty friends. The crowd thickens, blocking my way. I pull the cap from my head, fanning myself before replacing it. It’s boiling in here, and no one is really noticing me anymore. I’ve done my part, and now it’s Cadoc’s turn. He’s to charm everyone in the establishment, already halfway there, and I am to escape the sweaty tavern and sit beneath the stars. Preferably with a certain scowl-wearing man and a thick slice of bread. With a side of custard. And a bottle of wine because, dammit, I earned it.

My eager steps land me smack into a giant wall of a man. I bounce off his chest as if I’m a bird flying into a glass window.

“Apologies,” I say quickly, skirting around his massive form—

A strong hand clamps around my upper arm, holding me locked in place. I glance up to find the man who seemed to loathe my performance. This close I can count the pores on his nose as he glares down at me. Fear grips my chest in a suffocating embrace.

This has nothing to do with my performance. I can feel it in the way my muscles freeze. This is an anger I’ve spent my life fearing.

But I can’t let him know that.

I try to yank out of his bruising grip as a cold sweat erupts across my palms. “Etiquette dictates we speak with our words, not with our hands.”

He doesn’t relent. “I called you over and you ignored me.”

“What a perfectly logical response! Well, you have my attention. Unhand me and speak your piece.”

It takes every shred of my control to keep my voice even. The last thing we need is to cause a scene. I glance around, searching for Jaromir, but the tavern is crowded. I can’t see him beyond the mass of bodies flooding the bar.

“We want another round for the table.”

“Ah. Not a server so I’m afraid you’re tapping the wrong tree, so to speak. But I’m sure you heard, my very generous friend over there is happy to pay for your drinks at the bar—”

He yanks me hard, and my shoulder twinges with the motion. His hateful stare fills my vision, and my stomach churns. “Listen up, knife-ear. You’re lucky we even let you into this tavern. Go get our drinks before I show you what your kind really deserves.”

I’m sure I have a retort ready. It’s on the tip of my tongue awaiting release. But my throat squeezes, and a fluttering cold fills my chest. My legs go numb, and I’m not sure how I’m still standing. My head spins, and I swear, if the panics set in again—

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

Jaromir’s voice is a low rumble of darkness. He steps between us, slow and deliberate, but there’s nothing gentle about how calm he seems.

The man staggers back, a flash of fear in his eyes, but he quickly masks it with a sneer.

Jaromir’s hand flexes against the pommel of his sword. He turns to me, ignoring the man completely and leveling me with the full force of his assessing stare. “Did he hurt you?”

I almost rub the spot where his hand squeezed my arm. I can already feel the telltale bruise forming. There’s no sense in lying, but I won’t fan the flame of Jaromir’s anger. “Not enough to warrant retaliation.”

Jaromir raises a brow in silent question as if to ask, are you sure?

My hand finds his, and I gently tug him toward me. “He isn’t worth ruining the night.” This answer is loaded with meaning. We have a greater purpose, a greater aim in coming here.

He nods, giving my hand a squeeze. If we can just get outside, get some air, we can forget all about this unpleasantness and celebrate tonight’s win. After everything, we deserve—

“Get the other knife-ear over here. I’m fucking thirsty.”

Jaromir freezes, his nostrils flaring and his jaw clenching.

Oh, but the door is right there, we were so close.

Jaromir turns back to face the idiot who can’t keep his mouth shut. “Is that what you called her?”

The bastard actually looks confused. Jaromir drops my hand, shoving into the man’s space. His hand is around his throat faster than I can blink.

“Jaromir,” I call out, “he isn’t worth it.” Shit. Fuck. Tits. “Please, let’s just go.”

Neith appears, placing a hand on Jaromir’s shoulder. Reluctantly, he steps away. “Peace, friend. I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.” She looks down her nose at the ruddy-faced man. “If ye apologize, we can all return t’our evening.”

Disheveled and gasping for air, the man’s eyes widen in shock. “Apologize? You’re lucky I didn’t cut her little rabbit ears off for running her mou—”

Neith punches him in the throat, and whatever he was about to say is lost to a gurgling noise. She tackles the man to the ground and wails on him blow after blow. His companions dive after her, but Jaromir blocks, landing a punch that sends a stray tooth flying. A battle cry blended from a group of voices rings out, as the dwarven merchants Neith had been sitting with leap into the fray. Tossing bottles and tankards at anyone who attacks her flank.

Cadoc appears, holding a wooden club, and beats back a few stragglers. Neith is still bashing her fist against the man on the floor, strike after strike to his already bloodied and mottled face. A rage has taken over her features.

Someone breaks a chair over a man’s back, and splinters fly. The crunch of broken glass under boots and grunts of pain fill the air in a brutal song. If this wasn’t the worst outcome for tonight, it might make a thrilling ballad.

Jaromir pulls Neith off the man, shoving her toward Cadoc who leads her out of the tavern. Cadoc tosses the club and a full coin purse toward the barkeep as he passes. The barkeep catches both, giving a short nod of acknowledgement.

Jaromir leans down to grip the battered man by the hair—the man who started it all. He whispers something in his ear, slamming his fist into his bloodied face one last time. He stands and winds his arm around my shoulders, steering me around broken glass and splintered wood.

I allow him to guide me to the door, tripping on overturned chairs. The noise of the tavern fades to a dissonant ringing of angry voices.

The night is still oppressive in its heat, but the open sky offers sanctuary. When we’re far enough away, Neith shrugs out of Cadoc’s hold, cracking her knuckles.

Jaromir rubs my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

I exhale a harsh breath. “Let’s see. All the goodwill we earned in that tavern? Gone. Do you think they’ll remember us fondly after this? No. We’ll be remembered as the group that brought the knife-ear into the tavern, causing a bloody riot.”

His face hardens. “Don’t call yourself that.”

“Why not?” I give a brittle laugh that aches in my chest. “It’s what I am, isn’t it? Do you really think that was the first time I’ve had to deal with this? Or even the worst encounter I’ve had?”

I’m dangerously close to hitting a note of hysteria I’m not ready to face. I take a few calming breaths, anchoring myself to my surroundings. I am safe. I am not alone.

Jaromir reaches out, tucking a tendril of hair behind my pointed ear. “I can’t erase the past or whatever you’ve faced. But I will not allow anyone to treat you thus.” He glances over at Neith. “Neither will she.”

“Nor I,” Cadoc says. I’d nearly forgotten he was here, which seems impossible to do with how much Aeron’s armor shines even in the night. “And to address your concerns, I spoke to the barkeep before our little scuffle even broke out. He said that lot has been causing trouble for months. He was practically begging us to do something about it, us being heroes and all.” A crooked smile tugs at his mouth, dimpling his cheek. “I paid him off, but I don’t get the sense anyone viewed us as the offending party so”—he twists his mouth to the side—“no harm done?”

It may have worked out this time, but we need to come to an accord on how we deal with this type of thing.

It won’t be the last.

I bury my face in Jaromir’s chest, muffling a particularly colorful stream of curses even amidst my relief. When I pull away, Neith has stepped closer, and if I thought I’d find any remorse on her stunning face, I was sorely mistaken. She stretches, flashing a satisfied smile.

“Thank you,” I say, “for defending my honor.”

As much as I wished for a peaceful resolution, one that ended in less fanfare and dislodged teeth, there’s a comfort in knowing I have someone who’ll tackle a man to the floor and beat him senseless for wounding me.

And I have three of these people in my life now.

Neith glances down at her torn and bloodied knuckles. “It was my pleasure.”