Page 24 of The Ballad of the Last Dragon

Chapter Twenty-Four

“ L adies and gentlemen! It gives me immeasurable pleasure to spread the word of the greatest hero of this age! His ancestors, sired by the actual gods! His virility is unmatched, and his generosity knows no bounds!” I holler into the crowd of the Golden Selkie, giving everything I have to this performance. I’ve learned that talk of the goddess or her guardians alienates my audience, so I’ve calibrated my speech. The town of Greenfell is our second-to-last stop before we venture off the beaten path.

Tonight, Jaromir is on display in Aeron’s armor. Well, the chest plate, at least. The greaves were too short, and seeing Jaromir try to walk around in armor too small was a sight that sent us all into tears of laughter. Well, everyone except Jaromir.

I’ve always appreciated the way he looks in his armor: his aged and hardened leather cuirass, with those thick arms on display—his dark hair falling free from its knot, and his perpetual scowl. He always looks a little bit wild, a little bit dangerous.

But tonight, his hair is swept back from his face, he’s trimmed and tightened his beard, and the chest plate he sports gleams like a beacon calling to me.

He’s undeniably handsome.

Seeing him step into the tavern during my over-the-top introduction nearly causes my fingers to trip over my pluck pattern. Beneath the warm light of the suspended circlet of candles, he carries himself with an air of authority, and a friendly demeanor he rarely shows in public. I want to leap off the stage and land in his arms, but that would raise too many questions about Aeron’s private life. We need him accessible. The man other men want to be and the man women dream of.

He pauses at a table filled with men playing Sinners and Saints, and murmurs something low only for their ears. The table erupts into boisterous laughter. He saunters to the bar, leaning toward the barkeep to quietly extend his offer to pay for everyone’s drinks. When the barkeep announces it loud for all to hear, it’s Aeron’s name they cheer but Jaromir they flood with their adoration.

He's playing his role quite nicely. Where Cadoc was all flair and attention stealing, Jaromir has a quiet charm, as if he’s too modest and humble for acclaim as he orchestrates everyone around him to heap it at his feet.

He’s charming and alluring.

And I’m not the only one who notices.

He answers unsubtle flirtations with ease, seemingly encouraging the attentions of a comely blonde with his crooked smile.

It doesn’t matter. I know he’s mine, and this is all for show. The shepherd’s sling I now keep in my back pocket reminds me of this. I continue playing, softly singing songs of the heroes of old, trying to match Jaromir’s subtle performance. A group of women fawn over him, and he’s all soft smiles and genteel manners. But across the crowded tavern, his eyes lock on mine, and the fierce longing reflected there is all I need.

I play through a few songs. A few old favorites and one I made up based on Cadoc’s archery instructions.

I don’t even notice when I start to play the old lullaby my Mama used to sing.

“My love waits past the heather and o’er the moor,

Oh how I wish I were there,

‘Neath the tall, branching oak,

My love sits alone and waits for me.

I cannot follow where she goes, save for my heart.

It’s always with she, always with she.

I am the lyre, she is the strings;

But no music sounds, not without my beloved

I cannot follow where she goes, save for my heart.

It haunts her steps, even as she leaves me behind.”

Jaromir finds me over the crowd. I fall into the ending refrain of the tune, flashing him my most brilliant smile—

He immediately drops my gaze, focusing on the ground instead of meeting my eye. When finally, he lifts his chin once more, he wears a harried expression. Something is wrong. Something leaving that haunted look on his face. I end the song, tuck my lute on my back, and approach the edge of the stage.

In a blink, his face smooths back into his open expression as he chats with the barkeep. Whatever storm is brewing in his head, we’ll discuss it later. When he can be Jaromir instead of Aeron.

Rather than approach him, I find my way to Neith.

“He’s doing quite well, isn’t he?”

She nods. “I half expected him t’stomp and growl his way through yer set.”

A light laugh bursts from my lips. “I would have had to amend a few lines of his ballad. ‘Sir Aeron Fowler has both the strength and patience of a mother bear.’ And then he could snarl for effect.”

“A mother bear?”

“I hear they’re ornery.”

Neith’s mouth twitches, and she takes a quick sip from her tankard. Glancing about the room, I notice a woman drinking alone. No one pays her any mind as she sips from her tankard. Her dark hair is cut short, and the ends sprout over her pointed ears. I approach her.

She doesn’t spare me a glance until I’m already tugging a chair out, its wooden legs scraping against the floorboard. Her gaze is sharp, narrowed in suspicion.

“What do you want?” Her voice is low and throaty, as if she spends her days inhaling smoke. It isn’t unbecoming, quite the opposite. I long to know how it would sound if she sang.

“I thought you might wish for some company.”

Her brows bunch together, confusion twisting her sharp features. Her gaze drifts pointedly to my hat. “You’re that bard.”

I yank my cap from my head, holding it in my lap. My hair is probably a laughable mess, and I can feel the sweat along my forehead. “Sylvaine Abelan, at your service.” I sketch a half-bow, as low as I can while perched in a chair, and tuck my hair behind my ear.

Understanding dawns on her face before she sneers. “Oh, I get it. You’re one of those. Thinkin’ we’ll be thick as thieves with nothin’ in common save for both bein’ elves?”

She doesn’t mince words and cares little for my good opinion. This tells me two things: she’s had a rough go of it, whether now or earlier in her life, and she’s dealt with this before. In any case, I hardly need a warm welcome.

“Not at all. I thought we’d become lifelong friends over our common taste in”—my gaze finds the intricate leather braiding of her cuirass, the woven detailing—“fine craftsmanship.”

She glances down at her chest piece, scoffing. “You like my armor?”

“Like it? I love it! I don’t know if you know this, but it’s hard on the road. You never know when a fellow might start feeling a bit stabby. Where can I purchase a piece like this?”

Her smile fades, a cool anger claiming her expression. “There was a leather armorer in town. Had a pretty decent shop, too.” She lifts her tankard to her mouth, slowly sipping.

I watch, reading the tightness in her movements. “What happened?”

“What’s it matter? It’s gone. Everythin’ is gone.” She slams her tankard down on the table. “Look, Sylvaine? We’re not friends. I don’t even know you, and I’m really not good company tonight. Let me drink in peace.”

“Of course.” I push out my chair as I stand. Cramming my cap back over my head, I turn to leave.

“I liked the last one you played,” she says softly.

My mama’s lullaby. The one from back home.

“It’s one of my favorites, too.” I flash her a smile. “Look, if this armorer ever finds themselves open for commissions”—I lean closer to whisper the last part—“I’d pay handsomely for the quality they offer. The quality one can’t normally find on this side of the sea.”

Without waiting for her response, I slip away, back toward where Jaromir is holding court. He’s surrounded by admirers, all hanging on to every word like he’s the second coming of the goddess. The tightness in Jaromir’s eyes is the only tell of his discomfort.

I glance around the tavern until my gaze falls on someone set apart from the rest.

There’s a man watching Jaromir from afar. His dark hair is short on the sides, longer on the top, but his eyes are the greenest I’ve ever seen on a human. Greener than Kingsley’s bottles of Bjovian wine. The man makes no move to approach Jaromir, but he wears a strange expression as he stares at him. I consider introducing myself, but Jaromir catches my gaze, smiling at me. It’s a distracted and distant sort of thing.

A trio of men in the corner let out a peal of boisterous laughter, one of them even falling off his seat. He jumps up, bowing to more laughter. When they catch me staring, they eagerly wave me over.

Shaking my head, I offer an apologetic smile. They’ve had more than enough entertainment for the evening.

I saddle up to an empty stool, flagging down the barkeep.

Most of the tavern has cleared out, and I can call this a success. No one attacked me. No fights broke out. It went… smoothly.

Cadoc and Neith bid farewell to the group of farmers they’d been chatting up, and Jaromir pays the tab. We head for the door, Cadoc and Neith leading the way. Jaromir still hasn’t spoken to me, and I’m trying not to read into it.

“You did well, Aeron,” I say as we step through the threshold.

Jaromir gives me a soft smile, but it’s almost an afterthought. Like he had to remind himself to do so.

The night sky is cloudy, not a single star in sight. The moon is even tucked behind a thick swath of clouds. Summer is coming to an end, and I can feel autumn creeping into each night. I shiver, and Jaromir wraps an arm around me. But his armor is so cold, I shrug him off.

“How did you fare under so much flattery?”

Jaromir cringes, reaching for the buckles of Aeron’s armor. “I’d rather talk of more pleasant things.”

“Such as?”

He grabs me by the hips, pulling me to him. It’s terribly uncomfortable, being pressed against the steel of his chest plate. “Such as, spending the night between your thighs.”

I laugh and spin away, though it’s a comfort to witness his playful side. He’s been tense all night, hating the attention, I’m sure. “You can’t ignore me all night and then expect to worm your way into my bed! That’s madness! You’ll need to beg for my favor—”

“I’m not opposed to begging.”

He is already tugging me back into his embrace again, and the foggy part of my brain wants to let him. Let him have me right here on this road should he wish it. But the memory of the elven armorer in the tavern douses my impulses like a bucket of cold water.

“I think something bad happened here.”

At this, Jaromir freezes. “What do you mean? Did someone threaten you?”

“No, nothing like that. I just spoke with someone who’s fallen onto hard times.”

He waits patiently for me to continue.

“An elven woman who shapes leather armor.”

“She’s being harassed?”

I pull off my cap to run my hand through my hair. “I don’t know. But if someone is threatening her business, maybe we can spare some time to help her.”

Jaromir’s eyes soften. “Of course.”

He cups my jaw, running his thumb along my skin. In a few short words and the barest of touches, he assures me of more than I dare to voice. He recognizes how much this means to me and answers in kind. This matters to him, too, and he’ll always have my back.

It’s a comforting thought, one that has me leaning into his touch.

Before he can continue, a man darts out of the tavern—the dark-haired man with bottle green eyes. He staggers up to us, his gait labored by drink but his grin easy and wide.

“Someone is coming,” I say.

Jaromir turns in time for the man to clap him on the back.

“I thought that was you!” He pulls Jaromir in a half-hug, much to my utter shock.

Jaromir’s eyes are wide with panic, and I don’t understand why. “Thalon,” he says, “why are you here?”

Thalon shrugs. “Needed a change of scenery. I took a small carpentry job in town. Building a new barn for my wife’s cousin after a fire took out most of his structure.”

Thalon makes no mention of Jaromir going by Aeron’s name. Perhaps he’s too drunk to notice?

“Guess it took out a small leather shop next door, too. Bad luck, I’m afraid, but it’s all good for business. My business, that is.”

He keeps talking as if I’m not there, something about structural integrity, but I’m still stuck on what I’ve just learned. The armorer. Welkin's guardians, her shop caught fire. Whether it was an accident or not, her losses must have been terrible.

“You swinging through Kalinia soon? Avalie and Rhosyn have been in full planning mode.”

“I’m not sure,” Jaromir says, frowning at me.

I catch this part of the conversation, and I’m positively befuddled. Kalinia is our next stop, is it not? And Thalon speaks as if Jaromir regularly passes through there. “I fear I’m missing something important. How do you know Jaromir?”

“Forgive me! I’ve only been married two years and already I’ve forgotten how to properly address a lady.” Thalon offers me a low bow and kisses my hand, lingering long enough I pry myself free. I try to discreetly wipe the wetness off on the back of my vest, but by the way he smirks at me, I’m sure he knows. “I’ve known Jaromir since before his balls dropped! I grew up with him, Damir, and even his betrothed!”

Something about the way he phrases that hits the ear wrong. “I’m sorry, whose betrothed?”

Thalon laughs, elbowing Jaromir, and losing his balance. Jaromir is watching me with that haunted look again. Like he’s about to be sick all over his boots.

“Why, Jaromir’s betrothed, of course.”