Page 43

Forty-Two

Sass pulled a cloth from her waist and dabbed at the foam she’d spilled on the table. "Wraiths?"

Lira shot Vaskel a warning look, but the Tiefling only crossed his arms, his magenta skin darkening with conviction.

"Wraiths," he repeated, his icy eyes glinting in the low light of the tavern. "The oath-breaking spirits we encountered in the ruins."

"He's not serious," Lira said quickly, her voice carrying more confidence than she felt. "Vaskel is just upset about our friend Pirrin, which is understandable."

But even as she spoke the words, a shiver slithered down her spine. She pushed away the memory of those ghostly warriors with their translucent bodies and rotting armor, the way their hollow eyes had locked onto her as they'd materialized in the throne room of the cursed castle.

"Those wraiths were bound to the castle, cursed to remain where they betrayed their oath." She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "They can't just travel across the Known Lands, killing off members of our former crew. That's not how curses work."

Sass hadn’t moved, and her head swung between the two as they argued.

Vaskel's tail lashed against the wooden chair leg, his sharp teeth pressing into his bottom lip. "Then how do you explain what happened? Pirrin was a fighter, one of the best swordsmen I've ever known. He wouldn't just die without a mark on him."

"People die mysteriously all the time," Lira said, though the words sounded hollow even to her own ears.

“Not Pirrin.”

Vaskel was right. Pirrin’s death didn’t make sense, and it unnerved her.

She put a hand over his, the flesh so hot she almost flinched. “I miss him too, but us fighting won’t bring him back.”

Vaskel’s shoulders sagged, the tight set of his jaw relaxing. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You aren’t the reason he’s gone.”

Lira wasn’t, but she couldn’t help wondering if Pirrin would still be alive if their crew had stayed together. The pain of that thought made her jerk her head away. Her gaze caught on Durn standing behind the bar, and she nearly did a double take.

The tavernkeeper's usually wild mustache was neatly trimmed and combed, and his typically stained shirt looked freshly cleaned. Even more surprising was the sight of Penny, the chandler, leaning against the bar, her ample curves accentuated by a dress that certainly hadn't been made for working with tallow and wax.

"Speaking of working miracles." Lira caught Sass’s eye and nodded toward the bar. "Your matchmaking seems to be paying off."

Sass followed her gaze, and a triumphant grin split her face. "Would you look at that? Durn actually took my advice about grooming that mop on his face." She gave a self-satisfied nod. "The man just needed a reason to care again."

"And it looks like Penny might be that reason.”

She could see the gnome’s lavender hair coiffed in an elaborate updo, and even from this distance, the sparkle of what might be a new brooch pinned to her bodice.

The pleasant warmth of the scene evaporated instantly as the tavern door swung open with enough force to rattle the hinges. The buzz of conversation dropped to a murmur, then to silence as Rygor stepped inside, his black wings tucked close to his lanky frame but still visible beneath his cloak.

Penny's face blanched, and she scurried away from the bar as the wyvern stomped across the tavern floor, his clawed feet scraping against the wooden planks. Durn's newly groomed mustache did nothing to improve his scowl as Rygor planted both hands on the bar and leaned forward.

"I warned you, Durn," the wyvern's voice carried easily in the hushed room. "I said you couldn’t hide it from me."

"And I told you," Durn retorted, his shoulders bunching with tension, "I’m not hiding anything."

"You expect me to believe that The Tusk & Tail suddenly started thriving because of a few meat pies and fancy tea?" Rygor hissed, his nostrils flaring. "The laird will hear about this."

Lira stiffened as Silas slid from his stool at the far end of the bar and shuffled up to Rygor, his thin lips stretched in a smile that made Lira's skin crawl.

"The reeve is right to be suspicious," Silas said, his voice carrying just enough for Lira to hear. "The place was barely staying afloat, and then these two show up, start making changes…” He flicked a glance toward their table, his gaze hardening with unmasked disdain.

"Who is that?" Vaskel asked quietly.

"The wyvern is Rygor, the village reeve." Lira kept her voice low. " He collects taxes for the laird. The man next to him is Silas. He doesn't appreciate what Sass and I have done with the place."

"That’s putting it mildly," Sass said.

Rygor's head swiveled toward their table, his eyes narrowing as they landed on Vaskel. The wyvern straightened, leaving Silas mid-sentence, and began stalking toward them.

"You have new friends," Rygor said to Lira, his wings twitching beneath his cloak as he approached. "How interesting."

Vaskel stood in one fluid motion, his height nearly a match for the wyvern. The Tiefling's tail slashed behind him, and though his posture appeared casual, Lira recognized the coiled readiness in his stance. She'd seen him like this before fights.

"I don't believe we've met," Vaskel said, his voice lower than usual, velvet wrapped around iron. "I'm an old friend of Lira's."

Rygor's scaled lips pulled back, revealing teeth that were just a bit too pointed for comfort. "But not from around here."

Vaskel returned the smile with one equally as menacing. “I roam where I please.”

Lira held her breath, aware that everyone in the tavern was watching.

"I was just reminding the proprietor of this establishment," Rygor said, still addressing Vaskel but now looking at Lira and Sass, "that the laird owns a share of their success."

"Does he now?" Vaskel's voice dropped even lower, the hint of a growl rumbling beneath his words. "Funny, I wasn't aware that collecting crumbs from honest work would interest a laird.”

Rygor's clawed hands flexed at his sides. "The laird's business is whatever the laird deems it to be."

"Perhaps," Vaskel stepped closer, his tail carving an angry arc through the air, "the laird should find his crumbs elsewhere."

The wyvern's wings strained against his cloak, but after a tense moment, his posture eased slightly. He swept his gaze around the tavern, taking in the watching faces. Then his eyes returned to Vaskel, reassessing .

"Another time, then," Rygor said, his voice calmer, though his eyes remained cold. "But remember, the laird's due will be collected one way or another."

With that, he turned and swept from the tavern, his cloak billowing behind him. Silas lingered at the bar, his sour expression focused on Lira, before he too slunk out the door.

Conversation slowly resumed, though at a more subdued volume. Vaskel sat back down, adjusting his cloak with a casual flick of his wrist, as Sass hurried off to refill ales.

"You may have just made an enemy," Lira said.

Vaskel laughed, the sound warm after the cold exchange with Rygor. "I'll add him to the list. Besides, I've faced worse than an overgrown lizard with delusions of grandeur."

Lira shook her head but couldn't help smiling. Vaskel had always been like this—quick to dive into danger, quicker to brush it off afterward. It was part of what made him both infuriating and endearing.

"You know," Vaskel said after a moment, his expression growing more serious, "I meant what I said earlier. About us still being a family." He reached across the table and touched her hand lightly. "You leaving didn't change that."

The warmth of his touch brought a lump to Lira's throat. “I’m glad you found me, Vask.”