Page 29 of Twisting Twilight (Homesteader Hearth Witch #9)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Ruben!” Kian squeaked, the mountain of a fae somehow dwarfed in his cousin’s crushing embrace.

“You’re making me disgusting.” Fiachna had moved fast for an opossum and now clung to the back of Kian’s collar and out of the crush zone.

His pink tail was curled up tight like an unbaked strawberry roll, lest it get pinched.

The half-ogre boomed a laugh as he hugged the junior scholar tighter, swinging him from side to side like a beloved teddy bear. With one final spine-popping squeeze, Ruben set Kian down and beamed the biggest smile. “Half a century is too long, Cousin!”

“Stop saying that,” the junior scholar muttered. He tugged the wrinkles from his burgundy overcoat and stopped at the sight of splotches transferred to him from Ruben’s apron. “This. This is why I don’t come here.”

The half-ogre was impervious to Kian’s glum mood. “You brought friends! Welcome, friends of Kian. I am Ruben Brawnskull. Welcome to the finest tavern in the entire Seam!”

“Seam?” Shari whispered.

“Semi-disputed territory between the Court of Beasts and the Court of Tides,” Kian supplied. “They abide by their own laws, and the courts leave them be. Most of the time.”

“Because they know what’s good for them. Healthy, unbroken bones! And we don’t stand on those prissy court manners here, either.”

Before we knew what was happening, the half-ogre yanked us one by one into a smothering hug, all except Flora, who he hadn’t noticed given his great height.

When he tried to pull me in for a bear hug, we all panicked, remembering Faebane strapped to my back.

What if those bulging biceps crushed the wooden sheath and it sliced through the oilskin and into his skin?

“Sorry, I have a cold,” I said lamely. I forced a cough into my fist.

“And I have a fire. Come inside!” He clapped a hand on Kian’s shoulder. “You never bring friends. Didn’t know you even had any.”

“I don’t,” he muttered again. He fished a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the smears and cried out as a crumpled piece of wire and wood tumbled out with it. “You’ve crushed my lorgnette!”

“Wha? No.” Ruben plucked the lorgnette from Kian’s hand, pinched each side by the lenses, and gave it a yank to straighten them. The wire nose piece snapped and one lens popped free of the frame.

“You’ve broken them,” Kian shrieked, lurching forward to catch the precious lens. A whisk of his air magic swirled it away from the dirt and into his palm just in the nick of time. “And smudged the lenses!”

“Sorry, Cousin.” Ruben rubbed the back of his neck with a wince. “I just tried to fix?—”

“Give it here!” The junior scholar cradled the pieces of his lorgnette in tender palms and bit down on his trembling lower lip.

“Sorry, Cousin,” the half-ogre apologized again, truly contrite. “I know you like your bits and baubles and books.”

“We’re leaving,” Kian announced.

He spun around, but Emmett and Cody caught each of his arms and halted him from fleeing. He could’ve bowled them over, but he merely hung his head in defeat.

“Hello, I’m Misty,” I introduced. “Kian said you could help us.”

“‘Help.’” Ruben sent the back of his cousin’s head a dark look. “You didn’t come here for the food or to meet Lori or even say hello, did you?”

“I’d like some food,” Emmett said. “It smells absolutely delicious.” The portly man’s smile was so genuinely warm and endearing that the glower faded from Ruben’s face.

“It’s still safe here, isn’t it?” Kian asked a little snappishly, still cradling his broken lorgnette.

“Safe enough,” Ruben grunted. “Though it was safer fifty years ago.”

The junior scholar looked away with a scowl.

“Who’s Lori?” Shari wanted to know. “From the way you said her name, she must be very important to you.”

Quick as a flash, Ruben returned to his jovial self. “She is. And since we don’t get many females visiting us here, I’m sure she’d love to meet you.”

“We would be delighted,” Daphne said.

“So long as there’s booze, I’m down for anything,” Flora said. “After all we’ve been through the last few days, I’d love me a— Hey! Put me down!”

“A garden gnome,” Ruben shouted, holding Flora aloft by the back of her doll costume.

The neckline was now bunched up around her throat, choking her, her raised hemline revealing bare calves and thighs clad in lacy white bloomers.

“Lori’s never seen one of you before.” He spun around, bellowing, “Lori, my sweet! Look what I have for you.”

Daphne, Shari, and I shared a quick, panicked look, then chased the half-ogre over the threshold and into the tavern. There was no telling what an indignant Flora would do. Start a brawl. Rip Ruben’s beard out. Grow a carnivorous clematis in the outhouse for a stinging surprise.

There was not much difference between a fae tavern and a human one—the aesthetic of gleaming hardwood, a bar with beer barrels and bottles stacked behind, round tables and chairs clustering in the common area, a big stone hearth with a crackling fire, the smell of stew and baking bread, candle chandeliers made of antler, a live band in the corner all seemed to be universal.

A bunch of tables were occupied with a startling mixture of high fae, lesser fae, and even fairies.

What was even more surprising was that the tables weren’t segregated; a purple-winged fairy played dice with two lesser fae trappers and three dwarves were in loud but respectful discussion with four high fae merchants.

There were dozens of conversations, clinking tankards and glasses, and smiles aplenty.

Ruben rushed to the bar in massive strides, Flora held out in front of him like something he’d caught terrorizing the hens in the yard.

On the other side of the bar and leaning against the counter edge was a female with ash-blonde hair.

Cropped short on the sides, the longer hair on top swished over the crown of her head like a swan’s wing.

A slender gold cigarette holder was pinched between two fingers of her left hand; a quill in her right hand danced as she scribbled in a ledger.

Her face looked up at the sound of Ruben’s hail, hair shifting, and I stopped short.

Her ears were round.

She was human.

“What’s this now, handsome?” she asked the half-ogre.

She brought the cigarette holder to her lips and drew in a puff from the green blunt.

Instead of a plume of smoke on her exhale, the pale green vapor quickly transformed into a flock of rabbits that leapt hither and tither for three bounds before dissipating.

On her second exhale, it was unfurling ferns.

“A garden gnome.” Ruben thunked Flora down hard on the polished wood of the bar. Not intentionally; the half-ogre seemed oblivious to his strength. “Like the kind in your storybook, but a real one.”

“And one with a smarting fanny.” Flora shot to her feet and rubbed her backside. “I might not be ceramic, but I’m still delicate!”

“Oh,” Lori exclaimed. “She talks!”

“Isn’t she wonderful?” Ruben gushed. “Do you like her? You do, don’t you? I knew it. I’ll ask her owners if she’s for sale.”

“For what now?” the garden gnome roared, green magic bursting from her fists.

Lunging forward, I snatched Flora from the bar and smothered her magic with my own, preventing an outburst that might compromise everything.

In that second, everything changed.

Ruben’s delight vanished like a stone dropped down a well. Flint came to his eyes, and he shifted in front of the human woman, his hand going to his cleaver. “You’re a wielder.”

Well, thistle thorns. There was no point denying it. I hadn’t made a spectacle of myself, but it was only a matter of time before a patron should look our way and note the defensive aura rolling off the half-ogre. We’d be noticed then for sure. And remembered.

Keeping my voice light, I replied, “I am. That shouldn’t be a problem here, right?”

“Depends.” Ruben’s voice was as tight as his bunched muscles. His hand now touched the cleaver handle, fingers poised to clamp tight. “Lower your shirt collar and we’ll see.”

Normally, I would have protested such a thing, but maintaining my modesty seemed more dangerous than complying.

Shifting Flora under my arm, I loosened the ties of the peasant shirt and pulled the collar down to the tops of my breasts.

I lifted my chin for good measure, but I didn’t take my eyes off the half-ogre’s face.

“She’s not Erusian, Ruben.” Kian rolled his eyes. “I could’ve told you that.” To the Redbudians, he said, “They wear a tattoo of their allegiance on the center of their chests. Proudly , I might add, which is why you can stop staring now, Ruben.”

“I don’t care if she’s Erusian,” he said, finally straightening from his scrutinizing lean, “she just can’t be a Blade. And not many wielders come through here who aren’t Blades.”

The Redbudians cast Kian a look, Emmett clearing his throat in a clear prompt for the junior scholar to explain.

“Oh! The Blades are a fanatical faction of the Erusians,” he said quickly.

“You know, the Mac Eru, the Sons of Eru? They’re all wielder disciples of the creation goddess.

The Erusian mark is Eru’s symbol: five sheaves of wheat bundled by a crown.

The Blades fill in the sheaves with extra ink so they resemble daggers or swords. ”

Just like the tattoo on Ler’s chest.

Given Kian’s definition, Blades like Ler would definitely have issue with a human woman in their realm, even one here against her will as a changeling pet. Bad news , I mouthed to my friends. An explanation could come later.

The half-ogre sniffed, not wholly convinced of my innocence yet shifting his attention to Flora. “How much?”

Trapped as she was under my arm, I felt Flora’s lungs expand like a bellows in preparation of the tirade of this half-ogre’s life.

“Honey is our friend,” I said quickly. “Our companion. A freewoman. She’s not for sale because she can’t be sold.”

“Dang straight!” the garden gnome bellowed.