Chapter 2
Cyrus
A fter a visit to Romulus in the watchtower to see how the weather will be in the next few days, I walk through my pub’s doors. Today, The Gold Coin is a riot of noise, the opposite of both Kaya’s bakery and Rom’s tower.
What in the Blessed Stones is going on?
Two goblins and a pixie are strumming lutes near the stairs. A boisterous crowd is gathered at the bar top, raising cups and laughing. Halvard’s worried, green face shows above everyone else’s heads.
“Eh! While I adore this kind of nonsense, it’s a little early, folks. What is happening?” I ease my way through the customers and join the orc.
No one seems to hear me, though. Behind the bar, Halvard is dishing out drink tokens—small, wooden discs we give to people when we have disappointed them in some way or done something I really enjoyed, like singing a good song during the dinner hour.
I grab Halvard’s arm, and he turns to face me. The crowd chats up a storm behind him, and already quite a few of them are deep in their cups.
“Why are you giving out free drinks at ten in the morning?” I ask Halvard.
“Well, I told that man there,” he says, jerking his chin toward a thin human male with a beard who is talking to a circle of folks dressed in a similarly bright fashion as him, “that he could have a token because he wanted to talk to you, the owner, and you weren’t here. I guess word spread, then everyone was demanding to speak to you and asking for tokens and it just got out of hand.”
I chuckle and pat Halvard’s gigantic arm. “All right. You take ten, and I’ll do something with this wild lot.”
“Thanks, Cyrus. Sorry.”
Halvard paves a path through the gambling that’s started up—a dice affair that appears to require three tables and the bar top too.
I raise my hands and let out a small stream of fire over everyone’s heads. The music drops off. A woman yelps and grabs the man beside her while all eyes find me.
“You’ve had your fun with Halvard the Generous, which is forever his title as of today. The bar and kitchen are now closed until noon. Either pay up and be on your merry way or settle yourselves by the hearth there. Trustan, set some pitchers of water about the room. Cups, too.”
Trustan calls out, “Yes, Master Cyrus!”
The customers ease into chairs, their conversation and laughter more subdued now. It’s nice having fire to control a rowdy room. Works every time.
As I tidy up the bar, washing cups and returning bottles to the shelves, I wonder if other dragon shifters use their fire in ways like that. How often do they shift into their wild form?
I’ve never seen one of my kind in any other cities, villages, or towns either, and it’s not for lack of trying. I head over to Kingstown once a moon to have drinks with a few old friends, and though every type of creature that exists seems to walk those fancy streets, there isn’t a dragon shifter anywhere to be found.
I don’t have much time to ruminate. Heading to the kitchen, I snag Halvard and we start slicing cheese and bread for the lunch rush. Once noon hits, Halvard takes orders and I dole out drinks at the bar. Trustan serves our spiced spring onion pottage, Kaya’s perfectly chewy bread, and some of the fine Leafshire cheddar I purchase regularly from the family over the river.
The brightly dressed thin human male approaches the bar, his gaze peppering my face. “Ah, Master Cyrus.”
“Yes?”
“I’m Rickon DeFleurtis.” He holds out his hand and I shake it. “I was wondering if I could have a word with you.”
He looks like trouble and not the fun kind. “Sure, but what about?”
I hand two cups of watered white wine to Halvard, who takes them to the table by the hearth. The pub door opens and it’s Kaya with the extra baguettes. My stomach tightens, and I’m not sure if it’s the scent of the freshly baked loaves making me feel so excited or her glance my way. Her light brown eyes are exactly the shade of a good whiskey.
I lead the man to a small round table by the front door. Most people ignore this spot because it’s farther from the bar, the fire, and the music, so it’s a good table for actual conversation. Kaya always says it’s her table though she rarely stays for longer than a few minutes. My boisterous pub isn’t her favored type of environment.
We take seats opposite one another and he removes his dumb, yellow hat. It’s a slouchy thing with a sad-looking feather. His eyes are sincere as he takes a breath.
“So you’re a dragon shifter.”
I lift an eyebrow. “I’m aware.”
DeFleurtis laughs. “Your kind isn’t often seen in these parts, correct? I’ve met a couple in the northern regions, but not in the southern areas of the Veiled Kingdoms.”
My heart thumps loudly and I swallow. “I haven’t met any. At all.”
“I’ve taken up dragon study as a hobby.”
“How nice for you. I hope we are more interesting than say knitting or collecting stamps.”
Laughing, he bumps a hand on the table. “You are.”
“Color me relieved.”
“Did you know that the castle ruins on the mound outside Leafshire Cove’s walls used to belong to dragon shifters?”
I blink. I had not known that. Did anyone know that? Did everyone but me know that? When I don’t muster a reply, he continues on.
“It surprised me too when I found the records in the queen’s library in Kingstown,” DeFleurtis says.
“The queen’s library has information on dragon shifters?”
“Just the record of that site. Sadly, I haven’t found a single other mention of your kind in any library I’ve visited. But the old castle’s construction documents were signed by a landowner named Dragorian Sunscale, and his kind designation was dragon shifter, as per the king’s scribe at the time.”
“Hell of a name.”
“It is! I plan to do some researching while I’m in town. Would you like to go with me?”
A chill dances down my back. “You don’t mean to the ruins, do you?”
“Of course.”
“That area is cursed.”