Page 36 of When the Wicked Sing (The Leruna Sea #1)

Soaked to the bone, they sloshed through the rain into Samos long after they were supposed to. The town’s lamps cast the darkened street in gloomy white light.

Dax took a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder at Mari, trailing behind, her eyes staring at the lights. Gods, she’s beautiful. Even with half the forest trapped in her long hair, her bright, curious eyes made him want to step close to her.

Clearing his throat, he stared into the lights, burning his eyes and the ridiculous thoughts in his head. “Electricity,” he said. “Samos is a mining town of lumen crystals. It’s what gives the kingdom electricity.”

Mari craned her head to look up at the tall lamppost. “Do all towns in the fae realm have electricity?”

“No, just a few. Some have hydro-power, though.”

“Like—” Mari stopped herself from saying it aloud as two tired fae hobbled past, but he heard what she meant and nodded .

Kythera utilized the waterfall’s energy to power their village. They didn’t believe in ripping apart the earth for the luxury of eternal light.

Pulling Mari forward, he guided her toward an inn lit with soft-glowing windows.

“The buildings look so … strange,” she commented, staring at the curved stone doors, archways, and roofs darkened with rain.

Dax’s mouth lifted. “Wait till you get inside.”

They walked into the Wandering Wyrm Inn, and Dax watched Mari’s eyes bulge from her skull.

Numerous metal lanterns hung from dark wooden beams along the ceiling, the glow from within each one revealing different types of dragons that used to exist long, long ago.

Golden light beamed from within, casting shadows that mimicked the fierce forms of dragons in flight onto the polished stone walls.

Some lanterns flickered so that it seemed flames licked from the dragons’ mouths, giving them an eerie semblance of life.

Dax stepped across the thick, muddy rug that used to be an azure color toward the massive bar, where an ancient dwarf was refilling a mug with amber liquid.

With a bushy gray beard that flowed down to his chest and thick curling eyebrows that seemed to possess a life of their own, Rufus Bonewyrm embodied the inn’s rich history and enduring spirit.

His eyes, sharp and gleaming like the finest gems, held countless stories of the past, each as captivating as the tales depicted in the shadows cast by the lanterns above.

Resting his hands along the smooth, dark mahogany bar top, Dax waited for Rufus to notice him. He used the time to inspect the wall of bottled spirits, many of which Dax knew were so potent, they were illegal. He knew Rufus mislabeled the bottles so he could hide them in plain sight.

Dax heard Mari gasp from behind him. He turned to see her staring across the wooden tables and chairs filled with patrons at the massive fireplace dominating the other side of the space.

The corner of Dax’s mouth lifted in amusement at her complete enthrallment.

He had to admit it was a wonder to behold.

The fireplace had a mantle and hearth crafted from ancient dragon scales that retained a subtle iridescence even after all this time.

Above the fireplace was a grand tapestry depicting the legendary battle between the last of the great dragons and a legion of fae under General Magnus, the one who had ordered all dragons to be eradicated—a tragic genocide fueled by fear of dominance and power.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Rufus said slowly from behind him. Dax turned in time to see the old dwarf grip his bulging belly and laugh with his deep, gritty voice. “Daxon fuckin’ Ironclad!”

Dax laughed at the last name Rufus had bestowed upon him the time he showed up dying on the inn’s doorstep. He tried to push the memory back into the dark crevices of his mind as he gripped the dwarf’s thick, leathery hand.

The last names of those who were Blessed weren’t necessary since they could reveal which General they were descended from. But for Rufus, last names were the lifeblood of his ancestors. He chose Ironclad for Dax since he had returned from the brink of death—on more than one occasion.

“Still dodging death, I see.”

“Hah! You know me, old as shit and short as shit.” Rufus let out a hearty bellow and slammed a fist against the bar top. “I’m too ornery to go down. I’d kick the sand too much, wake my neighbors from their eternal slumber.” He continued laughing.

Dax glanced over the counter at the wooden platform hidden behind the barkeep, making Rufus appear taller.

“How’s the leg?”

Rufus lifted his wooden left leg and slammed it down on the platform with a mighty grin.

“I’ve only had to replace it twice! The last one was a boating accident—don’t ask.

” He shook his head like it was a hell of a story, and Dax was tempted to pester him for it.

“Who’s the little lass?” Rufus gestured toward Mari, who was inspecting the fireplace up close, running her long fingers along the dragon scales.

“I’m helping her get to Aurelia. We need a place to stay. Got any rooms?”

Rufus shook his head. “Nah, just the cellar. But it’s got a bed. ” He giggled with a wicked gleam in his eye and held up a key.

Ignoring what he was implying, Dax groaned. “Great! We get your sour, smelly bed. What a treat.” Dax made to grab the key—knowing very well that the cellar was where the old fart usually slept off his famous benders—but Rufus held it just out of reach.

He chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound, waggling the key teasingly.

“There are fresh sheets on it, I swear. And”—he leaned in conspiratorially—“there might be some leftover whiskey under the bed. Just mind the spiders—they’re the friendly sort.

” He finally let Dax snatch the key, his grin never faltering.

“You watch over that lass, now. Aurelia’s no place for the faint-hearted. ”

“Already on it.” Dax tipped his head to the old dwarf and walked over to Mari.

“This is amazing. The craftsmanship is …” She covered her mouth with a hand and shook her head. “I can’t get over it. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Rufus did it all himself. Spent years collecting the scales from old battlefields when they were finally safe to walk on.” Dragon flame was known for its undying burn. Even after all that had perished, there were some places where the ground still smoked.

“It’s amazing he’s even still around. How old do you think he is?” Mari asked in amazement.

“Who knows.”

Dax had no idea how the dwarf had survived this long.

Before the Infernal Wars, after the dragons were declared a threat to the General, the dwarves rebelled.

But it was a battle they’d never win. Rufus watched his whole family die and still walked the land where they fought till their dying breaths.

It haunted him, though, beating him with every breath he took.

When the grief ran wild, the dwarf would fall into a drunken depression, drinking enough illegal liquor to kill a horse.

He could’ve traveled up through the Varasova Mountains, where many surviving dwarves had established their own towns.

Still, Rufus stayed close to where his family was buried.

To remember them. Something Dax greatly respected.

“Can you imagine all the stories he could tell? All the tales of glory and dragons flying through the sky …” Mari said wistfully .

“We can stay up here and have a drink, if you like. Rufus will gladly talk your ear off.”

Mari opened her mouth just as someone stepped up behind Dax.

The room went unnaturally quiet. Tension filled the air like a noxious fog. Everyone seemed to hold their breath as Dax slowly looked over his shoulder.

Standing within punching distance stood the blond male from the Crossing.

He smiled. “Surprise.”

The chilling sound of claws scraping metal followed. Then, chaos erupted.