I glanced at the darkest corner of the tavern, an area previously used for storage. The morning after my arrival, the jerk with wings, aka Broody-Britches, cleared out the boxes and set up a small table and chair there, telling me he wasn’t leaving until I was Drae and could protect myself. For the first time, I wished I hadn’t stacked up the boxes around his table to block him from view. I didn’t like him watching me, but I did feel safe when he was there. Not that I’d admit that to anyone. One more day, and I’d be invincible, and Lord Nightmare would finally leave me in peace. Maybe then, my heart would forget.
I glanced back at the trio. They were just three ginormous rich people looking for a meal. My fear was irrational, left over from what I’d been through. I turned for the kitchen, and my heart skipped a beat as the man called out above the noise of the tavern, “I heard the king found a Phaetyn. Is Irdelron keeping her at the palace?”
Silence descended, and I pretended I hadn’t heard, scurrying into the kitchen as various responses flooded the room.
“Irdelron ain’t doing nothing. He’s dead.”
“Agatha from Harvest Zone Nine said the potatoes there are huge.”
I smiled. Yeah, those were my potatoes, al’right.
Perhaps without meaning to, the three strangers had declared their foreignness to the crowd. There were plenty of people in Verald still talking about the wonder of finding a Phaetyn. A tiny percentage of the population from the Penny Wheel slums might not know Irdelron was dead, but the rich Money Coil and well-to-do Inbetween knew for sure; the conversations in the markets were flooded with talk of the king’s death.
I was grateful Dyter told me to dye my hair again. Grateful he’d found an herbalist who could concoct an ointment to make my eyes look more blue than violet. Grateful he’d told king-to-be, Caltevyn, I wasn’t coming back to the castle.
I wasn’t grateful Lord Black Wings was really the one telling Dyter to pass on all this advice and having the ointment made. But I could deny the Drae was involved if I only had to talk with Dyter. If I had to deal with him directly, no way. I had standards.
My hands shook as I reached for the ladle, and the talk in the tavern swelled. I willed them to be strong and still, but when I upset the first bowl of soup and sent it tumbling to the polished wood floor, I closed my eyes and had to lean against the benchtop for support. If I couldn’t convince myself I was fine, who else would believe me?
“They’re Druman,” Tyrrik said from behind me.
I’d recognize his voice anywhere, had recognized it in many places: the pits of a dungeon, the delirium of heat stroke, in his secret Drae lair.
“From the emperor. Several of his mules left the castle in Verald to report when Irdelron first discovered you were Phaetyn. These ones are here to gather more information for Emperor Draedyn. That’s how he operates; first he sends out his minion Druman to test the strength of his enemy, and then he uses someone else to crush them, like ordering Irdelron to deal with my kin.”
I remained with my back to him, afraid if I turned around, I wouldn’t be able to conceal the fear his words instilled in me. I wasn’t going back into a dungeon cell. Ever. I’d rather die. I wouldn’t be a slave to anyone ever again. I wasn’t strong enough to go through that twice. Once had put me here, thinking up marketing slogans and happy to serve ale. Twice would be the end of me.
“He doesn’t know the rest—about . . . your other side, but he will sense your existence once you come into your Drae powers. Emperor Draedyn is the alpha of our kind.”
The alpha Drae. Apparently they had alphas. Mistress Moons. Every morning, I wanted to fool myself this nightmare life would end with the sunbreak. But it hadn’t. And I still only had one good source for information. I let my standards slip because I wanted to understand more than I wanted my pride. “Will he know I’m Drae and Phaetyn?”
Tyrrik sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe not right away, but he’s not an idiot.”
Great. I ground my teeth. Because one twisted ruler wasn’t enough. I wondered if Gemond and Azule’s rulers were as bad as Irdelron had been. Probably. “Will he come for me?”
“I’ve never known the emperor to get personally involved. He sends humans to fight in his war and uses his kings and Druman to do everything else. But you are a female Drae. He will go to great lengths to secure you, any length. And he might come anyway . . . if he is not satisfied with the reports of Caltevyn.”
“Might?”
“Might,” Tyrrik replied.
But he’d definitely come to Verald to check out the new female Drae in town by the sounds of it. I sighed and faced Lord Black-Wing-Broody-Britches-Nightmare-Man. Putting my hand on my hip, I asked, “What exactly can an alpha Drae do?”
Tyrrik licked his lips, his eyes widening a fraction. His gaze radiated an intensity I was all too familiar with, and he stepped toward me.
I scowled in response. He shouldn’t be that surprised I was talking to him. Who else was I going to ask?
He froze, and his face went blank. In a flat tone, he said, “The alpha can sense other Drae, their whereabouts. Once we are sworn to him, he can bend us to his will.”
“Hey,” a man yelled from the tavern room. “Where’s the wench?”
My fear shifted to anger in a split second. Wench was one of my least favorite terms. Anger steadied my body, and I ladled the stew into the bowls on the counter, grabbed a handful of the chunky soup that had fallen on the floor and added a bit into each bowl, and dropped them on a tray.
The inky-eyed Drae stood only a couple feet away, studying me with his impassive mask on. His sculpted features were carved in stone, his lean muscled frame still as the night. His skin was the color of Meemaw’s burnt sugar, and he was larger than any man in the tavern, probably because he wasn’t just a man but also a dragon with huge black wings and fangs. As I stared, scales erupted on his chest, the ebony gems flecked with vibrant blue, peeking from the V in his aketon. He continued to study me, his gaze dropping to my lips again before returning to my eyes.
“What?” I snapped. “Do you want me to get you a bowl of soup too?”
He shifted so he was out of my way and didn’t answer. Of course not. He didn’t lower himself to explanations. Not even when he pretended to be three different people. I felt his gaze on me as I brushed past, all the way out the door.
Seemed like everyone was pretending these days.
2
I set the bowls in front of the Druman, too angry at the Drae I’d just left to be afraid. The three of them were looking over at the two young men, my regulars, with an intensity that bordered on creepy. Pushing my lips into a smile as insincere as it was uncomfortable, I asked the Druman, “Was there anything else you needed?”
Dyter was still at the bar, pouring a refill for one of my customers. His features twisted with concern, the scar he’d gotten while fighting in the war blanching, as he watched the three men. Dyter was king-to-be Caltevyn’s right-hand man and knew a great deal more than he let on. He’d probably recognized these guys as soon as they entered and had been worrying ever since. As if that ever helped anyone.
The mumbler said something about meat, but the other two shook their heads. None of them reached for the bowls I’d given them, let alone glanced my way.
Like a festering wound I couldn’t leave alone, I asked, “Do you want to pay in coin, or do you have something to trade?”