Page 117 of A Curse of Breath and Blood

“Goodnight,” I said into the darkness.

The next morning, we explored the city, finding the sewer entrance.

“We’ll go in here. Then we’ll make our way into the castle.”

Tharan nodded. “Can’t wait. If my subjects could see me now, crawling through the mud, invading a human castle.”

“Don’t forget the shit. There’s shit in the sewers too.”

“Lovely. Let’s eat before I lose my appetite.”

We made our way to the market district, where farmers, like the ones we were pretending to be, sold their goods and where my favorite tavern happened to be located. The Drunken Pug, so named for the pugs Gideon’s mother kept, provided drinks andfood for commoners and travelers alike. Dark corners and hidden alcoves made the tavern a haven for those seeking discretion.

We took a seat at a secluded booth in the back. The old barmaid, Berta, greeted us. Her hair was more silver than I remembered. The effects of a hard life etched across her harsh face.

“Be right there!” she said in a gritty voice.

“Charming little spot,” Tharan said, eying the cobwebs and layer of grease on the table.

Rubbing my hands on the worn wooden table, I felt safe here. “This is where queens go when they don’t want to be spotted. The best shepherd’s pie in Ryft’s Edge.”

Berta came over, greeting us with a cold smile. “What’ll it be?”

“Two shepherd’s pies and two ciders, please,” I said, slapping two silver coins on the table.

Without so much as a glance at us, Berta collected the coins, nodding as she returned to the bar. “I’ll get the ciders.”

“So, this is the kind of place you haunt?” Tharan asked after Berta left.

“A far cry from the hallowed halls of the Alder Palace, I know.”I surveyed my old haunt, the dingy mirrors, the cobwebbed corners—not much had changed in five years. The smell of stale ale and baking bread overwhelmed my senses. “Taverns like this are where I learned how the world worked. I’d listen for conversations I could use to my advantage.”

“Using your…” He tapped his head.

I shrugged. “You’d be amazed at how much information people give away freely.”

Berta arrived with the ciders. We thanked her and clinked our glasses together.

“To friendship,” Tharan said with a wink.

I pushed my mug into his. “To friendship.”

The sound of the bell on the door rang, breaking my nostalgic moment. Two large figures entered, taking seats at the bar.

I froze.

Tharan sat up straight. “What is it?”

I tapped my head and opened a line of communication between us.

Remus and Ramus. The Twins. My tormentors. They work for Erissa.

‘Is there a way out of here without them seeing you?’

Maybe through the kitchen?

My heart pounded in my chest. Any second, they could turn around and see me.

‘I’ll distract them. You run out of the kitchen.’

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