Page 20 of A Kingdom of Lies

Most notably, it reminded me of my father. Reminded me what I was here to do.

I kept my head down and hood up as I navigated my way through the wall of bodies before me. To my luck, it was rather dark in the tavern. Only the light of the hearth gave it a warm glow that barely covered the inside of the low-ceilinged building.

The seat I found was in the far corner of the main room, surrounded by shadows. It gave a perfect view to the bar and the countless familiar faces of the barmaids who rushed around pouring pints of amber ale and flutes of more piss-coloured liquids. I caught glimpses of people I recognised as I studied the crowds before me, people my father had worked beside, even those who had treated me with some respect as I’d spent evenings helping behind the bar or cleaning the dirtied mugs and glasses.

Being half-fey never bothered the people of Grove. And if it did, I wasn’t aware. My father protected me from it. That was his legacy. I was under the impression my father’s reputation kept the hate at bay, in this village at least.

Now only I was left to protect myself.

I gripped onto the table as the ghost of my father suddenly played out before me. I imagined him knocking back jugs of beer with friends as he did frequently during a shift. I blinked and saw another taunting memory, one of him carrying a fresh barrel full of drink across one shoulder, not a bead of sweat brave enough to soak his brow.

This had been a home away from home for him. A place, I could now imagine, that took his mind off my mother in the years after she’d walked away from him – from us.

A distraction.

There was no fighting the single tear which trickled down my cheek. Until a hard-edged voice called through the haze, snatching my attention. “If you don’t want a bloody drink then shift yourself, boy. That seat can be for another who’s willing to part with the coin.” I didn’t notice the person standing before me until their foot kicked into my boot, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Sorry,” I spluttered. “Yes, a drink. I’ll have a drink.”

At least it would dampen this pain.

“I’m not a mind reader. Ale, beer, spirits?” The barkeep leaned in, peaking beneath my hood. “Name your poison – Robin? Is that you under there?”

I pulled away as the woman’s calloused fingers threw back my cloak. “Why didn’t you say it was you?”

There was no point averting my eyes from the speaker anymore, not since my face was exposed, and the two points of my ears with it. Looking up I took in the entire vision of the rose-pinched cheeks and bundle of grey hair.

“Mable.” I forced a smile in greeting, rubbing my cheek as though it had an itch, and not because I wanted to clear any evidence of the tear away. “How’ve you been?”

Mable had worked in King’s Head for as long as Father had. She was a short, round and powerful woman, cheeks speckled with red veins and eyes heavy from age. Mable had a way of always fiddling with her apron, worn and stained from overuse; the stains across its material told stories of the pub’s history far more than any book would have.

“Overworked and under-appreciated. The usual.” She punched out a fist, knocking it into my shoulder. “Where’s your bastard father? Henry hasn’t come to work for weeks. Got the rest of us sorry lot covering his shifts whilst he is off galivanting around doing who knows what, with who knows who.”

My fake and forced smile faltered. Now was the time for me to lie and pass off my father’s absence with a made-up story. But I couldn’t bring myself to.

“He’s gone,” I said through a lump in my throat.

I could see from Mable’s expression that she didn’t know what to make of my comment. Her lips twitched as though she was going to laugh, but then she caught the lack of emotion on my face and she stopped herself.

“Well, wherever he has gone to, tell him he’ll be lucky to have his job back when he returns. Boss is fuming. Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to my gripes. What are you having?”

“Ale,” I choked out as grief wrapped hands around my throat and squeezed. “Half-pint.”

It was my father’s favourite drink.

Mable nodded, looking everywhere but back at me. As she turned from the table I reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Aren’t you going to ask whereIhave been?”

If she had noticed Father’s disappearance, then surely she’d noticed mine.

“It’s not my business worrying about what young lads get up to,” Mable replied sharply, as though she rushed out her response because she simply did not want to answer it truthfully. “Two ticks of a lamb’s tail, and I’ll be back with that drink.”

Mable tugged her wrist from my hand. I could’ve sworn she muttered something else beneath her breath as she waddled away from the table like a stiff goose.

Maybe I should’ve raised my hood, but there was no point since those near me had caught a glimpse. The patrons of the pub didn’t look at me in the same way those in Ashbury had. This was different. They recognised me as I recognised the majority of them. Each stare was full of wonder and confusion, but mostly shock more than anything. They were surprised to see me. It shone across their wide, untrusting stares as clear as looking through polished glass. It had me sitting straight with my hand only a hairbreadth from the dagger at my waist, the very dagger Erix had given me.

Erix. I looked down at the table as my head spun for a moment.Father.My stomach jolted aggressively, the thought of them both making me want to vomit across the table. Pinching my eyes closed, I focused on breathing. If I didn’t, I would’ve given in to the anger that itched to be released, but the time was not right.

Not yet.

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