Page 66 of Of Shadow and Moon

Then from the corner of the room, a man steps forward—the tavern’s bartender that I saw when I walked in. He moves quickly, bowing slightly to the kings, his face pale as he gestures toward the ceiling. “My apologies, your majesties,” he says, his voice trembling slightly. “It’s most likely a rat. We’re so close to the Dark Forest that critters often make their way inside the tavern.”

A rat. Of course.

Rey Huehueteotl grunts, clearly annoyed but not entirely convinced. “A rat,” he repeats, his eyes still scanning the ceiling as if he’s trying to spot something. “That sound wasn’t a rat.”

“It happens often, I’m afraid,” the bartender continues, his tone deferential. “We’ve had problems with them for years. This close to the forest, the tavern gets all manner of pests.”

Rey Xiuhtecuhtli narrows his eyes, but slowly, he sits back in his chair. The tension in the room shifts, but it doesn't disappear. They don't fully believe the excuse, but it's enough to make them drop their guard a fraction. Thank the gods.

Rey Tezcatlipoca is still frowning, his eyes darting between the waiter and the shadows. “I don't like being spied on,” he growls, “whatever it may be, a rat or something else.”

The bartender passes out more ale, his hands shaking slightly. “Of course, my lord. We'll make sure the tavern is cleared of any vermin. I'll see to it myself.”

There's a long silence. Rey Chalchiuhtotolin waves a hand dismissively. “Enough. We have more important matters to discuss than rats.”

The room relaxes just slightly, but I don't. Not yet.

I breathe in shallow breaths and wait until the kings turn back to the table, their voices hushed once more, then I start inching my way backward, fighting with myself to make slow motions. I do my best to maneuver myself without making anymore creaks.

I slip through the beams, backing away until the voices below are once more muffled. My hands shake, my heart wants to race, but I force it to slow, and I press on. I have toget out of here before they change their minds, before they decide to search the tavern.

Calm. Quiet. I repeat it over and over again in my mind until finally I have crawled far enough that I feel myself out of danger.

When I reach the point near the exit, I pause, and my breath catches in my throat. I can still hear them speaking, the prophecy, the girl born of moonlight and darkness.

Of the Shadow Reaper.

They are terrified of me, but they don't know who I am.

And if they ever find out, they won't hesitate to kill me.

I lean against the side of the tavern, hidden by the shadows cast by the moonlight, catching my breath before I make the journey back to the academy.

The night air is cold, so I pull the hood tighter around my face. I need to get out of here. I need to disappear before the kings leave the tavern.

I turn back towards the village, about to take my leave, when I see movement around the side door of the tavern. My hand instinctively goes to the blade strapped to my thigh. I squint my eyes to try and get a better look at who it might be. The bartender from before steps into view.

I narrow my eyes, grip my blade a little tighter, and watch him as he draws near with a small, cloth wrapped bread clutched in his hand. My muscles tense, ready to strike if he's a threat, but there's something different about him now. His movements are careful and soft, not someone looking for a fight. When he's close enough, he stops and raises his hands in a gesture of peace, the cloth wrapped bread in a firm grasp.

“You don't need that dagger,” he says calmly, placating me. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

I blink, not relaxing my grip, as he holds the bag towardme. I look into its open flap and then back at him and my thoughts trying to articulate what is going on.

Wait.

How does he know that I am here? Does he know who I am?

“How did you—” I begin to ask, but he cuts me off, his tone smooth and reassuring.

“Ah. Child, I sensed you the moment you entered the village,” he says, keeping his voice low so that it barely carries in the night air. “And you were not quiet up there.” He gives a soft chuckle. He smells like a mage, but I can’t quite tell. If he is, then he must be very old, because the wrinkles next to his eyes and grey hair show that he has lived a very long life.

I step back suddenly wary. “Why? Why would you help me?” He distracted the kings.

The bartender's eyes soften, and he sets the bag of bread down at my feet, keeping his hands up to show he means no harm. “I am an oracle,” he says simply.

I blink, confusion flooding me. “What? No, that’s dead magic. Oracles don’t exist anymore.”

He shakes his head, light dancing in his eyes. “Ah,” He chuckles, “But then that would mean you are extinct too, no? The Shadow Reaper. The collector of souls.”

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