Page 42 of Faerie Fate
Grove.
“This place is supposed to be Thornwood’s Arrow,” Mike said under his breath.
“Not yet, it’s not.” I shot him a warning glance before pushing open the door.
Bronwen stepped in first, and this time of the day the only other person in the room was the barkeep himself. He eyed Mike with particular suspicion despite the wide, cheery smile Bronwen flashed his way.
She stepped aside and I drew closer to her, the three of us nestled on the doorstep. Mike’s green eyes took in the one-room tavern.
“We’d like three rounds, please.” Bronwen reached into her pocket and pulled out several gold coins.
She walked to the bar top and placed the money in a neat pile.
The barkeep eyed the money and spat on the floor. “Fake coins? What are you playing at?” He laughed. “Get out of here.”
Mike and I shared a look. My heart sank.We moved too soon.
We weren’t prepared for any of this, not the clothing or the currency, nothing. It didn’t matter how good I felt. Money wasnotthe same in this time period. We should have guessed. We were in such a hurry to get here that we hadn’t stopped to think about the details, the potential obstacles.
Stupid.
Bronwen sputtered as her usual confidence took a hearty blow and left a few pieces behind. “I, well, we’re not?—”
Mike cleared his throat. “Here. Try this.”
Instead of coins, he tossed a handful of colorful bills, the currency of the castle, and attempted to slide it across the bar toward the man.
The fae’s face turned a delightful cherry red and smoke curled form his ears as he reared back. “What the hell are you playing at? You’re trying to scam me with whatever fake money this is?” His voice bellowed louder with each word. “Get out of my tavern. We’re not here for games. We’re here for cash. An exchange of goods.”
He spat on the floor again and this time, where the spittle touched, the wood floor pitted like he’d dripped acid over it.
“This isn’t a game, sir,” I insisted.
Drinks had been a bad idea. The tavern might have been a good place to start if we’d been prepared, but getting barred from the premises cut us off.
I backed away slowly with my hands in front of me to shield me from the way the barkeep’s mouth curled into a snarl. Blood drained from Bronwen’s face and Mike said nothing.
Something shifted in the air between us until it went tight enough to shatter and panic brushed against the inside of my chest. “We’re sorry to bother you, sir.”
Rather than being appeased, the fae male grew in stature, fissures of magma cracking in the skin of his face as his temper boiled. “I’ve had enough of youngsters like you coming in here and attempting to weasel me out of drink and food. Have you no shame? Fake coins? Fake bills? Are you enemies of the crown? Are you here to scam me?”
A calm, cool voice sounded from the left. “I don’t believe they’re trying to weasel you out ofanything, Sylvester. Calm down before you hurt yourself.”
A young woman in a black cloak stepped up and held out her fingers, something clutched in them. Sylvester automaticallymimicked the gesture but with his palm turned upright and she dropped several round pieces of wood into his waiting hand.
“There.” The woman’s chuckle hummed in her throat but the hood of her cloak obscured her features. “I’m happy to purchase drinks for these people, who look as though they’ve had quite a long journey. Don’t they look tired to you, Sylvester?”
Her hand disappeared into the blackness of her cape in a sweeping, graceful gesture.
The money did little to calm Sylvester’s appearance. The cracks of lava still glowed along his features but at least his ears weren’t smoking any longer. He glanced from her to us, watching us as though he thought we might destroy his place of business on a whim. He’d draw first blood, I had no doubt.
Then he seemed to go eerily still. “Fine.” He bobbed his head. “Fine with me.”
The way the woman stood, her posture and presence…she was clearly a warrior of some kind. Not to mention the glimpse of a sword sheath and chain mail underneath her cloak. Her fingers skimmed along the glinting hilt of her sword before the cloak swished and cut off our view of the weapon.
Once the drinks slid across the bar, she turned to us and pulled back her hood, letting it drop onto her shoulders. My tongue tied itself in knots.
The woman was stunning, high fae, with sharp angled cheekbones. I’d never seen a more beautiful person in my life. Cornsilk gold hair swept away from her temples in a loose braid, leaving wisps of baby fine hair floating around her heart-shaped face.
