Page 12 of Stolen Fates
The tavern maid had been staring at him all night as he played dice with the locals, and he couldn’t help but give her all his attention when she approached with more wine.
“I wouldn’t trust this one.” She gestured to the scrawny man across the table wrapped in a thin travel cloak that needed patching. “He’s known to cheat.”
Nik flashed his most charming smile—one he knew brought out his dimples. The maid responded by leaning even closer, giving him a full view of her cleavage.
“And what makes you think I’m playing fair?” he answered with a wink.
She grinned in return, biting her lower lip, then moved on to the next table.
He scanned the tavern as was his habit, looking out for any sign of trouble. He found only the usual drunk patronsstumbling by the entrance, the stink of their unwashed bodies assaulting his nose.
Working as a sellsword for Rasennan merchants was no easy labour, and he was grateful for a hot meal and a brief respite after countless days on the road. The problem wasn’t dispatching the brigands who attacked his client’s laden wagons—his Gift and sword skills took care of them swiftly—but dealing with the merchants themselves. Thesanthei, his latest client, had treated Nik as little more than a servant while they’d travelled to the provincial city of Bruna, assigning him tasks beyond his guard duties. At least the pay had been more than satisfactory and had allowed Nik to take a few days’ rest in the city before searching for another job.
Since he’d left Achaea and was no longer welcome there, he was content to travel from one province to another and steer clear of the Rasennan legions tasked with maintaining order within the Empire. Neighbouring provinces were a hotbed of rebellion, but the city of Bruna boasted an extended period of peace, its Rasennan nobles thriving on lucrative trade networks spanning across the Empire.
Once Nik had crossed the city gates, he’d gone straight to the bath house. The Rasennans might be a bunch of arrogant fools who thought themselves superior to all others and who sought to dominate the lands of the Great Sea, but they’d also introduced several improvements to the provinces they’d conquered—including hot thermal baths, which Nik was particularly fond of.
He’d spent the day soaking in the steamy pool, keeping low in the water to conceal the tell-tale mark etched on his pectoral, an indicator to all that he possessed a Gift.
Relaxing had proven difficult, however, when the locals’ animated chatter about the latest fights in Bruna’s arena had reverberated throughout the cavernous room. As soon as he’d entered the city, the amphitheatre where games andbattles occurred had been hard to miss. The circular building dominated all others, its towering stone walls visible from all angles. The Rasennan games featuring warrior battles and exotic animals were famous throughout the Empire, but Nik had no interest in watching men die. He’d seen enough death as a child in Achaea at the hands of Rasennan soldiers and knew that it was anything but entertainment.
A scuffle drew him from his thoughts. Three men carrying weapons at their belts were shouting at a local who’d spilled his drink on them. The tavern owner and maid were trying to appease the situation, to no avail. Nik watched until one of the men, a brawny bald thug with a pock-marked face, grasped the maid.
“I heard the women here didn’t only serve food and drink.” The bald thug pulled her flush against him with a laugh.
Beneath her honey-coloured curls, the maid’s face paled. Her gaze shifted to the owner, who had his hands full with the other two men.
“Come on, darling. Let’s go to the room upstairs.” He dragged her across the tavern, a lecherous expression on his features.
Nik shot his leg out, halting him. “I think you have the wrong kind of establishment. The brothels are down the street.”
“What’s it to you, Western scum?” the thug spat, his free hand reaching for the pommel of his sword.
With his blond hair, Nik was often mistaken for a Westerner. He didn’t bother correcting the idiot.
“Nothing, except you’re disturbing everyone who’s trying to enjoy their evening.” Nik got to his feet, standing at least a head taller than the thug. The raucous atmosphere of the tavern fell quiet, all eyes on the confrontation unfolding at its centre. “How about you unhand the lady, and you leave with your friends?”
The maid glanced between them, fear flickering across her face.
“We just got here,” the bald thug snarled at Nik.
“Tough.”
The air between them crackled with tension. The thug didn’t relent, his features twisting into a vicious snarl. “How about you taste the steel of my sword?”
Nik sized up the bald idiot before him, his gaze sweeping him from head to toe. He’d met plenty of ugly thugs like him on the road. Bastards who thrived on preying on the weak. Yet, when faced with a stronger opponent, most turned out to be all bark and no bite.
“Is that a threat?” Nik’s tone darkened, and the thug retreated a step. “Because you’d better be absolutely sure you can back it up before you throw those kinds of threats around. You just never know who might be on the receiving end of one.”
Sweat beaded the thug’s pale face. His nervousness was palpable, eliciting a subtle smirk from Nik.
Noticing the exchange, the bald idiot’s two friends edged closer, flanking him on either side. With any luck, they’d have more sense and rein in their friend.
“Semni, who the fuck is this?” the one on the left asked.
Or perhaps not.
Nik quirked an eyebrow. “My name is Nik.”
