Page 29 of Honour Bound
The barman placed a long glass with a thick purple liquid inside it. I gazed at the glass then pushed it towards the Bull. ‘Drink,’ I ordered.
‘Don’t you trust it?’ he sneered.
‘No, funnily enough I don’t.’
He rolled his eyes and took the glass, took one large gulp and licked his lips. Then he placed it back down and slid it towards me. Without thinking I picked it up and took a sip, then choked and spluttered as it hit my tongue. I pulled away from the bar and doubled over. I was pretty sure my liver screamed.
The Bull smiled for the first time. ‘But that’s funny.’
I wiped my mouth. ‘What is in that thing? It’s strong enough to fell a damn troll.’
‘The Wild Men like it.’
‘That’s hardly a ringing endorsement,’ I grunted, eyeing the glass as if it were about to leap out and attack me.
‘It’s Buckfast, tequila and beer. You have to use the right beer though or it just tastes rotten.’
‘Really.’ I wiped my mouth once more. Buckfast was a fortified wine brewed in England which had gained a loyal following up here. It tasted like cough syrup and packed a punch powerful enough to make even Brochan dance on tables. Lexie would probably love it.
‘So,’ the Bull said, ‘what do you really want? I don’t imagine you’re really concerned about my health.’
‘You’re right. I need you to sponsor me as a competitor for the Games. I need three Clan Chieftains to okay my entry.’
He threw back his head and laughed, a ringing guffaw that made even the bustling servants stop and stare. ‘You? You’re entering the Games?’
I put my hands on my hips. ‘What of it?’
He laughed again. ‘You’ll be eaten alive. There’s a reason only Sidhe are allowed to compete. It’s too difficult for anyone else.’
‘Hello? In case you’ve forgotten, I’m as Sidhe as you are.’
His lip curled. ‘In name only. You’ve not been brought up like everyone else. You don’t really know what it means to be like us.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘You were my guardian,’ I pointed out. ‘Any gaps in my knowledge are your fault.’
‘I didn’t bring you up. I gave you a roof and nothing more.’
I drew myself up. ‘You gave me a shitty childhood, a servant’s apron and regular beatings.’
‘I didn’t lay a hand on you.’
‘No,’ I shot back, my anger growing. ‘You couldn’t even take that responsibility, could you? You got others to do that part.’
‘Your father was a homicidal maniac. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’
‘My father won the last Games,’ I spat. ‘And you’d better watch yourself, Cul-Chain,’ I added, using his true name.
The Bull froze before darting a nervous look around him in case anyone had heard. He was fortunate that the barman was engaged in conversation at the other end of the bar and no one else was nearby. With slightly less vigour than before, he spoke again. ‘Even with your Gift, you’ll be no match for the others.’
He still thought all I could do was teleportation. Fool. ‘All the same.’ My voice hardened. ‘You will openly support me in this.’
‘You might have my vote,’ he sneered, ‘but you won’t get anyone else’s.’
‘Aifric has already given me his support.’ At least the Steward had done it publicly so he couldn’t withdraw it, no matter how much he might want to.
‘That’s still not enough.’
I leaned in towards him, enjoying his flinch. ‘Watch this space.’
