Page 17 of The Eye of the Fifth
Kyra didn’t need any more convincing. ‘Lead the way.’
The Drunken Crow was the furthermost tavern from the heart of the city, closer to the Upper States, where the nobles and too-rich citizens of Avaldale dwelled. The grand manor houses were more like estates, each with a significant amount of surrounding land. Right at the end, with snaking ivy climbing its walls and an overgrown, unkempt garden out front, was Kyra’s family home.
It was perhaps the closest she’d been to them in a long time; very scarcely had she ventured this far out of Avaldale’s city centre, and even from the town's edge, the Daeiros estate was clearly visible on the highest point of the hill. Up until now, she’d deliberately given it a wide berth.
Out of sight, out of mind.
A man a little older than both Kyra and Rosary stood outside the tavern under the drooping awning, smoking a pipe and swaying with a jug of ale in his grubby hand. A ruthless mercenary who roamed the streets as though he owned them. Ironic really, for he was not a very good mercenary at all. Kyra was sure he had never been sober longer than a night’s sleep, nor did he have much of anything to his name aside from the putrid clothes on his back.
His own fault, for most of his earnings went on ale, whores and brain-addling roots.
Rosary linked her arm through Kyra’s and strode toward the tavern door, but Cristian Bates stepped in their way, puffing smoke in their faces. Tobacco and ale and Goddess knows what else ensnared her senses.
She really did not have the patience for his bullshit.
Cristian peered under Rosary’s hood, and his roughly shaven face split into a yellow-toothed smile.
‘Rosary Talbot,’ he said, then cocked his head to look at Kyra. His smile widened. ‘And her little fae pet.’
‘Let us pass,’ Rosary said in a bored voice. ‘You smell like the rear end of a dog.’
Cristian surveyed her and took a long puff of his pipe, blowing the thick smoke in their faces again. ‘Sharp tongue. Wonder what else it can do.’
Rosary mimed throwing up. ‘I think I’d rather cut it out.’
Kyra inadvertently snorted. Cristian’s gaze flickered to her, then swiftly back to Rosary, and though he was still creepily smiling, there was underlying irritation to it now. ‘You’d rather lick a fae cunt than suck my cock, is that it?’
Rosary laughed heartily. ‘No, no, no, you misunderstand me. I’d rather lick anything, literallyanythingthan suck your crusty little cock. Now, move out of our way.’
The mercenary’s smile vanished. He stepped closer to Rosary, standing at least a foot taller. Her nose wrinkled as his breath washed over her. ‘You’re a whore, Rosary Talbot,’ he hissed menacingly. ‘A dirty little orphan whore.’
Kyra’s restraint was at the end of its tether. ‘Back away, Cristian. I’m warning you.’
His eyes did not move from Rosary’s face as he shot back, ‘Was I talking to you, slut?’
‘Funny, that’s what your mother called me last night.’
A thick, red blush crept into his cheeks as he glared at her, then he moved, his right hand outstretched with throttling intent. But he was drunk and clumsy and Kyra’s dagger was unsheathed and precariously placed at his groin before his fingers could even brush her skin. Her other hand wrapped around his wrist in an iron grip and as he tried to pull away, her fingers dug deeper, crushing the skin hard enough that she knew it would leave a beautiful bruise.
He growled in pain, but Kyra leaned toward him. ‘The way I see it is, you can continue spouting your mouth, calling us names like a fucking coward, and my blade might just slip and cut something that you, for some baffling reason, deem to be very valuable. Or you can shut your stupid mouth, move out of our way and I’ll let you keep your favourite toy attached to your body.’ She smiled sweetly, blood pounding in her ears. Despite the ultimatum she’d given him, the urge to flick her wrist and cause himrealpain was overwhelming. ‘Which will it be?’
She could almost see the catalogue of words he was dying to call her in his muddy eyes, but his concern for his appendage kept his mouth tightly sealed. After a lengthy time returning his hateful glare, Kyra lifted her blade away, satisfied with his submission.
He stepped to the side to let them pass, quietly seething.
Rosary linked Kyra’s arm once more, then at the tavern’s threshold, she threw a tinkling, amused statement over her shoulder: ‘Good choice, Mr Bates. No one will be able to suck your cock if you don’t have one.’
Once they were inside the crowded, clammy tavern, and seated at a vacant alcove as far from people as possible, Rosary turned to Kyra and said with acute admiration, ‘That… was spectacular.’
Kyra smirked. ‘How much do you think I hurt his ego?’
‘I’d say his masculinity is about as small as his cock right now.’ She wistfully sighed. ‘I just wish there’d been more people around to witness it.’
Kyra frowned at her. ‘Please tell me you haven’t seen it?’
‘Goddess,no.’Rosary gave an involuntary shudder. ‘But sometimes you can just tell.’
A young girl approached their table, no more than fifteen, a dirty white apron wrapped around her waist and masses of frizzy red hair atop her head. She took one look at Kyra and her mouth dropped fractionally open, eyes widening with fear or awe. Kyra couldn’t tell which.
