Page 18 of The Eye of the Fifth
She tried to back away, but Rosary’s hand was quick around her wrist. ‘We just want a drink. No trouble. Is there going to be a problem?’
The girl looked down at the hand that gripped her, then at Kyra. She shook her head. ‘What… what can I get you?’
Rosary released her and beamed. ‘Two goblets of wine. Warmed. Sarlalian red if you have it.’
She nodded shyly and hurried away, darting through the busy crowd. ‘We shouldn’t be here,’ murmured Kyra, watching the girl.
‘She won’t say anything,’ Rosary said, waving a dismissive hand.
‘You shouldn’t have frightened her.’
Guilt cast over Rosary’s face, but she didn’t reply. When the girl came back with two steaming goblets, Rosary dropped an extra silver coin into her hand.
‘I… I’m not supposed to keep the tips,’ she stammered.
‘Who’s going to know? Here-’ Rosary leaned forward, plucked the coin from her palm and dropped it instead in her apron pocket and winked.
The girl’s mouth twitched into a coy smile, and then, as though the tip had given her a boost of confidence, asked Kyra in a hushed voice, ‘You’re her, aren’t you? The lone wolf.’
Kyra wrapped her cold hands around the warm goblet and smiled. ‘I am. But you’re far too young to have been at the Arc.’
‘I haven’t, but my brother has.’ Her round, freckle spattered face became solemn. ‘He told me about the last fight. He… he bet that you would lose.’
‘Your brother has a gift for gambling, then,’ Kyra replied sourly.
‘I wish I could fight,’ the girl said in a rushed manner, with the tone of someone who had needed to defend herself in the past. ‘But my father would never allow it. He doesn’t think girls should fight.’
Kyra scoffed, ‘I’d like to fight your father.’
‘Sofia!’ A red-faced, sweaty man shouted from behind the bar. ‘Do I pay you to chat, girl?’
Sofia hastily turned her back on them, dashing back at the command of her unpleasant employer. Kyra watched middle-aged men leer at her adolescent body as she moved through the crowd, and her fists clenched as rage coiled inside her. ‘Thatis why girls should learn to fight. To wipe the smirk from their faces.’
Kyra sipped her wine, trying and failing to feel some sort of peace with her decision to leave. The mention of her brother, however brief it had been on Sofia’s lips, had sent that guilt swirling in her mind all over again. But she couldn’t voice her doubt to Rosary; the decision had been made. And no matter the turmoil, she had to trust that it was the right one.
The plucking sound of a bard’s instrument filled the room. Some of the crowd drunkenly cheered as the musician stood on a chair and addressed his cheerful, carefree audience, striking up an old song thatKyra had heard only a handful of times before, but haunted her regardless.
‘...Avaldale cheered as the fae departed, the humans triumphed in the war they started…’
She swore under her breath. Rosary promptly said, ‘Block it out, Ky. It’s just a stupid song.’
She was being tested. Every second that had passed since her fight with Oslan felt like a horrible, sadistic test. She took a big glug of wine and tried to focus on something,anythingelse.
The wine was good. Sarlarlian, thankfully. It was their favourite from the sunnier side of Vrethian. She could almost taste the sun’s rays in the crushed grapes, could almost-
‘...magic was no more for the arch-eared foe, off to the Valfell woods they go…’
Taru was sure to be sunny too. She’d never lived in a truly warm climate. It had to be better than the gloom of the city, even in Avaldale’s brief summer months-
‘...no fae welcome, though one remained. Winvara Daeiros, the famous fiend…’
She stood, upturning her wine and glaring over a sea of heads at the bard, swinging his instrument back and forth and basking in the laughing crowd before him.
‘Kyra,ignore him,’Rosary warned.
‘...hated by all and loved by none, soon the Daeiros line shall be done…’
‘Don’t! Kyra-!’
