Page 83 of Wrath of the Fae Queen
Silvan recoils violently. “Leave. Now. I can’t stand to look at you.”
Jasper pulls back as though slapped. “You’re right. Coming here was a mistake. At some point, Silvan, you’re going to have to learn to tolerate being in the same room as me.”
He turns on his heel, pushes his way through the crowd and crashes out the door. Silvan doesn’t move a muscle as he watches Jasper disappear. But the moment that door slams shut, he leaps.
For a moment I think he is coming for me because I forced him into that exchange, but he charges right past me and into the bar. A glass shatters and multiple bottles clang to the ground as he rummages around and finally pulls out a sealed bottle of dragon fire. The spirit within glows faintly orange as it sloshes against the glass.
I groan.He is going to completely write himself off with that.
Silvan leaves the bar and falls into an armchair in a dark, isolated corner of the room. His long strawberry-blond hair is in disarray around his face, obscuring the shaved side of his head. He flips open the cork and takes a swig straight from the bottle, his features pinching as the strong liquor rolls down his throat.
I approach slowly, like I would a wild beast that might attack, and take a seat on the couch beside him, offering support in my presence.
“Don’t say a fucking thing to me. I don’t want to talk about it.” He doesn’t even look at me, just takes another swig.
I hold up my hands. “I won’t say a thing.”
We fall into silence as he stares ahead, brooding deeply. I watch my people from afar, dancing, singing, drinking and laughing with each other.
A loud banging resounds on the door and everyone within the tavern freezes.
The pounding continues until a masculine voice follows it. “Open up! We know someone is in here. We can see the lights flickering through the windows. Open up!”
I curse under my breath. The entire tavern has been warded heavily against sound leaking out, but the windows aren’t boarded up enough to stop the glow of our fire orbs seeping out.
I stand on the nearest table and clap my hands loudly so everyone turns to me. “I want everyone out the back. You know the drill. Clean up behind you. Edmund, answer the door when we are all hidden.”
There is a great flurry of movement as people collect the many glasses and bottles spread out everywhere, funneling up the stairs. There they will wait at the ready, in case a fight breaks out and they are needed.
The banging shakes the door again, then a different voice calls out. “Open for the Truth Templars, or we will assume you are here illegally and burn this establishment to the ground!”
Edmund, Caitlin and Keira all transform into their high fae forms, without the primal features, and Keira manipulates her appearance enough that she is almost unrecognizable. Maeve has pointed tips glamoured on her ears. Both Drake and Zinnia remain behind and transform into redheaded members of the same family, their abilities almost as strong as those who have been living among humans.
I am the last to leave, hiding within the corridor just beyond the bar, my hand on the hilt of my sword. Glamour has never been my strong suit and the Templars will see through any wield I craft.
Edmund opens the door to reveal a gang of Torin’s heavily armed thugs on the threshold.
My heart thunders erratically as my father slowly pulls open the door to reveal two dozen Truth Templars. They wear body-fitting chainmail armor, crimson surcoats with splits at the sides over the top, and capes at their backs. A wilted black rose, the sigil of Titania’s house, takes up each of their entire chest panels, and belts wrap around their waists with swords or maces sheathed at their sides.
Many wear bucket helmets with dying roses embossed across their surfaces. It is impossible to see their eyes or expressions behind them. Torin is not among their number. He is far too arrogant to wear a helmet and the leader of this group is too short to be him. Besides, he has no need to hide his identity when all know he is the mastermind behind the Truth Templars’ crimes.
They are an imposing sight.Larger than life and completely impersonal.
An evil militia with official backing and immunity for their actions.
The Templar who pounded on our door with a metal gauntlet hard enough to fracture the wood looks my father up and down, then toward myself and Caitlin as we hover behind him. Only the exaggerated movements of his head tell me where his eyes are cast.
“Are you the Winter citizens who own this establishment?” he demands, hatred and disgust thick in his voice.
“I purchased this tavern from a fleeing couple a week ago. I intend to build the business with my family.” My father waves an arm to indicate the rest of us.
“This is a bad neighborhood. A lot of crime here. We are slowly stamping it out,” the man says in an almost accusatory tone as he ducks his head into the room to give it a quick visual inspection. The muscles bulge in my father’s arms and neck, his jaw hardening with restraint. It is an effort for him to hold back when the Templars’ very presence is a threat.
Gods, how I want to snuff them all out.To reach out a hand and turn each Templar to ash. To unleash fire upon them and cook them within their own armor. We could slaughter them all so easily, and feed the violence and blood to the Nightmare creatures who are our allies and need such things. I wouldn’t feel a hint of guilt.
Not here, dear heart,Aldrin says in my head.These fae will die. Tonight and by our hand, but not here. We cannot draw attention to our base. There is an opportunity in this to see their work in action. We have only heard hushed rumors so far, and those can be such unreliable things.
“I got a good deal,” my father grinds out. “The only kind I could afford. They practically gave this tavern away for free.”
