Page 130 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

The mortals here are as simple-minded as the ones in our realm.

I sense what King Hadkiel said earlier, about them living in shadow—whatever that means. There is a somber cloud hanging over these people, their shoulders hunched, their voices flat. There isn’t even music playing to help mask the dour mood, as several steal glances my way, either out of curiosity over a stranger or because they heard about the valuable prize in my pocket and are searching for my weapons.

For all our sakes, I hope they stay put. I need a way out of here, and they need not die tonight.

I watch as the burly bartender saunters over to a small, cloaked figure, hunched over the end of the bar. He leans in and whispers in their ear, then jerks his chin in my direction.

The person doesn’t bother lifting their head. They slide off their barstool and make their way to my corner, stumbling a touch. “What do you want?” The female mortal punctuates her blunt question with a hiccup before peering at me through glossy eyes, half veiled by a heavy fringe of black hair.

She’s small enough to be a child, and yet I would put her in her late twenties.

And she’s drunk.

“Please, join me.” I gesture to the adjacent chair.

She misses it on the first try but smacks her palms on the table, catching herself before she falls. With a mutter in her own language, she drops heavily into the seat. “You are not from here.”

“I am not.”

“That is yours?” She taps my mug.

“Yes.”

“Why do you not drink it?”

“I was saving it for you.” I slide it across the small table and into her greedy little hands. “I am looking for safe passage out of Udrel.”

I wait as she takes a few generous gulps, stealing a glance at our matchmaker at the bar, giving him a “Really? This was the best you could do?” look.

He goes back to wiping the bar with a rag.

“That is simple. Travel seven days north to the ports. The ships leave for Espador once a month.”

I pause. Another distant realm I have heard of but assumed may not be real. “Not Espador. Kier.”

Her eyes widen. She slaps the copper mug down so hard, ale splashes out onto my tunic, and she leans in to whisper, “How do you know about Kier?”

I guess the tale Yidara shared tonight isn’t common knowledge. “How do you?”

She hesitates, glances around, and then pushes her bangs up, just long enough to reveal the faded ink script across her forehead.

I falter. “You are a conjurer.” This, I did not expect.

“Was.” She holds up a finger, and burps. “Not anymore.”

“But your eyes, they aren’t … like the others.” They’re a warm amber, and they don’t make my skin grow cold when they touch me.

At this moment, they’re crossing as she struggles with her focus. At least her speech isn’t slurred. “Because I am an outcast.” Her hood has fallen back, revealing an odd, bowl-shaped haircut. “Did another ship arrive from Kier?”

“Sure. Why did they cast you out?”

“I did not conform. And the red robes did not suit me.” She takes another large gulp. “Ask too many questions, and the chosen becomes unchosen.”

I should focus on my purpose here and press her for information on how to get to these ports while she’s still conscious. But what are the chances of finding another exiled conjurer with vital information about what is going on in that temple? Because I am certain not all is as it seems. Even though Annika made her choice to stay, I wear the discomfort of leaving her there like a jacket full of pins. “What is your name?”

“Destry. What is yours?”

“Friends call me Ty.”

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