Page 71 of Prince of Ruin

“Aden seems to think a stroll through your city might help ring a bell,” Tarsus mutters.

“Or at the very least,” I add, “it could let you know what you’ll be fighting for when you speak to Mother Terra.”

“Oh.” Clav’s expression falls, and he pauses his chewing. “That.”

It’s clear Clav doesn’t want any part of approaching Mother Terra. Maybe it’s the fact that she detests humans, and right now, he’s every inch a human. Maybe it’s because all of this is too much for him, and the thought of facing a fae goddess would push him over the edge.

Reaching across the table, I place my hand on his wrist. He lifts his gray eyes to mine.

“Don’t think about Mother Terra right now,” I say. “After our meeting with the Cadre last night, it was decided that from now on, until you give us reason to decide otherwise, you are our guest.”

His half-grin returns. “That’s why I was bumped up to the presidential suite? Because of the Cadre?” He barks out a laugh and takes another bite of his croissant. “Remind me to thank them later.”

I lean back in my chair and take a sip of my coffee laced with cream and sugar. I love having cheery Clav back. “For the first official day as our guest, we decided to take you on a tour of our city.”

Clav pinches his lower lip between his teeth. “And I get none other than the ruler of this land as my person tour guide? I’m beginning to like it here.”

Tarsus makes an annoyed sound in the pit of their throat, but thank the gods they keep their mouth shut.

~*~

An hour later, we’re all three strolling down the main street of Jawbone City. It’s a joy to watch Clav take everything in. Honestly, if Tarsus isn’t convinced Clav doesn’t remember anything by the shocked look on their face as they study the city, then I don’t know what would convince them.

The gray morning light dances off the russet surface of the slow-moving river as we cross the bridge into the busier part of the city—the teeth—as most folks call it. While the dome-roofed homes make up the southern part of Jawbone City, jagged-roofed stores and cathedrals and hostels make up the northern end. And the Red River weaves its way between the two sides of the city like the gums between teeth and jawbone. Behind us, the Skull Palace looms, the moonstone dome glinting in the sunlight, the large black windows like eye-sockets as it stares down at its city, protecting it.

The weather is mild today, and if the sun could break through the everlasting clouds hovering above, it would be a lovely, late-autumn day. The trees would be gold and orange, the leaves preparing to fall as winter approaches. Due to the mild weather, the market is alive with activity. Intricately woven tapestries wave in the autumn breeze, the colors vibrant against the gray skies. Merchants call out their deals and prices, each trying to one-up the other.

A minotaur is standing outside his shop making taffy. We pause and watch as he pulls the taffy from the bar and throws it back over before pulling it back again, his biceps bulging. A female minotaur exits and, seeing Tarsus, gives us all a free bag of taffy. Clav stumbles back from her as she approaches. I get it—like Abaddon, the Minotaurs are massive, standingnearly eight feet tall and roped in brute muscle. Their polished horns curve upward toward the sky, sharp and deadly, while the gold rings in their noses catch the light.

I notice Clav’s fingers are trembling as they clutch around the bag when we leave their shop.

“Pretty cool, right?” I ask, loving that I get to be the one to witness his exposure to the fae world.

“It’s…remarkable.”

Tarsus snorts in disbelief.

“How can everyone just go about with their lives, knowing they’re going to die soon?” Clav asks.

Tarsus locks their hands behind their back. “Because they don’t know.”

Clav shoots a look at Tarsus. “You…never told them?”

Tarsus doesn’t meet his gaze. “I don’t want their last days to be lived in terror and fear. I want them to live their last days to the fullest. Making taffy and playing instruments.” They jerk their chin to a human street performer, playing a tambourine while dancing in a low-cut red dress while onlookers toss money into the bag at her feet. “To them, the volcano is just a little hiccup, a natural disaster that is temporarily affecting our crops. To them, it will pass over.”

“But…wouldn’t you want to know if you were living your last days?”

Tarsus meets his eyes now, and even I feel the pain in them as they say, “No. I wouldn’t.”

We continue on through the city, Clav taking in all the strange fairies and sprites and goblins and centaurs and nymphs as they bustle about their day. Folk stop and bow in reverence when they see Tarsus passing through, the regent’s violet robes threaded with silver flowing around them, the chains on their antlers glinting in the light.

Even if Tarsus wasn’t prince regent, they would demand this sort of reverence, this sort of awe from everyone around them. They exude elegance and dignity, carrying a quiet grace that makes folks stop, lean in, and listen to whatever they might have to say. It’s what drew me to them in the first place.

Everyone except Clav. Clav, whose fingers have linked through mine at some point while we were walking. Clav, who flirtatiously shoves me when he cracks one of his silly jokes. He spots a bookstore, and practically drags me along with him as we cross the busy road, Tarsus rolling their eyes as they begrudgingly follow behind.

“Holy shit,” Clav says, his gray eyes taking in the three-story cozy shop with wooden balconies running the perimeter to the third floor. “A real fantasy bookstore. What sorts of stories will I find here?”

“Only ones written by humans,” I say with a laugh.

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