Page 21 of What Lies Within Masks & Shadows

Alora tossed her long hair over her shoulder and made sure to kick his bootaccidentallyas she passed him by. “Drink your damned ale and be on your way.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” he called, before lifting the tankard and draining it whole.

He lingered in the chair far after his ale had been emptied. Watching dusk be captivated by a shimmering night sky through the windows and striking his gaze on the shower of pearl-petal flowers flooding the street from those who bore wings. When he had finally glided through shadows out the door, dark cloak flowing in the wind he created, thetavern turned a shade brighter. And the remaining memory of his presence was carried by a small note on his table, under the empty tankard, and a pearlsea of perfect proportion rested beside that.

Written in smooth penmanship on white parchment that smelled of old books and wasted dreams was a note.

Thanks for the entertainment, Your Majesty.

Alora offered it a middle finger before she shredded the page and burned it over the lonely candle melting on the table. The ash dusted to the floor below, and she watched as the smoke circled the specks on the wooden floor.

Entertain this, Bastard.

Patrons cleared out not long after, leaving the tavern empty in the late hour. Emeline’s shift had ended, leaving Alora to finish cleaning before she would lock up and return home.

Not home—Kaine’s home—where she merely existed and slept.

Home…

She couldn’t call anything a real home since her parents died. Never belonged anywhere after. Not as an orphaned faeling surviving on the streets; not in the hovels she had dwelled in. Certainly not with Kaine.

Her eyes periodically drifted to a small dusty upright piano in the corner. One she so long ago played and sang at. The very same piano that Kaine had introduced himself at—with a drink in hand. His smile, the way he watched her, the way he spoke. Unlike anyone else who visited such places as that, it set her heart ablaze.

A wasted memory.

For a moment, she considered sitting down. The ivory now caked with dirt, dust, and shadow. Lonely from years of neglect. Lonely like her. She was the last to trail fingers across its smooth surface. The last to sing with its beautiful notes. That desire forgotten long ago, stripped—beaten—out of her. Her very own piano at the manor had been crushed to tiny bits, shards of wood and broken keys destroyed on a rainy afternoon when Kaine demanded silence and she had played a level below his office.

Once, he had loved her playing and singing. The harmonies bewitched the cruelest of hearts.

Then he loved seeing her blood drip across the shattered destruction.

With a deep breath, her eyes drifted from the piano, and all the pieces of crippled desire to play faded as she turned to the table the stranger had sat at. He possessed an unsettling familiarity in his voice. So much that she paused sweeping and pictured him in her mind.

She couldn’t determine what it was that was so familiar. Had she heard his voice before? Perhaps he wasn’t a stranger to the city after all. She’d barely traveled beyond Telldaira, save for the forest, smuggler’s caves, and on rare occasions, Castle Galdheir when Kaine was summoned. And if she had the slightest inclination that he was indeed someone she had met previously, then perhaps he was one of Kaine’s business acquaintances.

Panic constricted her breath.

If that was true … if he knew Kaine?—

A shrill scream intensified her dread.

Alora rushed to the front door, scanning through unsettling shadows and swirling clouds of ash to what should have been, by now, an empty street.

Soldiers clad in silver armor, covered by purple cloaks and the glow of torches, were ripping open locked doors. They forcedsleeping faeries from their homes. Wielded swords with ruthless force.

The few on horseback pulled males by their hair; females and younglings cried out in pain. Most that she could see suffered horrendous wounds, plagued with unadulterated horror.

And then she saw it.

The amber glow in the sky.

Her eyes burned from the heavy smoke drifting inside.

Telldaira had ignited in bursting flames.

Moment by moment, relentless screams broke through the marching of an army. From both near and in the distance, they were soon drowned out by the pleas for mercy amongst the destruction.

The male at the southern gates … was right.

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