Page 35 of A Kiss of Flame

“What else are we going to do?” he whisper-yelled right back, his hot glowing sword now in hand.

The next knock was more forceful, and Levian looked up to the sky as if pleading with the goddesses for guidance. “Put it away,” she ordered him. “We don’t even know who it is or what they want. Besides, the Eldreth aren’t the only ones with leverage.”

Barith didn’t like the look in her eyes. He didn’t like it one bit. This night was going to Hells fast. “Are you sure about this?” he questioned.

She pushed his sword back toward his chest. “Yes,” she declared. “Just—trust me. Okay?”

Barith looked down into her face; her eyes were determined but pleading. With a curse, he did as she told him, placing his sword back against his chest. In a little surge of molten flame, he melded with it once again. The moment it was gone, Levian turned to the door. “Let me do the talking.”

“Apologies,” Sil offered from the other side when she opened it. “I came to make sure all was well.”

Levian fiddled with her hair, and Barith stifled a curse. She may have punched Deckland out cold, but it was his fault he’d drawn all this attention. He’d stormed off after her in a blind fury without giving it much thought or care.

“Well—not exactly,” Levian replied with a sigh.

Barith stilled, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. That feeling always came when Levian was about to do something that might get him shot at. He regretted putting away his sword already.

“I am here to be of service,” Sil said. “In whatever capacity that may be.”

Levian glanced over her shoulder at the bed, gears turning in her mind. She then looked toward Barith, her eyes narrowing for a moment. He knew that look well:I think I have an idea, and you’re definitely going to hate it.

He tensed as Levian widened the door. “Deckland has had a rather unfortunate evening,” she explained. He was definitely going to be shot at before this night was through, he grumbled in his head.

Sil stepped into the room just far enough to see Deckland on the bed. The fae’s soft expression didn’t waver a fraction. Their gaze shifted, taking note of Barith hovering behind the door.

“Things got a bit out of hand,” Barith offered, unsure what else to say.

“He’s alive?” Sil asked pragmatically.

“Of course,” Levian declared. “There was just a miscommunication, and well?—”

Sil’s expression flattened. “Due to his unique composition, Master Deckland is exempt from our enchantments that protect patrons from undesired aggression. Miscommunication or not, this is a serious offense, I’m afraid,” the fae told them. Sil looked to Barith.

Levian stepped forward. “It was me,” she offered. “Not Barith.”

Sil raised their brows and turned to the mage. “Oh?”

“He tried to—” Levian began to explain.

Sil raised a hand to stop her. “Master Deckland’s tastes are well known. If this resulted from his request, it is still unfortunate.”

“I can’t say I wouldn’t have knocked him cold given the chance,” Barith admitted, “but it was all her.”

Sil glanced between them, then back to Deckland. “Follow me,” they said, their previously coy demeanor replaced by cold authority. “You will need to meet with the elders.”

Barith looked to Levian, who glanced back at him. “Hugh, you mean?” she asked.

Sil stepped out into the hallway. “Speak to the elders, and they will determine how to proceed.”

“And if we don’t?” Levian asked, trying to sound more curious than defiant.

The fae looked over their shoulder. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Barith grumbled a curse. So much for having a fun and delightful evening.

“Don’t worry,” Levian whispered, following Sil. “I’ll handle this.”

He grunted. “The last time ye told me that in this situation,” he whispered back sharply, “I got an arrow shot into my arse.”

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