Page 53 of The Rook

“You don’t know the half of it,” Tempest groaned. She brushed snow from her cloak before joining the only other patron at the bar and was met with a pale face and the long, braided brown hair of a girl around the same age as herself—perhaps younger. Her eyes were as brown as her hair, and there were no defining features that set her apart from any other average girl from Heimserya.

Plain. Just a normal girl.

She smiled at the stranger and nodded at the innkeeper. “Some spiced cider and a room, please.” That would heat up her insides. Whiskey would be better, but every time she caught a whiff of the stuff all she could think of was the king.

“I didn’t think it would be so bad,” Tempest admitted. The girl motioned for her to sit by her, so she obliged, her butt complaining at the continued abuse. “I didn’t expect my journey to be so difficult.”

“You should always expect snow by the mountains,” the girl replied. “The weather here is nobody’s friend.”

That was the truth. “Noted.” Tempest held her hand out. “I’m Juniper.”

The girl smiled, the corners of her small mouth just barely lifting up. “Thorn. I’m a treasure hunter… of sorts.”

A treasure hunter. Fascinating.

The innkeeper bustled into the kitchen, shouting atsomeone. Thorn eyed her and then tugged Tempest’s hood lower. “I’d keep your hair covered,Juniper, if I were you.”

Tempest held the girl’s gaze and tucked a stray lock of hair beneath her hat completely before lowering her hood. “Thank you.”

“We females must stick together.” Thorn grinned.

Tempest studied her new acquaintance. Although plain, there was something about Thorn’s face that was captivating. A softness was present alongside a sharpness. A life borne of difficult times and perseverance. That was something she was more than familiar with—the kind of sharpness borne through years of needing to defend oneself.

Perhaps I have found a spirit sister.

She grimaced when the roar of a dragon blew through the tavern upon the wind. “You’re in the right place for treasure,” Tempest said. The noise had followed her for the last half a day through the snow; clearly, the creatures lived in the mountains.

“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” Thorn replied. She finished the goblet of wine in front of her in a few, large gulps, then jumped from her stool. “I am afraid I must retire for the evening, Juniper. It has been a long day, and tomorrow will be even longer, I fear. I hope you rest well tonight… though the dragons may have something to say about that.”

The two of them shared a knowing smile before Thorn headed upstairs to the rooms above the tavern. The innkeeper returned with Tempest’s cider and a key to her room. She paid and then slogged up the stairs to her chamber. It was small, but nicely furnished, and warm, most importantly. She locked the door and moved the dresser in front of it. One could never be too careful.

Tempest shook out her cloak and placed it near the fire todry before kicking off her boots and crawling into bed. Exhaustion rode her hard, but the roaring outside kept her from falling asleep. Did they never stop?

She tossed and turned beneath the thick blankets she had piled on top of her. As the night wore on, the roaring of the dragons grew more insistent, the wind and snow swirling and merging with the sound until it was all she could hear.

“How in the blazes am I supposed to sleep when dragons are screaming in my ear?” she groaned, after several fruitless attempts at burying her head beneath her pillow. She glanced at the shuttered window, making out the snow plastered against the warped glass through the cracks. How was she supposed to make it back to the den of deceit? While she hadn’t wanted to initially be there, now being there was tantamount to her plan. Her lips twitched and delirious laughter spilled from them. She’d even started to look forward to showing up at the masquerade with nothing appropriate to wear, just to needle the Jester.

But, at this rate, she was never going to get there in time. The masquerade was in three days; with all the snow around and no Brine to help her navigate the unfamiliar terrain, there was a slim-to-none chance of reaching the palace of the Dark Court in time.

Another dragon cried.

“Oh, shut up,” she hissed, flinging her pillow at the window as another scream cut through the air. Tempest froze, an idea striking her. A bizarre idea.

An insane idea.

She slid from the bed and shoved her feet into her boots before striding over to the far wall. Tempest shoved open thewindow and unbolted the shutters. The wind whipped them open, and she was greeted with a face-full of snow.

Here goes nothing.

Tempest began to sing at the top of her lungs. Her voice wasn’t the best, though she was sure that didn’t matter. Either way, she could at least carry a tune. A fairy tale filled her head—one of the stories she remembered her mother telling her as she tucked her into bed.

Sing a song to lure a dragon,her mum had said.They will come without fail.

Nothing. Maybe she needed to get on the roof.

Quickly, she gathered her possessions and struggled along the slippery sill until she could gain enough purchase to climb onto the roof. This was crazy.Pulling the hood of her cloak tightly around her face, and blinking back flurries of snow, she began singing again, the wind snatching away her song.

Her eyes stung as she desperately searched the dark for a dragon. Nothing. She took one step forward and belted out another verse. Midsentence, she choked, taken aback when a dragondidappear in front of her—sapphire blue and about half the size of the dragon she’d met before. It beat its heavy wings, watching her with deep-blue, crystal-clear eyes.

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