Page 82 of Shadowlands Omega

I head to the door. Yaron’s cloak lies in a heap on the floor. I pick it up and think of throwing it on, then immediately dismiss the idea. While wearing his cloak would not be catastrophic in itself, wearingthiscloak would be treasonous as it is held together at the throat by his sigil. I pull the clasp around and give it a close inspection. My thumb runs over the worn metal as I take in all the darkened grooves and the patterns they make. I smile shakily.

I’d expected a beast, his Berserker’s form, a snout, fangs, claws, his axe…instead, what I see shocks me… Well, it should…but it doesn’t at all. His sigil, the clasp he’s worn ever since I first saw him and well before that, the moment he ascended and his cloak and clasp were given to him in silver and in black—

It’s covered in flames. Twin logs engulfed in fire, flames rising up to consume the rest of the clasp. It’s beautiful. It’smine, just like the male who wears it.

Feeling ballsy and light, I drop the clasp and the cloak, head for the door and step through it out into the hall. I take a deep breath and lean my weight against the door at my back, my heart full of longing and hope. I glance towards the stairs and reaffirm my resolution to get answers, to help. I take a step. A throat clears loudly behind me. I turn, expecting to see another inn patron only to see my brother standing there with his arms crossed, a surly expression on his face.

The way he’s looking at me breaks me out of the spell Yaron had me under and I immediately laugh, then choke as I try to restrain it. I clap a hand over my mouth and collapse against the wall, working hard to calm myself.

My brother’s expression tightens, but his shoulders are slumped in defeat and when he pushes off of the wall and stalks towards me, his smile is a littletooforced for me to think he’s really mad. “You think I don’t know what you two were doing in there?”

“Do I seem ashamed?” I’m not ashamed. Not in the least. As my brother’s frown deepens, I laugh some more, then reach forward and pat his chest only a little condescendingly. “Sorry, I don’t mean to provoke you. And I’m sorry if you heard anything.”

“The whole fucking inn heard everything.” He steps up close to me and glances at the closed door. “Is he at least protecting you?” he says more softly.

I struggle to meet my brother’s gaze when he says that, understanding the implication of his words. Lord Yaron told me that he’s taking the wormwood root elixir and I believe him. “Yes,” I nod.

My brother slides closer and drops his tone even more. I can smell his skin, so familiar and yet…different now that we’re out of the kitchens, out of Orias, out of our home. His cloak carries a scent of its own, something woody and fresh, like moss. “And you’re…it’s…” he clears his throat. “You’re willing?”

“Yep. Yes. Yes, Cyprus. Yes, it is. I am. I promise.”

He straightens up, moving away from me at the same time that I move away from him. We both cough and kind of chuckle and shuffle awkwardly in the hallway.

“And so uhh…”

“Did you hear…”

We both start at the same time. He shakes his head and waves me to continue.

“Did you abandon Mara?”

“I told her I needed some air. That was a while ago. I haven’t…it’s…close quarters…” Cyprus’s voice breaks and I laugh.

“Cyprus, are you blushing?”

“No,” he scowls, glancing again at my door. “And I could ask you the same question anyways. What are you doing out of your room? He send you to fetch him another flagon of wine or did he just demand space from you after he finished?”

“Don’t be crass, Cyprus, and keep your voice down. He’s asleep now but he has exceptional hearing. Come on.” I wave him to follow me, a little relieved if I’m being honest with myself. I hadn’t realized I’d been scared to approach Madame Zenobia alone until Cyprus appeared. Now, I’m not scared. Now, I feel brave.

We head down the stairs while I explain the salient points of my conversation with Zanele to Cyprus. He’s nodding along by the time we reach the bustling bar floor. Again, I’m grateful he’s with me when he pushes ahead, his height and Alpha pheromones helping carve a path through the drunken, singing, dancing chaos to the long stretch of bar. Zenobia is the only person working the entire establishment, it would seem, though I know that can’t be right.

My brother and I make surprisingly easy small talk as we wait for her to make it to our end of the bar. It takes her awhile. I’d have thought that the color of his cloak or the fact that we traveled here with Lord Yaron might have piqued her interest, but Madame Zenobia treats us just like she treats every other drunk at the bar.

A band plays loudly and when she arrives before us, we have to shout to be heard. Before I place an order for food, I ask her what they have.

“We have what we have.”

“Alright, I’ll have whatever you have.”

“We might not have that by the time I get back there. You’re not the only ones here if you haven’t noticed. I might have to give you the other thing.” She cocks her head and her jet-black hair slips over her shoulder in thick locs. It’s streaked with grey, her round face and lighter brown skin covered in lines that betray age and hardship and laughter.

“We’ll take two of the other thing,” Cyprus says.

Madame Zenobia gives him a funny look and waddles off without saying anything else. She returns a short eternity later, in which time I amshockedwe haven’t been found out by either Yaron or Mara, but I suppose Mara must also find their quarterscloseand Yaron most certainly needs the rest.

“Enjoy. Though you better pay properly for this,” she says as she slides our plates across the table along with several overflowing glasses of wine. “Not like your precious Lord skimping on coin by taking two rooms instead of four.”

“I thought there were only two rooms left?” I say, pulling my plate closer. The smells are decadent. Goose, I think. The cuts are odd and I’m certain there’s a portion of neck in there, too, but the cardamom and cranberries she’s spiced it with made up for everything else, I conclude as I take my first bite and moan appreciatively.

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