Page 19 of Heir of Illusion

“Shut up, you old drunk,” Lynal shouts from across the pub, spit permeating each word. “Before I make you.”

“Just like yer humor, yer threats leave much to be desired,” Calum calls back, shaking his head. “Nothing but empty words from an empty mind.”

The men at Lynal’s table freeze, all of them waiting to see how their ringleader will respond to the insult. The man to his right, whose name I’m pretty sure is Taron, leans closer.

“You’re not going to let him speak to you that way, are you?” he asks, his brows raised.

Lynal’s face hardens as he slams his ale down, causing several drops to splash onto the table as he stands up. “Not a chance.”

My shoulders stiffen as Lynal makes his way to our corner of the bar. A few of the other patrons shoot apprehensive glances in Calum’s direction, but none of them attempt to intervene.

“Why don’t you piss off, you old drunk.” Lynal glowers as he places his hands on Calum’s table, looming over him in a domineering position. “Go back to talking to the wall like you usually do.”

The sight of Calum’s tan face flushing red has me reaching for one of my blades.

“Or you could do us all a favor and die already,” Lynal continues, whispering so low I can barely hear him. “Save us the trouble of listening to you ramble?”

I grip the pommel of my sword tightly as he leans closer. If Lynal touches him I’ll end his life here and now—damn the consequences.

The older mortal meet’s Lynal’s cool stare with one of his own.

“You first,” Calum challenges.

Fury detonates across Lynal’s face, and for a moment, I think he’s truly going to try something, but just as quickly as it appeared, his rage is replaced by smug condescension.

“I doubt that will happen.” He laughs as he turns around and rejoins his friends. “You’ve got one foot in the grave already, old man.”

Taron, the one who spoke earlier, pats his friend on the back as he returns to their table. The others cheer, pushing drinks and compliments in Lynal’s direction. Calum grumbles quietly, returning his attention to the foamy ale in front of him. Releasing my weapon, I drop my hands to my lap, wishing I could wrap them around Lynal’s throat instead.

Patience, I remind myself. He’ll get what’s coming to him soon enough.

As the men continue laughing, a familiar sensation has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. There’s a palpable shift in the room as the atmosphere becomes heavier. I glance around at the patrons, but they don’t seem to notice. Is it because they’ve dulled their senses past the point of caution, or is there some other reason why onlyIcan feel this?

My eyes shoot toward the door a moment beforeheenters.

Reaper.

His wings and shadows are nowhere to be seen, but he’s no less menacing without them. Another thing that’s missing is the stubble that hugged his cheeks. It seems he’s shaved since I saw him last night. Silver flashes beneath his heavy cloak, drawing my attention to what is most likely a weapon. Though why he bothered to bring one, I can’t say. Perhaps he’s going for subtlety. Those shadows would surely spark hysteria if he whipped them out in here. But that would be nothing compared to what would happen if he summoned his scythe.

Before the Novian war, reapers would go around spearing souls on their scythes and ferrying them to their final resting place. But when the first Gods rose to power and created the veils, reapers became obsolete. Now, when a soul leaves its body, it feels an undeniable pull to the closest veil. Clara, my old governess, used to warn me to stay away from them.

Never pass through a lonely stone archway, love.For that way lies only death with no return.

It’s commonly believed that no one has seen a reaper in nearly five thousand years. There are whispers that they still exist, living in seclusion deep within the mountains of Death’s realm. After what I saw last night, I can now confirm that these rumors are at least partially true.

Now that he’s entered the pub, the conversations dissolve into silence as everyone turns to behold the stranger.

Lynal and his friends stare at the reaper with varying degrees of awe and fear. Patrons who were standing near the door scurry in the opposite direction. The barkeep, Sam, glances up with a smile, ready to greet his new customer, but it slides right off his face as his mouth falls open in shock. An empty glass slips from his hand, crashing against the ground.

The sound seems to restart time, and everyone slowly begins to pick up their conversations again. Although they’re far less boisterous than before. I doubt any of them can tell what the reaper is, but they sense something unsettling about him.

His dark hair is pushed back again, giving me a clear view of his narrowed eyes as they scan the room. Even in the dim light of this dingy pub, he’s heartbreakingly beautiful. I spot a few women sneaking appreciative glances, no doubt debating the danger of approaching him.

The corners of his mouth curve as his gaze settles on my chair, and my heart gallops as he walks this way. Yet again, he has no trouble sensing me despite my invisibility. Him showing up at the same pub I’ve been staking out all night can’t be a coincidence.

He’s here for me.

The reaper ignores the rest of the patrons as he strolls past them and slides into the chair across from mine, arrogantly turning his back on everyone else. That’s either bold or foolish. Alcohol tends to make men brave, giving them the courage to pick fights they have no business starting. My pulse spikes as I notice a few hostile stares gazing in our direction. I can’t afford to get caught up in whatever game the reaper’s playing tonight.

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