Page 50 of Fear the Flames
“Are you serious?” He looks like a six-year-old that was just told they have free access to a candy store.
“Nope.” I press my lips together to suppress a smile. His face drops, and he pinches my arm. “Ouch! Stop it, that hurts!” My smile breaks free while I swat his hand away.
“So does the hope you gave me,” he grumbles.
“Don’t be so dramatic. I’m sure my dragon tingle will kick in one of these days,” I giggle. Ryder is about to respond, but he snaps his mouth shut and turns his head in the direction of the footsteps that are approaching us quickly. “I hope you realize I can find my way back to the table myself.” Changing the subject seems like a good idea.
Ryder catches on immediately, “Is that why you were walking in circles?”
“Not all paths are linear, some get a little squiggly,” I shrug. He makes an expression that looks like he doesn’t get paid enough to guard me.
Finnian rounds the corner looking relieved to have found us. “This place needs a map,” he says while coming closer. “I followed your voices. Did you find everything you need?”
I’m in the aisle of what I need, but I don’t want to look for the dragon books in front of either of them. It takes every ounce of self-discipline I can muster to plaster a smile on my face and not glance upward. “Yes, I’m all done for the day.”
“Thank the gods. I’m tired of smelling old paper,” Finnian sighs while spinning on his heels. Ryder doesn’t say anything else; he just leads us toward the exit.
ChapterTwenty-Three
The night air is crisp but welcome after spending several hours in the dusty archives. Ladislava is quaint. It resembles the town in front of the castle—wood and stone buildings with colorful signs and shutters, but there’s more weaponries and everyone is walking around in armor. Houses stretch back behind the town along curved roads. There aren’t many people out tonight, most likely because of the dropping temperatures. I should have remembered to wear my cloak, but I didn’t expect it to be this cold. After living in the mountains for so long, you think I’d be used to it.
I rub my hands together to bring some warmth into them while scanning the surrounding area—rooftops, alleyways, sharp corners, shadowed corners, etc. Ryder makes a sharp right down one of the streets, and I follow his lead. It would take a ridiculously bold person to make a move on me while I have two armed guards, but I stay as sharp as I would be if I was alone. Muffled voices stream out of one of the buildings along the quiet street. Ryder stops in his tracks and turns his head toward the source. He squints into the darkness, looking like he’s trying to find something. Nothing stands out about it; it looks like a standard overcrowded tavern.
“Looking for something?” I ask, either wanting to go inside or hurry back to the castle so I can warm myself by the fire and hand my letter off to the servants before they do their mail run. Nobody stands outside; it’s too cold to enjoy drinks out here without firepits.
“The horses,” Ryder replies as if it’s the most obvious thing.
“Do you want to pet them?” I suggest while grinning up at him.
He takes his eyes off the tavern to shoot a half-hearted glare in my direction. “I’m looking for aspecifichorse that belongs to aspecificperson,” he states. I figured that’s what he was doing but annoying someone a little bit is good for the skin and soul.
“Come on,” I say while walking toward the tavern. “Finnian and I can wait by the bar while you look for whoever you need.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Ryder advises, following my stride.
“Perhaps not, but I rarely have good ones.” I smile over my shoulder. “These,” I gesture down my knife-clad legs, “are my consequence correctors.”
Without waiting for his response, I shove the tavern door open and am greeted by the familiar scent of ale, smoke, and sweat. I’m not a fan of crowded taverns, the scent being one of the many reasons. A small wave of homesickness washes over me. Aestilian’s tavern never gets crowded like this; it’s more of a place to relax and catch up after a long day. Finnian slips his hand into mine and cuts a path to the bar. He shouts his order to the bartender when we finally make it to the counter. He glances at me, but I shake my head, silently telling him I don’t want anything.
I feel Ryder tap my shoulder while the shaggy-haired bartender bends down to grab a pint. “I’ll be ten minutes at most. Do not move from this spot,” he orders. His mouth is an inch away from my ear, but he still has to shout.
The shriek of a fiddle vibrates through the air, and if possible, the crowd gets louder. Rather than shouting, I just give Ryder a thumbs up, and he disappears shortly after. I sincerely hope he’s only ten minutes, or else my head might explode. Finnian hands a few coins to the bartender and receives his drink, but rather than sending Finnian on his way, the bartender leans across the counter to say something. I’m not sure what he says, but Finnian’s shoulders grow tighter before he spins on his heels, clasps my wrist, and all but drags me toward a corner a few feet away. He pulls me so hard that I practically stumble into the wall when he releases me.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” I demand, tired of dancing around the subject if he’s going to act like this. He doesn’t get mad often, but when he does, it’s like he has tunnel vision.
“The advisors in the meeting today wouldn’t stop talking about your sparring session with Cayden. The bartender even brought it up. They all also mentioned how no soldier could beat your time on the targets.” His voice is raised due to the volume of the tavern, but I have a feeling he would be yelling no matter where we were. He must notice the confusion on my face because he continues, “The advisors think you’re making yourself into a target. You’re purposely showing anyone hunting you that you’re something to beat. They’re saying you’re practically asking for anyone to try, and making it into some sort of competition.”
“People have been trying to kill me for as long as I can remember. They haven’t succeeded thus far, so I must be doing something right,” I state.
“I told you that I’m not losing another sibling!” Finnian snarls. His tone makes my stomach twist. I can deal with this kind of argument with Ailliard, our personalities clash all the time, but it feels unnatural with Finnian.
“You won’t.” I try to reach out to him, but he jumps back. I withdraw my hand in silent pain. The foam of his ale splashes from the rim and coats his hand. “Can we talk more when we get back to the castle?” I can hardly hear him, and both of us are shaking. Maybe a small cooldown will do us good; at least now I know what’s been bothering him.
“You’re not invincible,” Finnian whispers, and his pain is louder than any fiddle or flute. He looks toward the ceiling, the floor, the walls, anywhere but me. Angry tears glisten in his eyes, making them resemble a stormy sea. I know I’m not invincible, but I can’t live my life as if I’m made of glass—not when I hardened myself into steel so many years ago. He slams his ale onto a nearby table and disappears into the crowd.
“Finnian!” I shout, but he doesn’t turn around.
My eyes stay glued to his fire-colored curls while he makes his way through the throngs of people. I throw myself into the sea and keep my footing while getting shoved around; it’s harder to cut through without him guiding me. I’ve lost sight of him by the time I break through the crowd, and I rush to the door. He has made it to the end of the deserted street, his long legs carrying him in the direction of the castle. He shouldn’t be walking back alone.
