Page 54 of Lana Pecherczyk
“Back home, me followers would send pictures of light phenomena from around the world. Sundogs, moon halos, golden hour…” Her voice faltered. “Jeff said they were just lonely people with nothing better to do, but I was honored they thought ofme, someone they’d never met except for on a screen, to share wonder with. The world felt less empty, you know?”
An ache stirred in River’s chest. When had he last marveled at anything simply for the joy of discovery?
“Sorry,” Blake said, sensing his shift in mood. “I didn’t mean to—” She straightened her shoulders. “Actually, no, I’m not sorry. Many inventions from my world are now gone. But the Well—or the fae, I guess—have created something new.” She gestured to the swirling manabeeze in their crystal prisons.“They’ve made light dance without electricity. It’s bloody marvelous.”
Her wonder pierced his jaded armor. River stepped closer, tilting his head as ultraviolet messages revealed themselves between fracture lines in the door’s wooden surface—secret communications invisible to human eyes.
“The glassmaker must have been avian,” River heard himself admit. “He’s added something to the manabeeze?—”
“Manabeeze?”
“Those little balls of light.” He nodded at them. “They erupt from Well-connected creatures at the time of death.”
“Really?” She blinked. “Like us?”
He nodded. “They hold residual power and memories. If you’re careful and respectful, then using them in lighting and other enhancements is permitted.” Something about her avid attention kept him talking. “Here, they’re used to enhance the ultraviolet light that reveals encoded messages on the door. Each prism tells a different story depending on how you look at it.”
“What do you see?” Blake’s fingers hovered near the light, then fell away. “What are the messages?”
“Business details,” he replied, chuckling. He tapped a scrawled line near the doorknob. “This one is a crude offer for a good time. But I’ve seen far more interesting messages like trade routes, love notes, and warnings about bandits.”
About Guardians.
She grinned. “So even what seems empty to some eyes holds treasure for those who know where to look. I love it.”
The tavern door swung open, and two drunkards stumbled out. Rich aromas of spiced ale and roasting meat billowed out on a wave of air. River’s hand moved toPeacemakerbefore he caught himself. He stepped between his mate and the drunks until they were long gone. Only then did he motion Blake inside.
Patrons nearest the door scattered as they entered, pressing themselves against the walls. News traveled quickly in villages, especially news of a Guardian and his Well-blessed mate. Some gazes landed on his neck tattoos and then quickly averted.
That’s right, fuckers. One of the Twelve is here.
He scanned the dim interior for threats. A lone owl shifter nursed a tankard of ale near the empty hearth. His cloak failed to conceal the distinctive wings and weapons beneath. Their eyes locked briefly before the owl looked away, shoulders tensing.
River’s lip curled at the stench—shit and rotting leaves. The ancient blood feud between their species burned in his veins, awakening predatory instincts that demanded satisfaction.
Not today, bird-brains.
He placed a palm on Blake’s lower back and guided her toward the bar. Three men sitting there froze at their approach, drinks tilting, mouths agape. One wore the tattered uniform of a Summer Court soldier, with the insignia torn away. He was likely a deserter who had abandoned his post when Jasper gave the city’s aid to the Order of the Well at the battle five years ago. Or maybe he was a Mithras loyalist. That he still wore remnants of the red coat indicated his bitterness ran deep. Probably a—River searched and located black feathers jutting from his collar—yep, a crow.
Only one way to deal with stubborn crows. He strode to the bar and knocked the stein from the soldier’s trembling hand. The ceramic shattered, ale splashing across worn floorboards.
“Oops. My bad.” River’s pitch lowered. “You should be more careful with that shaking hand. Though I suppose deserting your post can do that to a crow.”
The soldier’s face blanched. His companions stared into their drinks, suddenly fascinated by swirling amber liquid.
Blake’s disapproval struck River through their bond like a physical blow. He caught her expression—not justdisappointment but something that dangerously resembled pity. An unfamiliar hollowness replaced his satisfaction.
In Elphyne, strength prevented bloodshed more effectively than misplaced kindness. But the justifications died unspoken. Since when did anyone’s opinion matter to him?
Lanternlight glinted off the polished horns sprouting from the bartender’s temples. Heat shimmered around his massive form as he wiped the bar farther down, each swipe leaving wet arcs that instantly evaporated.
That heat revealed the bartender’s mana capacity was larger than the average fae. But still insignificant compared to a Guardian. A dust mote compared to a Well-blessed woman.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” River drawled, dropping onto a barstool. “Though your clientele could use some work.”
“Guardian.” The bartender spat the word like a curse. “What do you want?”
River tossed a red coin onto the counter. “A horse.”
