Page 111 of Swords of Soul and Shadow
Kase lunged at Waylan and let his fist fly, knocking him squarely in the jaw. Pain like lightning lanced through his hand. Waylan flopped back from the force. Neville leapt up and shoved Kase off.
Kase grabbed Neville and tossed him to the ground. Neville recovered quickly and threw curses Kase had only heard in the Crews. Neville ran at him, but Kase dodged. Neville turned and gasped, “Lavinia deserved better than a pig like you.”
Fueled by alcohol and the stress of the last few weeks, Kase shoved him. He breathed heavily. “Why’d she seek me out then? Huh?”
Neville growled and lunged at Kase again, but before he could make contact, Eravin grabbed him around the waist and threw him back. “No use fighting over a dead woman.”
Neville’s eyes were wild. “She’s only dead because ofhim!”
“I wasn’t even in the country when she died!” Kase glared. “Why don’t you ask your buddy Eravin why she died?” He whirled toward Eravin. “You had a hand in that. You might’ve even done it. Weren’t you saying the other day how a bloody smile is more your style?”
Eravin narrowed his eyes, not denying Kase’s accusation, but not confirming it either. He held Neville back, who flung obscenities Kase’s way, obviously not listening to a word Kase said. Waylan finally picked himself up from the ground, rubbing his red jaw. Kase hadn’t realized he’d hit him that hard. He’d deserved it.
Kase didn’t wait around to see what happened next. He did what he always did—he ran.
Knuckles aching, he stumbled through the throng of people. His hood was down. The roar of the refugees grew louder as they recognized him. Their voices buzzed in his ears, but he kept running, knocking into people and discarding them in the same breath.
His head was full and pounding. Too much whiskey. He swayed, caught himself on a man nearby, and shoved off him. Blackness encroached on the edges of his vision, oozing and spreading until Kase’s knees hit the stony ground beneath him.
He was never drinking again. How did Jove stand it? His side ached, cramping. His stomach rocked like a stormy sea.
Hallie’s voice echoed in his mind. “Focus on breathing…slow and steady. In and out.”
He obeyed, but he was drunk, not having a panic attack. The voices around him grew insistent. Hands snatched the backof his cloak, choking him. He fought them blindly. His head pounded.
An arm snaked around his back, a hand grabbing his own arm and tugging it onto his shoulders. Kase turned to the side and puked.
“Blast it, Shackley.”
Eravin.
Kase tried to pull away, but his old friend only gripped him tighter. “You’re no use to me drunk and beaten to a pulp, so let me rescue you—or would you rather me leave you to the bloodthirsty mob?”
The nausea receded having emptied the contents of his stomach. His head still pounded, but shapes and colors and sounds grew distinct. The sweat felt cold in the tunnel air. He blinked as his lungs expanded. The air was stained with sweat and sick.
Eravin shouted something to the crowd that had accumulated and dragged Kase forward. “Why did you drink so much whiskey?”
Kase focused on making sure he didn’t stumble over the uneven ground beneath him. “Tasted good.”
Eravin turned behind them and shouted something vulgar at one of the refugees who demanded Kase be left to them.
Kase couldn’t help the snort that escaped. If Kase wasn’t so certain he was, in fact, twenty-one years old, he would’ve sworn he was sixteen again, running through the lower city with his brother in everything but blood, acting like they were kings of the world.
A shiny trick of the whiskey. The years hadn’t been kind to either of them, and Kase was certain he had vomit on his boots.
Eravin was silent the rest of their walk, but he didn’t take Kase back to his tent with the missing guards. Instead, he led him to another one that looked only slightly less shoddy thanits neighbors. Its edges weren’t frayed, and it boasted no holes. Lamplight flickered within.
Eravin stopped just outside. Kase pulled out of his grip and stumbled, catching himself on the nearby wall. Eravin cleared his throat. “Stowe, you there?”
Kase went cold again. Hallie’s father was the last person he wanted to see him like this. He tried to back up but tripped over his own feet. Eravin caught him by the collar. “You need help, you dulkop.”
The tent flap opened to reveal Stowe’s face peeking out. He took one look at Eravin and Kase and opened it wider. “Bring him in.”
Even in his current state, Kase flushed and put up his hands. “No, no, I’m fine, really.”
Stowe furrowed his brow. “That would’ve been much more convincing if you weren’t slurring something fierce, son.”
Eravin still hadn’t let go of Kase’s collar. He pulled Kase along and shoved him into the tent in front of him, then stopped and spoke in low tones to Stowe.
