Page 15 of The Sorcerer's Thief
Julian walks alongside me, masking his limp as best he can, though he’s not fooling anyone. Having a destination in sight has given him a burst of energy. Not me, but I’m hoping a full belly will perk me up.
Ember Crest isn’t a big town, but it does boast many a jewelry and gem shop, so it’s on the trading route of Luminia’s finest merchants.
I care not for expensive rocks and trinkets or spending money on things I can’t use or eat, so the town holds little appeal to me beyond the tomato pies.
Julian, however, gawks at every shop window we pass until we arrive at the far end of the main street where The Merry Goblet stands a celestial four stories high. It’s a looming building of dark wood and black trim. An enormous wooden carving of anoverflowing goblet—taller than me, with bubbles dripping over the side—hangs from brass hooks over the double doors of the entryway.
I open the door for Julian. Despite my grumpy attitude, I do possess manners. It creaks and groans on rusty hinges.
As he passes by me, the air around him shimmers darkly. There’s a spark to it, like the zing of a lightning storm, and he changes. His features blur, his face is shadowed, and if I didn’t know this was Julian, if I hadn’t seen him shift with my own eyes, I wouldn’t recognize him.
The coin, as if it senses his sorcery, is excited, warm, and vibrating against my chest. The urge to let it know I’m fine, not to worry, courses through me. I don’t know why Julian is using his magic to disguise himself, but it’s not directed at me. Heletme watch.
Show-off.
I follow him inside. The scent of barley wine ale, melted cheese, and stewed tomatoes combine to a rich aroma that makes my stomach growl and my mouth water.
Julian chuckles. “I heard that.”
We pass mostly empty tables, though three still have guests, and we head to the bar where a dozen patrons are drinking and chatting. Thank the stars the bulk of the crowd has long since scattered.
A human barkeep gives a tired but friendly smile. “What can I get you?” she asks, gaze darting from Julian-but-not-Julian to me and back, none the wiser he’s wearing a false face.
We speak at once, him about the rooms and me about the pie. After staring each other down for a moment longer than necessary, we take turns.
I go first. “Two pints, please, and tell me. Is the kitchen still serving tomato pies?”
“You’re in luck. I think I can wrangle up a couple.”
Though it pains me to ask, I suffer through the next part. “Any chance you can make one of them with no cheese?”
“No cheese?” She knits her thick brown brows. “But that’s the best part.”
“I agree wholeheartedly, but he doesn’t eat the stuff.” I hitch my thumb toward Julian. “He’s an herbivore.”
“What, like a bunny?”
Laughter chokes out of me as I picture Julian nibbling at a head of lettuce. “Yes, exactly like that.”
She grins. “If you say so.”
“And rooms?” asks Julian, unimpressed with our humor.
“One for each of you, or will you share?”
“One each,” we say together.
“I’ll check.” She gestures to the empty tables, green washrag flopping in her hand. “Have a seat.”
Julian leads us to the farthest table in the darkest corner and selects the seat I would have chosen—with his back to the wall and a view of the pub spread out before him.
He’s paranoid enough for both of us, so I sit across from him. My only view is his strange new face, oddly smoothed over and softened, almost feminine, but no one would mistake him for a woman.
I don’t hide my curious stare. “So what’s the trick with your face, Jules?”
He scowls. “It’s no mere trick. The spell is complicated. Very few mages have mastered it.”
Blah-dee-dee-blah. “You look younger. Girlish. Only your shoulders are weirdly big for that.”
