Page 26 of Godsbane
Fuck this.I can drink alone upstairs.
I push back from the table, grabbing the bottle of whiskey in one hand and my tin cup in the other.
“Running away from me?” he asks, finally turning his gray eyes to meet mine.
“You seem a little preoccupied. Wouldn’t want to keep you from enjoying your night, Captain.” The rickety chair smacks the ground as I stand.
“Stop.”
One word, a command more than a request. It’s sharp, imperious, and maddeningly…sexy. And I hate it.
I grab the open whiskey and take a pull directly from the bottle without breaking eye contact. Darkness smokes in his eyes at my impertinence, further stoking the mixture of alcohol and something even more dangerous growing within me. Tiny droplets trail from the corners of my lips as I pull the bottle away and swipe my face with the back of my hand.
Mikel’s smiling face suddenly invades the space between us. Gingerly, he sets down a plate of roasted chicken and root vegetables, disappearing back into the crowd. Murphy lets out a slow, low chuckle as he rises to stand. I pull my eyes from the plate to see the bastard smirking.
“If you drink like that, you better eat something. I don’t slow down for hangovers, princess.”
Murphy slips into the roaring crowd and instantly disappears. My traitorous stomach growls at the delicious scent of the steaming plate. I haven’t eaten all day and I’ve expended a lot of magic. If I don’t eat this, I’m certain to puke up whiskey within the hour.
I don’t like being cared for. This is now the second time today he’s done something like this, and I need to squash the habit now. His actions, regardless of how they were intended, imply a debt that I don’t care to owe anyone.
I pick at the food on my plate, stabbing each bite with more force than necessary before bringing it up to my mouth. This chicken could be the most exquisitely spiced dish in all of Corinth and I wouldn’t know it. I barely taste it before I wash it down with more swill.
The tavern floor, which saw a slight reprieve when the fiddler took a short break, crowds again. Shouts echo throughout the small room as the first notes drift from his bowstring. A local favorite about a bear and a maiden that instantly has everyone on their feet. There’s so much happiness here tonight that the faithful might claim Bastin himself is present.
It’s been so long since I’ve had a single carefree night of fun in a tavern. Before the war, Miles, Quinn, and I would frequent The Royal Jewel, a nobles-only establishment in Emerald. He always denied it, but I know Miles footed the bill for the entire bar on those nights.
‘If I did, it would be a small price to pay for your fun … and their silence,’he would say.
But during Feast Week, the time dedicated to debaucherous offerings to the Golden Pantheon, the three of us would ditch our emerald wardrobe for common browns and ornate masks to camouflage ourselves amongst the revelers in town. With nothing to give away our identities, we lived. Drinking, dancing, and fucking until the sun came up.
It was on those anonymous nights that I truly felt alive. No title, no nickname, no magic. Nothing that made me Ivy, and everything that made me feel powerful.
I’m not foolish enough to think I can go quite that far tonight, but I am in plain clothes and I do currently possess a belly full of liquid courage. Risking a little ire and a solid hangover is worth a night of a little joy, even if it’s fleeting.
The crowd parts slightly, a flash of sunfire hair catching my eye as I survey the room for a group of revelers to join. The woman is gorgeous. Flaming hair cascading over her shoulders, pooling above her large breasts that are currently inches away from the broad, muscled arm of a man dressed in all black. Delicate fingers trace circles on the table top as she whispers something low from her scarlet lips.
Slowly, a head of onyx hair turns, gray eyes locking onto mine and pinning me to my seat. Eyes that blaze with the intensity of the sun itself. A sour, sickly feeling starts low in my gut and spreads throughout me. I grab the bottle and try to wash it away, but it doesn’t break.
It’s not jealousy. I barely know this man. I feel nothing for him … nothing besides the way my magic goes batshit crazy in his presence and the maddening rush that overtakes me every time our skin touches.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
This is the whiskey and the remnants of unspent magic, nothing more.
A loud cheer from the front of the room draws my attention. There’s a long table near the fiddler’s makeshift stage filled with villagers deeply engaged in a rowdy drinking game. That is exactly what I need to turn this evening around. And there just happens to be a single empty seat at the table.
I down another gulp of the whiskey to steel my nerves before the bottle and I ask permission to play.
“Room for one more?” I ask as I approach the group.
Most of the participants are too deep in the game to acknowledge me, but one, a large man with a thick beard and warm brown eyes, smiles at me.
“A lady bearing whiskey is always welcome. I’m Garrett.” He motions me to the empty seat beside him, pulling it out like a gentleman.
“Selene,” I tell him.
