Page 79 of Fire Touched

I remember Ella’s reaction, shocked I hadn’t known. I should know. I nod, aggrieved. ‘I bet.’ I make a show of glancing around. ‘At least you don’t have to deal with him tonight, by the looks of it.’

The waitress fidgets with a cloth, pulling it anxiously between her fingers. ‘Oh, no, he’ll be here. He’s here every night. He usually waits until it’s quieter.’ Her mouth thins, a line of displeasure.

I nod. ‘Right.’

Her gaze flicks back to the bar. ‘Let me get your dinner. I hope your shoulder feels better.’

When she returns to the bar, Elijah leans forward, his brows drawn. ‘What are we doing here?’ His voice is rough from disuse.

I raise the glass of the drink I’m not supposed to—or want to—consume. ‘Just, you know, taking a break from a long day’s travel.’ I clink my glass against his.

He glowers, pushing his glass away, as untouched as my own. ‘Carter—’

‘Shh! Bloody hell, we’re in disguise for a reason,’ I hiss, just as the waitress returns with our food, setting two bowls of steaming rice and meat before us. She also sets down two glasses of water with a small smile before disappearing again. I hang my head, then turn to Elijah. ‘Eat your food.’

Elijah glares, but finally picks up his fork. We inhale our food. I didn’t realise how hungry I was. The stiffness in my shoulder is finally easing, the pain no longer throbbing, decreasing to a dull ache. I sit back, tempted to close my eyes for a few minutes. But we don’t have that luxury. Instead, I train my gaze on the front door. Slowly, the tavern starts to empty. When only a handful of patrons remain, a large man bangs open the door.

I’ve never seen Orllen before, but I know this is him. Built like a sapling, the man doesn’t look strong enough to haul a cart, but the way he struts about, chin high, it’s clear he owns the place. Behind him, he drags a length of rope. At the other end of it are two people. A man and a woman. Their faces drawn and streaked with dirt, they could have been mistaken for any other earth-brushed traveller, but the misery in their eyes—and the rope binding them—clearly marks them for what they are. Slaves.

Elijah’s eyes widen and he sits up, brows drawing together. He looks at me with alarm and starts to rise from his chair. I expected it. I haul him back down, shaking my head in warning. Luckily, he listens to me. We lower our gazes so as not to draw attention as Orllen sits in the back booth, the largest, near the red door, and yanks the rope, forcing the two slaves to sit on the floor at his feet.

Elijah’s jaw clenches.

I want to say, I know, I hate it, too. The tavern’s chatter has subdued. The loudest sounds in the room are the crackling of the fire, and the clinking of glasses as the bartenders wash up from the rush. One of them, the taller of the two, leans forward to smile politely at his boss. ‘What can I get you, sir?’

‘The usual,’ Orllen barks.

‘Right away, sir.’ The bartender pours, and sends the prettiest of the waitresses over to him. The blonde curtsies low, then sets his drink down. I don’t miss the pained look on her face as she takes in the people on the floor, but she clearly knows better than to offer them anything or comment, and quickly makes her way back to the safety behind the bar.

The brunette who served us glowers more openly until one of the bartenders elbows her.

Elijah is rigid beside me, and I know he’s about to snap.

I nudge him and we make our way out the back, dropping some money on the table as we go. At the last moment, I leave the waitress a tip. It must be hard working here, and I admire the clear disapproval she showed when speaking of Orllen.

As we push the back door open, warm night air immediately threatens to suffocate us. It was much more airy in the tavern, even with the small fire. Elijah rounds on me. ‘What the hell—’

The horses bristle, alarmed at his raised voice.

I raise my hands—my shoulder still twinging. ‘Keep your voice down.’

He looks like a thunderstorm. ‘What,’ he says, voice low, ‘the hell?’ He refrains from using—or cursing—my name.

I push him further away from the door. If someone exits out this way, we’re screwed. Under the cover of some nearby trees, I fess up. ‘I didn’t know,’ I begin. ‘There’s slave trading here, in my own pack lands.’ My throat burns, thinking of my—my… Ella. ‘Did you know Ella was sold by her mother to my estate?’

Elijah cringes, but nods slowly. ‘Moira told me. That’s awful. But why are we here now? I thought we were headed to your estate. We have to figure out what they’re planning—’

I shake my head. ‘That can wait. This can’t.’ I point back at the tavern. ‘Those people can’t wait. I took a chance that the biggest asshat in my territory was involved, and he is. If I get to him, I can free those two people tonight, and I’ll make Orllen tell me who his buyers are, then I can—’

Elijah raises his hands. He rakes one through his hair, then makes a disgusted noise at the dried mud smearing all over him. ‘Look, I get it, I want to help them too, but listen to me, your uncle could be planning an attack on my home right now. We need to go.’

‘And just leave them?’

Elijah pales. ‘I don’t want to, either. Think about it, though, what if Killian and Moira are headed home to a trap? Water wolves could be waiting for them.’ The blood drains from his face. ‘Please. We can’t stay here.’

I meet his gaze. ‘I admit, I don’t know you that well, Elijah, but I had the impression you were a good guy. I hadn’t picked you as someone to walk away from people who need help.’

He flinches, hard, but says nothing, clearly conflicted.

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