Page 81 of Fate Promised

As Juri slipped Finn’s shirt on, he bent to her ear again. “Four vulk enter a bar … it sounds like the start of a human story designed to frighten children out of their wits.”

“I think it sounds like the start of a wonderful adventure.” When they were kids, they’d loved the tavern with its inviting hearth, vigorous fire, and its knife-scarred tables crafted of dark, soft wood. He’d tell her they had to sit at the bar like the grown-ups, and Hildegard, the tavern owner, would give them the same pint glasses the townsfolk drank their beer out of, only pouring her homemade root beer instead.

Conversation halted as the sprinkle of patrons huddled over their pints at the back turned toward them. Hildegard stood behind the bar, frozen in place as she reached toward the taps. Her gaze flicked over the vulk.

Triska stepped forward and gestured at the largest table. “Juri, Hans, Kyril, Finn, please sit.” She said all their names loudly. They weren’t beasts, they were four intelligent vulk, and they belonged here. She turned to Hildegard. “Can we have an order of fish and chips for all of us?” She glanced at Juri. “Two orders for this one.”

Hans raised a brow. “She knows you well.”

“Aye.”

The patrons at the bar turned back to their drinks, and their conversations resumed. Hildegard bustled back to the kitchen, and they took the table in front of the fire, sprawling in their seats.

Juri tucked her beside him on the tavern bench. His lips brushed the top of her ear. “Four vulk, a magicwielder, and a selkie sit down together. Now that’s a better sentence to start a story with.”

As Kyril sat on Juri’s other side, the bench creaked. Juri’s brow went up. “Didn’t have to worry about breaking the bench back when we were kids.”

“You’re a bit … bigger now.”

She looked to the head of the table waiting, then shook her head. She’d gotten used to Koschei being around all the time acting like an emperor, now he was suddenly gone. Juri had never gotten around to telling her why he was called the Deathless One.

Juri rubbed his stomach and nudged Triska’s shoulder with his arm. “Good call on the fish and chips. I haven’t eaten that since … well, probably since I left here. Although I’m not sure two orders will be enough.”

She poked him. “You’re never full.”

His gaze lingered on her face, and he sobered. “You all right?”

No, they may have left Peklo, but ever since she’d come out of the water, there was a chill in her chest. And her bond with Juri fluttered the same way it did when they were far away from each other. Yet she wasn’t far away—she was right here. And they had one more week until the full moon, so the bond shouldn’t be fading yet. She nodded. “I’m fine.”

Hildegard carried mugs over on a tray and passed out pints. After she’d set a beer in front of everyone, she paused, frowning. “I assumed you’d want an ale. Was that right? Or do you drink something else?” She glanced at Juri. “Heaven knows you used to try to get into the beer as a kid often enough.”

His lips twitched. “Aye, and I think my ears are still burning from the way you cussed me out for sneaking behind your bar. Beer’s fine.” As Hildegard marched away to the kitchen, Juri took a long sip.

She was sitting in the tavern, having a beer with Juri. Something Triska had wished for many, many times. Yet the full moon was a week away. Their time with the rune would soon be over, and she’d no longer be linked to him.

He put his mug on the table. “What’s going on with the necromancers and the island? What have you seen up here since we left?”

Hans leaned forward. “I looked into the Dark Cabal. They’re some kind of secret society of magicwielders. They don’t seem to be afraid of using darker magic, but they aren’t trying to tap into the magic of death like the necromancers do. But there are rumors of assassinations, all of them hushed up, where a red handprint was left on the walls.”

“The Cabal got to the island.”

“Yes, a boat from the north came through the day after you left. We have tried to follow, but anytime we get close to the island, a storm tries to capsize our ships. One actually did smash to bits, but Triska’s father rescued everyone on board.”

Juri turned to Fergal. “Will you be able to get us through the storm spell?”

Hildegard returned with their food, and the table fell silent until she departed again. Fergal snorted. “Of course. I’m surprised Hazel hasn’t conquered it. What we need to worry about is how to take out the orb.”

“What are you talking about?” As Juri told Hans what they’d seen in the bowls earlier, and the risk of the island blowing up, Triska stared down at her plate.

An orb deep in the ocean. Magic that needed to be doused. Cut off.

She swallowed, the chips sawdust in her mouth, and looked up. “I can do it.”

34

Ice slid down Juri’s spine. Everyone stopped talking. Fergal gazed at Triska for several long moments. “Your particular magic would be best, but we’d have to go to the island at night, and then my magic would have limits.” He wrapped his hands around his pint glass and studied her. His gaze became vacant, the way it did when he got lost in thought.

Juri slapped his hand on the table. “No. You’re not getting anywhere near the island.”

---