The Ocean's Heart (The Dragons of Flareia Book 2)

Chapter 3 - Kylan

           

The Black Hole, The Barren, Umbrassé

26th Year of the Ocean

First Day of the Fifth Moon

The air was dense with incense smoke, the enchanting aroma twisting into a nose-crinkling assault of sandalwood, cigars and watered-down beer. It had been so long that even Kylan grimaced at the smell as he stepped into the bar. He hadn't considered how his new life of luxury would affect his views of how his life had been before.

Before, this had been his frequent escape, his enjoyable downtime; a hidden slice of freedom. Now, the bar was grim and crumbling. The bar stools were pealing, the gas lanterns overhead too orange compared to the silver light in the Palace of Stars. The band on the rotting stage in the corner was no longer enjoyable – their dissonant chords and wailing vocals grated Kylan's ears, far different to the lulling music beyond his balcony in Ivenstra. The men and women at the splintering tables were just as grim as the bar itself – their faces set in permanent smirks, too many knives in their belts, too many teeth missing, too many empty glasses littering the tables between the scattered playing cards and dice. Part of him wondered what had made him like The Black Hole in his old life. There was very little charming about it now.

After a moment's pause, he forced himself forward to the bar stool he had frequented for too many years before being named Dragonheir. He tried to ignore the way the pealing leather dug into the skin beneath his cotton slacks. He waved over the barmaid, keeping his head low. While he used to prefer keeping his hair short, he was beginning to enjoy the advantages of letting it grow. With his tight curls constantly falling into his face, it was much easier to hide – a requirement when visiting a country that believed him to be dead.

"The usual," he told the maid as she approached.

She laughed, a fluttering cadence made more beautiful by the grim wailing of the band. "Gotta let me see your face so I know who's drink to make, Illia."

He chuckled under his breath. He had missed hearing the Umbrassi word – a teasing name for strangers or children, one that could be best described as my little grain of stardust. "You always loved secrets," he said, glancing up from beneath his curls, "can you keep this one for me?"

The barmaid's eyes went wide – they were silver like Kylan's, but a bubble of blue burst in the bottom of her left iris. Her black corkscrew curls were pulled into a knot at the back of her head with a silver ribbon, her scalp dotted with simple silver clips like stars. Her lips were painted silver as usual – an attempt to draw attention away from the chip in her right front tooth. A chip he had inadvertently caused in a street chase when they were seven. Her silver lips gasped as realisation dawned over her face like a light.

"Kyla—"

He shushed her, glancing around the bar as he held his breath. In the orange light, everyone seemed to have their attention elsewhere – the cards, their drinks, each other – but Kylan knew the type of people who frequented The Black Hole. After all, he had been one of them once. More than half the bar's occupants would be listening.

"Nemi," he said, working is features into a refreshing smile, "it's been a while."

She eyed him wearily before turning to pour his drink. "It certainly has." She called. When she placed his drink before him she leaned close, hiding her figure below the bar. "What are you doing here?" She asked in a whisper. "Nequami said—"

"That I was killed in the Avalonian Coup, I know." Kylan sighed. "Does anyone believe it?"

"Of course not." Nemi rolled her eyes. "There are so many whispers, Kylan. You ran away, you were a spy, you eloped with the Crown Princess of Avalona—"