Starcrossed

Silver Speaks

The smell of brine clogs my nose and settles on my skin.  Not that it can be helped. Willow's Green is a rivertown, after all. Still, I only have a few sets of clothes and these ones are ruined. There's no way this smell is ever going to wash out.

I frown and cast a glance over the side of the rope bridge. Moonlight dances over the river, the bubbling current breaking the image of Willow's Green and the looming canopy of The Murkwood in the distance.

The great and wretched barrier between the north and south. I turn my face toward the forest. It truly is a sight to behold, even in the dark of night. A place where legends and monsters of the world before the cleaving sleep. A chill skitters down my spine; a sense of anticipation settles in my aching muscles.

The longer I gaze at it, the more I get the sensation that it's gazing back. Shaking that thought from my mind, I hurry across the bridge, casting one last look over my shoulder before I follow the sound of voices drifting down from a nearby building.

Since I arrived in Willow's green this afternoon I've been looking for Ace. I was worried because Liam only left the name, but to my great fortune, it appears that Ace is a regular around town. So regular that everyone has seen him but no one knows exactly when or where. He's like a ghost.

I sigh as I glance up at the bright building. If I don't find him here, then I'll start looking again in the morning.  Time is not working in my favor and I don't have a lot of it to waste here. I can spend a day or two at most in Willow's Green then I need to catch a ship going north.

Sending up a silent prayer for my success, I take the narrow steps two at a time and push my way through the swinging half-doors. 

The tavern is loud and crowded. But it's the smells that assault my senses; alcohol, cooked meat, cloves from cigarettes, the brine of river water, a hint of piss, and mildewed clothes. A barmaid brushes past me with a tray of drinks, rushing toward a table on the far side of the room.  

No one pays me much attention, only casting a few glances in my direction as I brush past people congregating around gambling tables. Which is fine by me. I don't want anyone to pay me any mind. The less people that remember me the better.

I step up to the bar, eyeing the faces around me. No one stands out, except for a large man leaning near the wall at the end of the bar. He must be as tall and wide as the door I entered through. Even for me, someone used to being around shifters, he's imposing.

His hair hangs long and thick to his shoulders. With most of his face hidden beneath a thick beard decorated with braids, metal and beadwork. There's noticeable scaring gouged under his left cheek; claw marks.

Scars—for fae—that's not impossible but there are only a couple of things that can damage our bodies beyond or stop our regeneration. A handful of poisons or weapons made of iron. He must have done something pretty bad for another fae to stoop to that level.

His dark eyes are focused across the room. Curiosity has me turning, it seems he's watching one of the card tables. I snort and turn away, someone must have pissed him off, which is unfortunate for that person but it has nothing to do with me. 

There's several fae handling the bar but my attention goes to the man on the other end, cleaning the dirty glasses. I make my way to his side as casual as I can make myself.

I sniff at the air, trying to pin down his origins and if that information might help me. All I get is river water. It's coating everything in this forsaken town. When he glances up, our eyes lock and his pupils sharpen into slits for a brief moment.

Cat eyes. Eyes full of greed and curiosity.

Then as if he has no cares, his attention goes right back to the glass in his hand. But it's only a game. We both know that I want something from him. I press my hips against the bar as I lean forward to speak in a low voice.