Game of Pawns

Chapter 17

On the way back to Kensal, Grim thought it best to buffer her mood with some ale and slake her thirst for the latest gossip of happenings around the city. Freya would be drilling her for information regardless of when she stepped through the door, so it didn't matter if she took a short detour. The familiar settings of Bounty's Row were a reprieve after the sumptuous interior of the palace and stiffness of the court meeting. She found herself returning to her usual loose gait, letting her arms swing and a playful grin lighten her expression. Recognizable faces waved to her from bar stools or windows. All at once, she felt glad to be back in Kensal, far from the malevolence of the Scars.

Bjorn and Mjomir were out front of the tavern. The sight of their towering frames made her smile. Approaching the Hound's Tail, she raised a hand into the night air. Others returned the gesture, and Bjorn even bumped fists with her. The bouncers stood aside, letting her into the bar that was already humming with the voices of drunkards. She was about to wend her way through the intoxicated throng to the bartender for booze when she saw two faces she hadn't anticipated. Junius and Zander were sitting in the far corner of the tavern, separate from the jovial crowd.

The last time she'd seen them, it was shortly after disembarking in Bristol. Zan was unconscious on the back of a wagon, joining several other men who were too enfeebled or ill to make the journey on foot. Out of nowhere, the mage had woken, punched several men, including King, and the two had stayed behind to chat. The next thing she'd known, they were nowhere to be seen among the trees or out in the fields. When she'd asked Selwyn, he shrugged, for he had been blinded by the apprehension of standing before Her Highness and delivering the news of Prolozia and the Royal Guardsmen who had died.

To see them now showed how time had passed. How long they had journeyed across England to reach London. The brown-haired man was twisted towards another man she didn't know, discussing something animatedly. His wavy chestnut hair was tamed into a short ponytail, and his clothes were those of a farm hand's. Bandaged knuckles squeezed the handle of his tankard tightly. Opposite to Junius was the mage, his short black hair slightly longer than when they had first met. There was a new hollowness to his cheeks and eyes, a stoicism that made him look as if he were chiseled from marble. Zander was staring out into the crowd, but he wasn't seeing any of what was happening. He looked haunted.

Taking a few steps closer, Grim could pick out something alien from the typical scents of a tavern. It wasn't the hops in the ale nor the sweat on a brawler's brow. The smell belonged to those who dwelled among the green hills and toadstools, who danced in the moonlight and led mortals to an early grave. She sniffed the air to track where it was coming from. The subtle hint of fey blood in Zan's veins was now screaming at her, and it hit her nostrils like a piquant spice. Grim pushed chairs aside, unable to quell the anger.

What did you do? She wanted to scream it until her voice was gone.

Her heartbeat was pounding loudly enough to block out the typical sounds of the Hound's Tail. The edges of her vision were hazy. She saw only King and Mage. Then, they saw her too.

Junius' expression was one of open relief and cheer. "Oh, hey, we were looking for you."

On the other side of the table, Zander mirrored her shock then settled into something akin to resolve. He knew what she was thinking, and that was the very provocation she needed to drive a hand into his throat. The motion plucked him off his chair and sent the mug of ale he had been relishing into flight. Grim followed through, landing on her knees next to him as her free hand unsheathed her boot blade to hold it against his chin threateningly. The temporary daze vanished from his hazel eyes, leaving nothing but a soul-consuming wrath she hadn't detected last time they had met. It was as if someone else was wearing Zander's face. A ripple of hesitation went through her, but she held strong to his throat and to her knife.