Page 11 of The Fae Lord
Brock simply chuckles again. “And I am supposed to be afraid? He’s losing it. He lost control of this city a long time ago.”
My heart is beating hard against my ribs, and it is taking every ounce of willpower I possess not to rise from this table and rip off their wings.
When they leave, staggering out into the cloying heat of the night – because in Luminael, the warmth of the day seems to swell and amplify after dark – I stride over to the bar and slam down my tankard.
The innkeeper pours me another without saying a word.
As I take it from him, he glances at my hands and spots the silvery blood on my fingertips. Just the tiniest drop, nestled into the crevice beside my fingernail. He swallows hard then, as if on purpose, and adjusts the cap he’s wearing.
I notice his ears.
Of course, he’s an elf. Most who run taverns and businesses in Luminael are; the Sunborne are too lofty for such pursuits and the Shadowkind haven’t been allowed to run businesses for centuries.
“What did they do?” The innkeeper leans forward onto the bar, steepling his fingers, and meets my eyes.
If he was afraid of me when I entered, perhaps the Sunbornes’ conversation changed things. Or perhaps he is now more angry than afraid.
“He did not give me the answer I was looking for.” I take a swig of ale, then purse my lips.
“What was the question?” the innkeeper asks.
I study him for a moment. There is something strange about this elf. I cannot tell whether he is trying to help me, extort me, or if he’s simply curious.
For the second time in the space of twenty-four hours, a strange sensation washes over me. Thoughts that aren’t my own drift into my mind. Not thoughts... feelings.
Curiosity, titillation . . . smugness.
This elf knows something. But I don’t need to torture him for answers. He wants to give me what I need.
“I am looking for the Shadowkind and the Leafborne who escaped from the castle.” I draw back my shoulders and study him carefully.
The elf seems surprised that I have spoken so openly about something that, until now, has been only whispered of in the alleys and dark passageways of the city.
“Everyone knows they escaped. There is no sense in me pretending otherwise.”
“And you want them back.” The elf pours himself a glass of whisky, then one for me too.
I shove aside the ale and accept the spirit instead.
“So you can make an example of them... like the one you threw from the barricades?” The elf folds his arms, standing up straight. “I saw it. Brutal.” He shakes his head, but not a single ounce of fear or sorrow emanates from him.
“No. Not for that.” I sniff the whisky, then down it in one. “There is one particular fae I need. I do not care what happens to the rest.”
“I could help you with that.” The elf extends his hand now, offering to shake mine. “My name’s Garratt. I’ve run this place for years. I have...” He pauses, quirking an eyebrow at me. “Connections.”
“Are you trustworthy, Garratt?” I am three times larger than this elf, and a hundred times more powerful. Yet, in this moment, brute strength means nothing. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Garratt would not care if I tortured him. He has the air of someone who is on this earth to extract what they can from it and has accepted that death will come sooner or later.
Which means the only thing I have to bargain with is power or money.
“No,” he says frankly, grimacing into his whisky glass. “Not in the least. But for a long time now, I’ve been wanting to...” He wrinkles his nose. “How shall I phrase it? Enhance my status around here.”
Here we go . . . Power. He wants power.
I wait for him to continue.
“Make me head of the elven police, and I’ll find your fae for you.”
“Elven police?” I scoff loudly. “There is no such thing. Elves are not known for their law enforcement skills.” I pause and tap my fingers on the side of my glass. “You aren’t asking to form a guard, you’re asking for permission to run the underbelly of the city.”