Page 1 of Shadow Wings
1
“What the hay?”Dyter yelled a moment after walking into The Raven’sHollow.
My heart skipped a beat at his bellowing voice, and I couldn’t help a slight stumble as I stepped to the bar, the ale sloshing over the rims of the mugs I held. The crowded tavern smelled of brewed yeast and sweaty men, not much different than my previous stomping grounds at Dyter’s old tavern, The Crane’s Nest. Dyter had brought me here after my night of mourning in the barren Harvest Zone Seven. His sister, Dyrell, owned a tavern in Harvest Zone Eight. Most of the survivors from Zone Seven had been staying here since our Zone was burned to acrisp.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Dyter called, pushing his way to the front of the bar. Despite missing half his arm—the reason he’d been able to return alive from the emperor’s war—the old man could hold his own in a crowdedroom.
I swallowed, mentally preparing myself for what I knew wascoming.
Dyter continued his assault until he was standing across from me. “You’re supposed to be resting, Ryn, recouping after what the king did, not servingale.”
The jovial mood in the bar had been nonstop for the last three days as the people of Verald celebrated the upcoming coronation of their beloved Cal and the downfall of the tyrant, Irdelron. They deserved a festive reprieve after thirty years of hardship and hunger. We alldid. Not that I was going to get it becausesomepeople had unrelentingstandards.
Schooling my features, I acted like his comment about what I’d been through didn’t bother me.Pretended. I was getting better and better at denial. I forced my face into the blank expression I’d been practicing—one good thing I’d learned from a certain jerk with wings I refused to think about. I reached toward my stiff hair, dyed a dull mousy brown, but stopped myself and turned to grab more mugs from the shelf behindme.
I played like my mom hadn’t stabbed herself with a Phaetynblade.
Acted like Arnik still had ahead.
Almost tricked myself into believing Tyr and Ty really existed and weren’t fake extensions of the Drae Ipretendeddidn’texist.
Staying busy at The Raven’s Hollowwasresting. The tavern was bustling, business was booming, and the constant activity kept me from thinking, fromrememberingmy harsh, depressingreality.
“I have customers, Dyter,” I said, pouring ale into four mugs. I slid them down the line and nodded at the young man ordering stew for himself and a friend. The two had been daily visitors at The Hollow since my arrival. Both had received summons from the Emperor and would be going to serve in the war next year. Even though we’d killed Irdelron, Verald was just one of the three kingdoms in the realm, and Emperor Draedyn ruled over them all. Which meant we were still at war with some overseas land most of us had neverseen.
“You need to give this up tomorrow, Rynnie. You have too much responsibility to be hiding here,” he chided. Then, quieter, Dyter said, “Your mum didn’t raise acoward.”
“I need to give my employer two weeks’ notice and wrap up myfinancials.”
“You don’t have any of thosethings.”
I crossed my arms and said defensively, “I do,too.”
Dyter lifted a brow. “I’ve explained the situation to Dyrell, and you have a pile of carrots, Rynnie. That’s not the same thing asfinancials.”
“It’s a big pile,” I mumbled. I had plans for that pile. My simmering anger spiked at the look in his eyes, pity and understanding, but I refused to let him goad me into a reaction. I stalked to the kitchen and ladled up two large bowls of stew for the boys. The potage was thick with legumes and vegetables, much heartier than it had been three days ago. I wondered if these people knew I’d cried on the vegetables to make them grow . . . I’d keep that to myself. People got a bit funny about bodyfluids.
My Phaetyn powers were doing some good, but I didn’t feel any better for it. When I was busy here, it allowed me to forget my current heartache and the terrors I’d been exposed to. Otherwise, I just sat in my room above the tavern, or in the garden, and cried. Why couldn’t Dyter understandthat?
I stepped out of the kitchen, and Dyter launched his next verbal assault. “You promised you’d help, and serving drinks isn’t going to help with what comesnext.”
Right. What came next consisted of becoming a Drae on my eighteenth birthday,tomorrow, and then taking on the emperor. It sounded like my idea of asupergood time. “I serve stew for a reasonable price, not just drinks,” I quipped. “Never underestimate what a hot stew can do.” I paused. “That would be a great slogan.Never underestimate what a hot stew can do.Maybe I’ll open up my owntavern.”
I took the bowls out to the young men and nodded at the three men sidling up to the bar. They were brawny brutes who must’ve been from one of the wealthier families in Eight. We didn’t see people from the Money Coil this far out from the castle. That’s for sure. Even Arnik hadn’t been as big as these three. Brothers by the looks of it, they all had the same chestnut hair and high cheekbones. Filling a tankard for each, I asked, “What’ll youhave?”
Dyter snorted, but I ignored him. We didn’t have much variety: Ale, bread, brak, and stew, same as the other taverns in Verald. But Dyrell must have better recipes than her brother because The Raven’s Hollow was busier than The Crane’s Nest everwas.
“Mutton, if you haveit.”
I quirked a brow, certain he must be joking. The strapping young man stared at me like I’d lost my acorns, which seemed unwarranted.Just go with it, Ryn. “I’m sorry. We’re all out of that. It’s a bit pricey, so we don’t get much. Maybe tomorrow.”Maybe never. “I’ve got lentilstew.”
He wrinkled his nose, and his brother nudged him and jerked his head atme.
“Lentil stew would be fine,” the biggest of the three said in a voice much deeper than hisbrother.
Unease skittered down my spine at their obvious foreignness. Everyone knew the menus at taverns like Dyter’s andDyrell’s.
The one who’d asked for mutton muttered under his breath, loud enough for my increasingly sensitive ears to pick up, “Why can’t we at least have fish? I hatepeasants.”