When he said something, he meant it. That was why he was so terrifying.
“You can’t do that to me!” If it was just a job, that would have been one thing, but it was my room, too. I wasn’t going back onto the streets. I needed a roof over my head and food in my belly.
“It’s my tavern. I can do whatever the hell I want. You humans think you can do whatever you want now that King Arnott is dead.”
I bit back the snarky remark I wanted to throw at him. I clapped back often, but he was in a foul mood, and I couldn’t risk my job. Not tonight. He was going to use the King’s death on me for a while to come, still.
I’d read about the King’s death, but the event didn’t impact either one of us. A day of mourning had followed, where everyone was mandated to wear black and act like we were sad about a Fae no one knew personally.
The King was dead. Flyers of the murderer ruled every bulletin board, advertisement, and news bulletin. Blond hair, stern features, a face that looked like it was more comfortable with a snarl than a smile.
None of that affected us. It hadn’t changed my life in the slightest.
Life was still tough all around. Rumors circulated that the new Fae King—Rainier, King Arnott’s only son and next in line to rule—had plans to end slavery for the humans. The Fae complained about slavery being abolished, as if that would ever happen.
“You’re treading on thin ice, Ellie,” Craig warned.
I shook my head and filled the pints before carrying them back to the booths.
“Finally,” Ham-Hands sneered and grabbed the pint from my tray before I handed it to him. He’d stopped the bleeding, but his teeth had blood on them when he grinned, and his eyes were filled with menace. He wanted to finish what he’d started now. It was a matter of pride.
He grabbed for me with his other hand, but I bounced back. I wanted to retaliate, put him in his place. I was small against his bulky size, but that meant speed would be on my side, and I was a decent fighter. Years of warding off assholes in the tavern did that.
But Craig was watching, and Ham-Hands was a regular customer. We couldn’t risk those—or Craig’s reputation—now, could we?
The last pint on my tray fell when I avoided his touch, and it shattered on the floor. Beer splashed everywhere.
“That’s it,” Craig said, standing.
I fell to my knees and started picking up the glass pieces, not caring that the glass cut my hands or that beer soaked my only pair of pants. I felt Craig’s anger coming toward me as he stomped through the tall tables.
He grabbed me by the shoulder and yanked me back, planting me on my ass.
“You’re not getting anything to eat tonight, you hear me? Do you have any idea what these cost me?”
Of course I knew. I was the one that always called in the orders.
“So, I have to feed everyone else, but I go to bed hungry?”
“You’re not feeding them.Iam. You’re lucky you still have a place to sleep,” Craig snarled and shoved me toward the kitchen behind the bar.
I shook my head and dumped the glass pieces into a bin on the way to the kitchen. When I was alone, I ran cold water over my hands, washing away the blood that seeped from the cuts created by the glass. I fought back my anger and blew the strands of auburn hair out of my face that had come loose from my ponytail. I tried not to think about the fact that I would not eat.
My stomach growled in protest.
I stayed in the kitchen, listening to the chatter and laughter die down as Craig greeted his patrons and closed up the front of the tavern. When he finally came into the kitchen, he ignored me. He opened the pantry and took out a loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese, and a bowl of salted butter. He added turkey to it from the fridge and locked it all up before he left so that I couldn’t get anything for myself.
When he switched off the lights, I crept out of the kitchen in the dark and climbed the ladder to my room above the kitchen.
It wasn’t much of a home, but it was better than sleeping on the street. I’d experienced a life of being homeless, and there was nothing I wouldn’t do to avoid it. I slept on a pile of rags in the corner, on slivered wooden floors, but it was more comfortable than it looked. Aside from tonight’s punishment, I usually went to bed with a full belly.
I twisted the ring that I always wore on my middle finger. It was the only thing I had from my mother—or at least that’s what the woman who ran the orphanage told me. Maybe I twisted it hoping for some guidance, but really, I just twisted it out of habit. I took it off and placed it in my small box of personal possessions for safekeeping for the night.
I walked to the window and looked out.
Steepholde was a lot like the rest of Jasfin, from what I heard from travelers passing through the tavern. Everything was a combination of old buildings and traditions that stood the test of time and the latest technology. The digital lights, hologram advertisements, combined with the weathered bricks, slivered wood, and printed flyers was where the past and the future came together.
I sat down and put my arms up on the windowsill, looking out at the night. I tried to ignore how hungry I was. I tried to focus on the lights and the life teeming below—the push and pull between the Fae and humans living together. I wanted so much more. I’d always wanted more. I just didn’t know what. I simply couldn’t believe that this was it. This was what the rest of my life would be like. How was it possible that I, at twenty-one, had reached the pinnacle of my potential?