We sat at an old, rickety wooden table while my men spread out, most of them sitting at the bar.
“What’s the plan?” Ara asked, glancing around the room.
“Well, I’ll address them, tell them who I am, of the situation, and hopefully, they’ll want to join us,” I explained. “But… this town. This is where Vaelor was born and raised. They knew him, grew up with him. And they hated my father so it’s only a guessing game whether they’ll hate me, too. I just hope I can convince them to join.”
“What about me? What’s my role?”
I turned to her, raising one eyebrow.
“What do you mean? This isn’t your fight. I brought you to keep you safe, but I don’t expect anything of you.”
Hurt flashed behind her eyes and she leaned in to angrily whisper, “Not my fight? Notmyfight? Is my father not the former King Vaelor? Do I not have pointed ears like the rest of you? Did Evander not try to kill me too? Before I even knew I was part Fae, this became my fight when I saw the people of Ravaryn. The mothers. The children playing in the streets. Thana. Iaso. Alden… You. None of them deserve this. I can’t just stand by while they’re brutally attacked.”
My chest swelled with pride as she spoke.Her fight.
She whipped her head forward, her mouth set in a tight line.
“Now tell me. What. Is. My. Role?” she said, biting at each word.
My heart beat once. Twice.
I couldn’t hide my smile.
“Well, I hadn’t thought of that. I’m not sure yet,” I replied.
She huffed, jerking to her feet. She marched to the bar and sat on a stool by one of my soldiers.
She took on Ravaryn’s fight as her own. Willingly. She wanted to fight for Ravaryn. My people. Our people, if she considered herself one of us.
It seems I’ve underestimated you, little storm.Thatwill not happen again.
Chapter Twenty Six
Ara
That arrogant bastard.
I flagged down the bartender and he sat a large mug of mead in front of me. I stared at it for a moment., reminded of Livvy. The thought pulled at my heartstrings, but I brushed it away, turning the mug up to down its contents.
I slammed it on the bar and the soldiers cheered, clapping me on the back.
“Well, look at that! She drinks!”
I cocked a smile at them before peeking over my shoulder at Rogue to find his red eyes burning into me. I whipped my head forward as a fresh wave of irritation washed over me.
He genuinely thought I’d just willingly come along for the ride. No purpose. No role.
The irritation grew to anger and my blood boiled as I seethed, tightening my grip on the wooden handle. I felt it then—the sparks. They flickered at my fingertips and danced along my irises. I tensed before releasing the mug. My heart thundered in my chest as I saw the blackened handprint burned into it.
My eyes darted around the bar and landed on the bartender.
His mouth was slack as we locked eyes. He was staring. He saw.
My throat tightened with panic. I blinked rapidly, averting my gaze. As I started to rise from the stool, he sat another mug in front of me, dipped his chin, and silently walked away with the other. I took it slowly, stunned.
Hours passed while I sat at the bar, eavesdropping.
As a group of men steadily got louder, the tavern quieted to listen and I spun on the stool to face them.