Shadow Wings (The Darkest Drae Book 2)(2)

“Mutton, if you have it.”

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 lentil stew.”

He wrinkled his nose, and his brother nudged him and jerked his head at me.

“Lentil stew would be fine,” the biggest of the three said in a voice much deeper than his brother.

Unease skittered down my spine at their obvious foreignness. Everyone knew the menus at taverns like Dyter’s and Dyrell’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 hate peasants.”

I glanced at the darkest corner of the tavern, an area previously used for storage. The morning after my arrival, the jerk with wings, aka Broody-Britches, cleared out the boxes and set up a small table and chair there, telling me he wasn’t leaving until I was Drae and could protect myself. For the first time, I wished I hadn’t stacked up the boxes around his table to block him from view. I didn’t like him watching me, but I did feel safe when he was there. Not that I’d admit that to anyone. One more day, and I’d be invincible, and Lord Nightmare would finally leave me in peace. Maybe then, my heart would forget.

I glanced back at the trio. They were just three ginormous rich people looking for a meal. My fear was irrational, left over from what I’d been through. I turned for the kitchen, and my heart skipped a beat as the man called out above the noise of the tavern, “I heard the king found a Phaetyn. Is Irdelron keeping her at the palace?”

Silence descended, and I pretended I hadn’t heard, scurrying into the kitchen as various responses flooded the room.

“Irdelron ain’t doing nothing. He’s dead.”

“Agatha from Harvest Zone Nine said the potatoes there are huge.”

I smiled. Yeah, those were my potatoes, al’right.

Perhaps without meaning to, the three strangers had declared their foreignness to the crowd. There were plenty of people in Verald still talking about the wonder of finding a Phaetyn. A tiny percentage of the population from the Penny Wheel slums might not know Irdelron was dead, but the rich Money Coil and well-to-do Inbetween knew for sure; the conversations in the markets were flooded with talk of the king’s death.

I was grateful Dyter told me to dye my hair again. Grateful he’d found an herbalist who could concoct an ointment to make my eyes look more blue than violet. Grateful he’d told king-to-be, Caltevyn, I wasn’t coming back to the castle.

I wasn’t grateful Lord Black Wings was really the one telling Dyter to pass on all this advice and having the ointment made. But I could deny the Drae was involved if I only had to talk with Dyter. If I had to deal with him directly, no way. I had standards.

My hands shook as I reached for the ladle, and the talk in the tavern swelled. I willed them to be strong and still, but when I upset the first bowl of soup and sent it tumbling to the polished wood floor, I closed my eyes and had to lean against the benchtop for support. If I couldn’t convince myself I was fine, who else would believe me?

“They’re Druman,” Tyrrik said from behind me.

I’d recognize his voice anywhere, had recognized it in many places: the pits of a dungeon, the delirium of heat stroke, in his secret Drae lair.

“From the emperor. Several of his mules left the castle in Verald to report when Irdelron first discovered you were Phaetyn. These ones are here to gather more information for Emperor Draedyn. That’s how he operates; first he sends out his minion Druman to test the strength of his enemy, and then he uses someone else to crush them, like ordering Irdelron to deal with my kin.”

I remained with my back to him, afraid if I turned around, I wouldn’t be able to conceal the fear his words instilled in me. I wasn’t going back into a dungeon cell. Ever. I’d rather die. I wouldn’t be a slave to anyone ever again. I wasn’t strong enough to go through that twice. Once had put me here, thinking up marketing slogans and happy to serve ale. Twice would be the end of me.

“He doesn’t know the rest—about . . . your other side, but he will sense your existence once you come into your Drae powers. Emperor Draedyn is the alpha of our kind.”

The alpha Drae. Apparently they had alphas. Mistress Moons. Every morning, I wanted to fool myself this nightmare life would end with the sunbreak. But it hadn’t. And I still only had one good source for information. I let my standards slip because I wanted to understand more than I wanted my pride. “Will he know I’m Drae and Phaetyn?”

Tyrrik sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe not right away, but he’s not an idiot.”

Great. I ground my teeth. Because one twisted ruler wasn’t enough. I wondered if Gemond and Azule’s rulers were as bad as Irdelron had been. Probably. “Will he come for me?”

“I’ve never known the emperor to get personally involved. He sends humans to fight in his war and uses his kings and Druman to do everything else. But you are a female Drae. He will go to great lengths to secure you, any length. And he might come anyway . . . if he is not satisfied with the reports of Caltevyn.”

“Might?”