Frozen Tides (Falling Kingdoms #4)(67)
If Kyan learned about Lucia’s dream visit with Timotheus, he’d be furious. And since Lucia had quickly learned during their travels that the best kind of fire god was a calm fire god, she’d chosen not to speak a word of it to him.
Still, the dream had troubled—not to mention annoyed—her. Timotheus’s goal had been to dissuade her from helping Kyan, but his abrasive manner and disrespectful words had only succeeded in renewing her commitment to the fire god’s cause. Had Alexius been even half as unpleasant as his elder, Lucia wouldn’t have bothered with him at all.
In hindsight, that would have been much better for everyone.
She put that hateful encounter with Timotheus out of her head and focused on her current quest: finding her true family.
Lucia and Kyan had been working together to pull information out of various Mytican witches through a combination of fire storms and truth extraction, and finally they had a solid lead to follow.
This lead took them to the village of Basilia near Trader’s Harbor in Paelsia. The village was surrounded by vineyards, and thus its citizens subsisted on profits made from visiting ships and wine exports to Auranos. Thanks to its prime port location and never-ending cycle of visitors and merchants, Basilia was the most affluent and luxurious village in all of Paelsia, with comfortable inns for weary travelers, busy taverns serving libations imported from all around the world, and plenty of brothels for sailors.
They entered a tavern called The Purple Vine, already buzzing with patrons despite the fact that it was only midday.
The first thing Lucia noticed was that she was one of only five women there, and that the vast majority of the male patrons were loud and big and lewd, yelling and slamming their tables and calling out for more food and drink. And the smells—every odor from burnt goat’s meat to the sour stench of unwashed armpits—had Lucia wanting to turn right around and go back outside, promising lead be damned.
“This is fascinating,” Kyan said, smiling as he scanned the crowd. “Mortals at play.”
She could barely hear him over the vile din. Taking hold of Kyan’s arm, she threaded her way through the crowd toward a vacant table next to a small wooden stage across the room. It was impossible to get to the table without brushing against the men, and Lucia cringed at each point of contact.
One large, hairy brute whistled at her through his teeth. “Pretty girl, come here and sit on my knee!”
She sent a whisper of air magic toward him, which tipped his large tankard of ale right into his lap. He swore loudly and jumped to his feet, and Lucia turned her head to hide her sly smile.
Sick of the groping she had to endure just to get to the stage, she stopped in front of a table several paces away from her original goal. It was already occupied.
“I want to sit here,” she said to the gruff-looking patron seated there.
“Go away, girl.” The man flicked a dismissive hand at her. “And fetch me some lamb stew . . . and some bread to go along with it.”
Kyan watched Lucia with a smile, his arms crossed over his chest. “Well? Are you going to get him the stew? I wouldn’t mind trying some myself.”
Lucia leaned closer to the man and, ignoring the rotten stench of his breath, met his watery gaze. “I said, I want to sit here. Remove yourself from my sight.”
The man’s cheek twitched, and he sputtered out a mix of spittle and ale. Immediately, Lucia thought of Magnus’s pained reaction to her magic, and her stomach clenched.
The man grabbed his bowl of stew and vacated the table without further argument—and thankfully before she could inflict any real suffering.
“Well done,” Kyan said, reaching for man’s newly vacant chair. “You’re getting so much better at that.”
“Weaker minds do make things easier—for them and for me. Sit.”
As they sat down, Lucia gestured for the barmaid and asked for two apple ciders and a bowl of lamb stew for Kyan.
“No wine?” the barmaid asked, a hand on her plump hip. “Most fine ladies like yourself can only tolerate a place like this with some wine in their bellies.”
“I don’t indulge in wine.”
“No wine?” The barmaid snorted. “What are you, a Limerian?” She turned around without waiting for a reply, and Lucia followed her with a narrowed gaze until she disappeared into the crowd.
In the far corner of the tavern, a trio of flutists started up with a song, and the room began to quiet down.
The show was beginning.
Lucia was here to find a dancer known as the Goddess of Serpents, and now she knew that she was in the right place. As the trio’s melody hit its first crescendo, a young woman emerged from behind the stage. Her arms, legs, and face were streaked with golden paint, and her raven-black hair was long, falling nearly to her knees, with slender braids scattered around her face. Her blue eyes were heavily outlined with kohl. She wore an ornate jeweled mask that covered half of her face, and all that covered her lithe, tanned body was a costume of diaphanous scarves and veils. Such an outfit wouldn’t have turned a single head in a more exotic locale, like Kraeshia, but here it was a shocking sight, at least to Lucia. But the most shocking aspect of the girl’s appearance was not her revealing outfit; rather, it was the large, snow-white boa constrictor draped over her shoulders.
The crowd roared with approval as the Goddess of Serpents danced and swayed her hips to the music, as her pet snake’s tongue shot out every few seconds, as if searching for its next meal.