She scans me up and down, smirking. “Your fat ass certainly didn’t.”
I gasp. “My ass is not fat!” My hands twitch to inspect the object of her insult, but unwilling to give her the satisfaction, I still my hands and lift my chin. “It's nicely plump.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “That's just a polite way of saying it's fat.”
“At least I have an ass.”
She frowns, self-consciously staring down at her backside. I do an internal fist pump. “I have an ass,” she says. I dismiss her with a snort and she growls. “But if I don’t have an ass, it's only because you always eat all our food!”
Folding my arms over my chest, I whip my gaze from hers. “Bitch.”
“Whore.”
I slowly swivel my head back around, glaring at the cantankerous woman who is currently the bane of my existence. Digging my fingers into my arms, I imagine myself wrapping my hands around her scrawny little neck and choking the life out of her. But I refrain, because when it comes to food, we can both be a bit shrewish. Only in this instance, I suppose some of our anger may be a bit misplaced, and probably has more to do with our current predicament rather than our hunger.
While Tristan and Zander have been searching the capital for our quarry these last few weeks, Amara and I have been experiencing a much more dire fate. We've been captured. Betrayed. Bound and caged by the very males who claim to care for us. Subjected to their cruel and unusual punishment, all in their quest to subdue those who refuse to submit to their sexist ideals of how a female should behave. Imprisoned and condemned to suffer a torturous existence all because we females choose to have a voice!
Well… that may be a bit of an exaggeration and not exactly truthful. But it certainly feels that way!
After my disaster with the Queen, I was unable to walk down the street without dozens of eyes trailing my every step. As a result, Amara and I were confined to our room at the Early Bird Inn, banned by both Zander and Tristan from leaving with the exception of meals or to visit Layla in the stables. Amara tried arguing that I was the only guilty party and she shouldn't be punished for my transgressions, but her argument fell on deaf ears and was weak at best. She may not have done anything yet, but with her ornery personality, it’s only a matter of time. We both admitted their reasoning was sound and grudgingly agreed to their demands, but since we’re both unused to remaining stagnant, to say it's been difficult for us would be an understatement.
Frustrated, irritable, and just plain bitchy with the situation at hand, Amara and I have taken every opportunity we could to needle the other, searching for any way to relieve the perpetual boredom. After several heated arguments and a few brawls within the first day, Zander wisely suggested we continue our training within our shared room. We initially balked at the idea. Training in a room that was barely large enough for two people to cohabitate in, let alone spar? It was ridiculous. But after an incident of Amara lighting my hair on fire, her near drowning me while attempting to extinguish said fire, and subsequently, me choking her with a bed sheet, we thought it best for our sanity to at least give it a shot.
Amara suddenly perks up at the sight of Mona passing through the kitchen’s swinging doors, heading our way with two steaming bowls. Mona’s expression is as emotionless as ever as she plops one bowl of rabbit stew between Amara’s hands, then the other between mine.
“Thanks, Mona.” I offer the Water fae a smile, with Amara grunting her appreciation through a mouthful of food.
The disk earrings decorating Mona’s sharpened ears dangle a chime as she nods her head and walks away, collecting the dirty dishes off an empty table adjacent to ours.
Since arriving in Seboia a few weeks ago, I've been served this dish several times. I already know the rabbit is robust, the root vegetables are hearty, and the savory broth is seasoned perfectly. But I notice none of this as I dig in with gusto.
Anger instantly evaporating with the food's arrival, we enjoy a companionable silence as we dig into our meals. Amara began before me, but she hasn't even eaten half her meal by the time I'm tipping my head back and pouring the remaining broth into my mouth. Lowering my empty bowl, I glare at it as if willing it to replenish itself with my thoughts alone. Unsurprisingly, my efforts are unsuccessful. I’m debating whether I should order another serving now or later when Amara interrupts my musings by shoving her half-eaten bowl beneath my nose. I smile gratefully at her and she laughs, shaking her head. As I’m lifting the wooden spoon to my mouth, I catch sight of the Fire fae a few tables down, staring at me in wide eyed astonishment. Knowing full well it looks like I'm inhaling my food rather than eating it, I choose to ignore him. His reaction to my eating habits may be considered rude to most, but it's actually a quite common occurrence.
Amara breathes out a sated sigh and stretches her legs beneath the table as I swipe the last bits of broth from the bowl, sucking its remnants off my fingers. I stack Amara’s empty bowl atop mine and when I'm sliding the dishes aside, two chairs scrape across the oak floors, Zander and a cloaked Tristan seating themselves before us. Knowing they must be starving and feeling like my own hollow stomach is gnawing at itself, I order bowls of stew for each of us with a three fingered wave to Mona. Familiar with my eating habits, she doesn’t even bat an eye at the request as she scurries back into the kitchen.
Zander’s expression is unusually somber, and Tristan's dark brown eyes are weary where they peek out beneath his hood. We all remain silent until Mona appears with our dishes and ales before she quickly rushes off, leaving us to eat in peace.
Spoons scraping bowls, splashing broth, and slurping of ales are the only sounds uttered as we silently enjoy our meal. After chewing my last bite of stew, I’m finally able to feel the satisfaction of a full stomach and I release a contented sigh, feeling my depleted energy replenish itself.
Sipping my ale, I focus on the two males before me. “What did you find out?”
Zander slurps noisily from his spoon. “Absolutely nothing. These people won’t talk. I’ve tried everything.” He swipes a dribble of broth from his chin with the back of his hand, listing all the ways he’s attempted to pry information on his fingers. “I've tried befriending them. I've tried drinking with them. I've tried parties, whores, bribery... but nothing.” Zander’s lips thin. “They don't even pretend to consider the gold I offer.”
Tonguing my cheek, I remove Tristan's hood to better see his face. “How about you?”
Pursing his lips, he ruffles his hair. “The only rumor I've heard concerns the claw marks on the wall.” Having already finished his meal, he lets the wooden spoon fall to the empty bowl with a clunk, a testament to his frustration for the normally well-mannered man.
A new concern pops into my mind and my brows furrow. “Have you been seen?”
Tristan scoffs, stacking his empty bowl atop mine and shoving it beside the others. “These beings are just as blind as any other. Don’t worry, Lena.” He winks. “You still have your ghost.”
I chuckle, but it quickly trails off. Leaning over the table, I lower my voice. “We know that someone is here. Most likely multiple someones. How is it that neither of you has been able to obtain any information?”
Amara leans forward on her elbows, speaking just as quietly. “I don't think it has anything to do with them. I think this person, or people, are very good at covering their tracks.”
Biting my lip, I drum my vambraced fingers on the worn table. “You haven't heard anything from Aurora?” I ask Tristan.
Tristan has had several dates with Aurora and even stayed a few nights in the loft above her shop. He hasn’t said anything, but it's obvious he's developed more than a casual interest in her. I hate to put him in this position, but just as he’s told me many times before, we have to use everything at our disposal.
His shoulders slump minutely as he studies the grooves of the table. “She doesn't know anything.”
“She's a princess, for gods’ sakes,” Amara huffs, curling her short brown hair behind her ear and exposing the singular starlight jewel. “Her mother must have mentioned something to her.”
He shakes his head. “They aren't close, and Aurora hates everything to do with court. She distances herself from it as much as possible.” Tristan scans the room for any listeners before whispering to me. “I believe your skills are necessary at this point, Lena.”
Hating the very idea of Tristan's suggestion, I lean back and avoid his gaze. “Not yet, but soon.”
Tristan pats the table in frustration, but nods reluctantly.
“Then what are we going to do?” Zander asks, scratching beneath his jaw. “We have to do something.”
I blow out a breath. “We keep doing what we're doing and hopefully, we’ll stumble upon some answers. In the meantime, I need to see those claw marks. Maybe then I'll have a better understanding of our timetable.”
“We’ll have to sneak out of the city,” Tristan says, removing his cloak and hanging it on the back of his chair. “I tried leaving to see them for myself, but the guards posted at the gate told me I wouldn’t be allowed to return once I left.”
Amara smirks and bumps her shoulder with mine. “That has the Queen written all over it.”
I snort. I'm surprised that’s all she did. If anything, I half expected her to kick us out altogether. Although, the more I think about it, it's less surprising if you consider how her whole Queen-to-the-people act would’ve crumbled to dust if she did. I just assumed she didn’t care. It seems I can be wrong on occasion. A very rare occasion.
