And when they hiss at Tahlia, their teeth appear to be sharp. Even though, a moment ago, their faces appeared so pretty and human, when they look at Tahlia, they seem to…change.
And they change into something that’s not so much pretty as terrifying. I’ve never seen a fish with teeth, but I’m assuming such a sight would remind me of the mermaids in their pool, hissing and growling in turn at Tahlia—who gives them a grin, but, wisely, makes a wide berth of the pool, too.
Now that my eyes are beginning to adjust to the multi-colored low light of the place, I can see that the mermaids aren’t the only different people here.
Actually…it appears that we may be the only humans in the place.
The bartender behind the bar has wings that she’s very neatly draped over her back, big wings with soft, black feathers. When Talis approaches the bar, the bartender places her hands on the wood surface, spreading her fingers, and giving Talis a wide smile.
“What’ll it be, Tallie?”
“The usual, if you remember it, Lyric,” says Talis with another broad, genuine smile, and the bartender nods, turning to the various barrels and pretty glass bottles, winking in the light of the magelamps.
I sidle up to the bar and glance around, trying to rein in my curiosity so that I don’t stare. Unfortunately, no such luck. There’s the pool of merladies by the front door, and then there are various booths and tables around the place, just like any regular, run-of-the-mill tavern. But there’s nothing run-of-the-mill about the clientele.
There’s the bartender, with wings, for one. I’ve never seen the Virtues in person, but of course I’ve heard stories. My mother used to tell me a tale about a Virtue that rescued a little girl from drowning. Virtues work for the gods, or so the stories go. There are a few Virtues who live in Arktos, who come to some of the meetings at the palace, but I never caught a glimpse. I can hardly believe one of them is standing right in front of me now, as flesh and blood as I am myself.
There appear to be a few of the fair folk here, too, though it’s hard to actually see them, for no matter how I try to look at the one booth in the farthest back corner, it seems that my eyes slide to the booth next to it. The booth of the fair folk has a sort of iridescence about it. A fairy glamour, of course. The fair folk aren’t in a habit of being seen, even when they go out for a drink it seems.
There’s a giantess sitting on one of the tables, drinking her ale out of an actual barrel. There’s hardly enough room for her in the place, and the back of her head keeps scraping the ceiling, but she appears to be fairly inebriated and isn’t noticing. When she hits her head again, she laughs, a great roar of a laugh, and squints up at the offending ceiling. She’s sitting on the table, but the woman she’s with doesn’t appear to mind that the table is taken up with the giantess’s bulk. I stare at this woman, not to be rude, but because I think her hair is moving.
Oh. Wait. Her hair is moving. The woman appears to feel my eyes boring into her, because she glances back at me over the back of the booth’s seat, and she lifts one thin brow before grinning at me.
Her teeth, like the mermaid’s, are pointy. But they’re very pointy. The kind of pointy that a—well—snake might sport.
Her hair?
It’s snakes.
Her hair is made of snakes.
The snaked-haired woman eases out of her booth and strides over to the bar to stand next to me, leaning her elbows on the counter. She glances sidelong at me again, and I stare at her because there’s no way in the world I could stop staring at this point. I’m utterly fascinated (and a little bit nervous, truth be told). Her hair, held back from her face in a thick, brass clasp at the nape of her neck, is literally, entirely, snakes. Thin snakes and thick snakes, and they’re all writhing on her head like they’re pretty happy and couldn’t think of a better place to be. The closest snake to me sticks out her tiny tongue and appears to have decided I’m interesting, too, because she leans out as far as she can go and flicks his tongue at me again.
“Sorry,” the woman tells me with a wide grin, shooing that snake back into the rest of them. She’s wearing breeches and a poet’s shirt that’s open at the neck, and her collarbones are so pretty when combined with the strong slope of her shoulders, and the bit of creamy décolletage I can see peeking out of her top…
The woman lifts a finger to the bartender and takes another glass of beer before she shoots me another smile, a deeper one this time, and heads back to her seat.
“Miss? This is for you,” says the bartender, then, putting a glass of ale down in front of me.
“Oh, thank goodness,” I manage, picking it up and downing the contents rather quickly. I grimace, slamming the ale glass back down on the bar before tapping my chest and wincing. “Ah…thanks for the drink, Talis.”
“She didn’t pay for it—she did,” says the bartender, giving me a wink and pointing behind me at the woman with snakes for hair sitting back in her booth languidly, a leg up on the seat beside her.
That’s…surprisingly attractive.
“Never seen an Ophidian before?” asks Tahlia, leaning back on her elbows on the bar before lifting a brow to me and chuckling a little when I shake my head. “They’re…something. They have pheromones, or so I’ve been told, that make them practically irresistible.”
“Like you seem to be in Arktos City at the moment.” Talis’s voice is mild as she takes a sip of her ale before leaning on her own elbows on the counter. “What did you wish to speak to me about, Tahlia?”
“Ah. Straight to the point. I always admired that about you,” says Tahlia, and a cloud seems to pass over her playful face. Bay and Yeri have melted into the crowd, but Lellie is standing by Talis’s elbow, her arms folded over her chest piece, and a frown turning her pretty mouth down at the corners. Her eyes are flashing with anger, too, and she’s pinning that look to Tahlia.
Tahlia won’t look in her direction, for she’s probably erring on the side of caution, playing it safe.
Lellie seemed so nice at the previous tavern of the evening, but then, of course, she’s a knight. I wouldn’t doubt that if Lellie’s eyes could kill, they would have already dismembered Tahlia. Dismembered, and—perhaps—set her on fire.
But I’m only guessing.
“What do you want, Tahlia?” asks Talis, then, and it’s almost tired, her words. I glance at the knight in surprise, and I can see pain on her lovely face, pain that runs so deep that it seems that her heart is aching. I can’t help it—I reach out across the little space between us, and I take the knight’s hand into my own. She’s still wearing her leather gloves, but the heat from her palms radiates out through the leather, and she glances at me in surprise. It’s only for a heartbeat before she glances back to Tahlia again, but there was a softening, a warming to her countenance.
Butterflies proceed to knock at my ribs, wondering if anyone’s home. I try to calm them, taking a deep breath.
Tahlia, I realize, has not answered the question.
The bandit is gripping her own glass of ale as she leans on the counter, and she takes a deep, low breath. “I wish we didn’t have to do this in front of other people,” she says then, lifting her chin. “But I suppose that what I have to say to you can be said anywhere, anytime.”
Talis’s jaw tightens as she gazes at the woman, and my stomach turns. Wait a moment…were they lovers once, Tahlia and Talis? Oh, it’d be just my luck to find someone like Talis, to want to have relations with such a lovely knight but to realize that something between us could actually work…and then her past lover shows up. I realize that I’m holding my breath as I gaze at Tahlia, and perhaps I should say something, tell Talis how I feel but this is really not the time or place to tell someone that I quite like them.
I wince, waiting for Tahlia to tell the knight that she loves her, that she can’t live without her, that she misses her, has missed her every waking moment. But that is not, in fact, what happens.
Tahlia straightens, gripping the edge of th
e bar, and she takes a deep breath, lifting her chin.
“I’ve missed you, sister. You know why you’re here.”
And I stare, and this time, my mouth stays open for a moment too long, and when I shut it closed with a snap, my tongue is a wee bit dry.
Sisters.
They’re…sisters?
I look from the Fox Queen, the rogue of all bandits, to the knight in shining armor (literally, her armor is glinting in the light of the magelamps), the knight of Arktos City, the woman who is meant to uphold the law.
They’re sisters.
Well.
I look from one woman to the other and see all of the similarities I noticed before, the ones that made me wonder…and, to put it plainly, I feel a bit of a dunce that I didn’t put two and two together before now.
The evening just keeps taking turns I couldn’t have expected…
And it continues apace.
“When Ma died, she told us what we should do. What we should steal, what was so important to her, the thing she lost. She wanted us to get it back, and we never did it, Talis. She wanted her daughters to come together…” Tahlia’s hands bunch into fists, and her voice shakes just a little. “And I don’t think her spirit rests because the quest remains undone. So…you know why I’ve brought you here tonight. You know what I want to ask of you. For Ma.”
I stare at Tahlia, and then glance back to the knight, to the knight who clearly appears to be uncomfortable, who’s red in the face, who’s holding back tears as she hunches over, putting all of her weight onto her shoulders on the counter.
“I know, Tahlia,” she murmurs, and her voice is heavy. “You want me to do what Ma asked.” Talis lifts her chin then and blinks back the unshed tears. “You want us to steal back the ring.”
Chapter 13
TALIS
I stare at my sister as she nods, face set in resolve, her jaw firm. There’s a strength about her, a sort of quiet dignity that I’ve never really associated with Tahlia before.
My sister standing in front of me like this, for the first time in years…maybe it’s the time that’s come and gone, time that’s changed us both, but…
Tahlia reminds me of our mother.
Our mother Thea, the Fox Queen, the empress of all thieves found an undying sort of love in her second in command, Yeri. We knew Yeri as very young children, and we were able to watch our mother fall in love, but I don’t remember any of it. I remember growing up, the four of us, as a happy family, but before Yeri, long before Yeri, when my mother was younger and more foolhardy…she loved another.
This was a love that, from its very outset, was cursed, but my mother—as headstrong and clever and stubborn as both my sister and I—believed that she could overcome the difficulties that came between them, my mother and her lover.
And there were difficulties, vast, almost insurmountable difficulties. For my mother, long ago, had fallen in love with Uru of Bright Coast.
The people of Bright Coast are not ordinary. They are shapeshifters known as the Draco. They possess human forms that give way to…well. Dragons. They can shapeshift into dragons, and—as a people—they are fearsome and powerful.
So, Uru was no ordinary woman. But she was also no ordinary Draco. For my mother had, somehow, gotten herself mixed up with the leaders of Bright Coast. And Uru was the head general of the dragon queen’s army. Uru was influential, commanding and—if you’d hear my mother tell it, hotter than the sun—and my mother thought their love was a match made in the stars.
But it was not to be. They were too tempestuous, the both of them, and love soon turned to hate. And the head general of the dragon queen’s army…well. She said goodbye to my mother with a level of fierceness and fire that left an impression on Ma.
And Uru stole something from the Fox Queen herself.
Their relationship, obviously, did not end well, and Uru thought she’d keep some small part of my mother. Perhaps as a vendetta, for when love turns to hate, it is all the more potent. Perhaps Uru wanted revenge. Perhaps she simply wanted something of my mother’s because, under all that hate, a small spark of love remained. I don’t know. But Uru took the one thing of my mother’s that was the most precious.
The last night they saw one another, Uru and my mother fought viciously, with words alone until my mother raised her hand against Uru. Against the dragon general herself, my mother fought, for she was a spitfire, truth be told, and she feared nothing. Uru caught her hand in midair, and plucked from her finger the fox ring.
And Uru kept it.
The fox ring has been passed down in my family from mother to daughter, from mother to daughter, since the beginning of Fox Queens. A little band with a small fox’s head protruding, rudely smelted in metal, is the only thing that gives the ring its interest. It’s made of a base metal, spelled with a small bit of magic so that it never tarnishes or corrodes. It is, in fact, patently worthless, but our family has stories about the ring, and even if all the tall tales aren’t even a little bit true, our family has always worn the ring. The ring means you’re a Fox Queen. It is, in and of itself, as powerful a talisman as wings.
But it was taken from my mother. And my mother, until her dying day, craved to go back to Bright Coast. Craved to go back to the capital city, Mount Verlit, and steal the ring back, right out from under the general’s nose. Draco people horde, just like the dragons they shapeshift into, and every Draco has their own personal horde in a room in their home. My mother’s ring is in Uru’s horde, still, we all knew it. And my mother swore, up and down, that she would go, one day, and she would get it back.
But my mother never went back to Bright Coast. She never got her ring back. But I know that, even after death, she had hope for it, still. Because she wanted us to do it. I know she wanted my sister and I to make good on the family name, to get back our heirloom.
To do it for Ma, in honor of her.
I stare at my sister across the space between us. All of the pain of my mother’s passing is still such a fresh wound, even after all this time.
I left home, because I could not bear the pain. I wanted to give up my birthright, my heritage, because it all hurt so much. And the gods know I was never cut out to be a thief. I had a knack for it, but my sister, Tahlia, shone as a highwaywoman and a bandit, a robber and the Fox Queen. I wanted her to have it, the queenhood. It wasn’t meant for me.
But did I leave too soon? I never said goodbye, I just left in the middle of the night, melting into the darkness like a true thief would.
So I stare at Tahlia, and I consider what she asks of me.
And, for Ma, I know I must do it.
I swallow a little, and then I order another ale, and I drink it down, because I can’t be sure that my voice won’t shake for a heartbeat, and I have to steady myself for what I’m about to say.
Cinda, in all of this, waits patiently. I get down the last of my ale, and before I speak a single word, before I can say anything at all, really, I look at this woman, this woman who, an hour or so ago, I was about to taste. This woman who was dragged out into the middle of nowhere because of me. This woman who stands now, in this tavern populated with people she’s never seen before, and she’s holding her own surprisingly well. I’ve been coming to the Nymph Tree since I was very young—oh, it doesn’t just serve ale, it serves real food, too, and my mother would drag the both of us here for family time, away from the rest of the Fox Palace.
But although this is a strange place, and although my sister kidnapped her—quite literally—Cinda seems to be taking all of this in stride. She’s gazing around the room with a bemused expression on her face, fascination apparent. She’s mesmerized by all the different stories she sees, all of the different people and creatures, living their lives and gathering together…at least, that’s what I assume she’s thinking. But I don’t know.
I clear my throat, lean close to her.
“Milady…”
She turns toward me, and Cinda’s smile is radiant, as d
azzling as any treasure as she looks deeply into my eyes.
“Are you going to do it?” she asks me breathlessly. “Are you going to steal this ring she’s talking about?”
I look at the woman in surprise, then brush my fingers against the back of my neck. I can feel a blush rising over my skin, and I clear my throat again, coughing into my hand.
It’s the way she looks at me. I promise you, I’m no stranger to women. I know how to move among them with the very best, and I know how to bring a blush to a lady’s cheek. But now Cinda is doing this very thing to me. Maybe it’s the look of excitement, the flush in her own cheeks that make mine turn into mirrors. She looks excited, hopeful, joyful…but I’m not sure yet why.
“I’m…not a thief anymore,” I say hastily, holding up my hands now, not only to Cinda, but to my sister, too. “I put all of that behind me when I left—”
“Ma wouldn’t have wanted you to leave. At least…not like that. We always knew you were different, Talis. I know you didn’t want to become…this.” Tahlia waves her hand up and down the front of her body, as if by pointing to her corset, her leather boots, her cape, she means our birthright.
Becoming the empress of thieves.
“You know that she wanted both of us to take over the Fox Queenhood. Together,” Tahlia murmurs, and she reaches up, her fingers curling over the plate of armor on my shoulder as she turns her steadfast gaze to my eyes and pins me in place with a look. “She said we were meant to do it from the womb, you and I.”
I shrug out of her friendly grasp, my jaw clenched. “I know, Tahlia. I know.”
“But you left—” My sister’s gaze now has metal in it.
“You said yourself that you knew I didn’t want it—”
Tahlia throws her hands up into the air in exasperation. There’s terseness to our words now, and we’re losing patience with each other, and quickly. It was always the way of us, and we’re falling back into our old patterns so easily. “But you betrayed our birthright by wanting to be something you’re not.” The words come out quickly, and for a heartbeat, there’s pain in her face, as if she spat it all out too fast without thinking, but then there’s a glint in her eyes. She doesn’t regret saying it.
Just One Knight Page 13