“She’s not a threat,” Luka reassured. “They won’t be looking for her. Not at first, at least. And even then, dragging a young lady out of her vacation home would kick up a fuss that the King likely doesn’t want. No, they’ll be looking for the others.”
“She won’t leave my side, Luka.”
“You’ll have to convince her. She could be safe if she went there, she’s not one of the people they fear.”
“Just us,” I said, not meaning us alone, but rather everyone.
“Just us,” he agreed. “Adam, Lindy, you, me, and Kristin. That’s what we get for trying to keep the balance of nature.”
“And so…” I began. “What will we do, Luka? What do your books tell you?”
“I want you to be aware, I had only really planned on it being you and I alone,” he said. “It’s rather annoying to have to change plans. Now I have to accommodate for six.”
I snorted, leaning further into him, relishing how his head sat on top of mine. “But you’ll make adjustments. For me.”
“For the time being,” he said. “Just for you,” he added.
“And what will we do,” I asked, my eyes dropping from the palace to the glittering city beneath it, once a beacon of hope, and now? What would it be for us? How would we disappear? How would we get my sister to agree to go home? “How will all of us live? Where will we go?”
“You know,” Luka said, his arms enveloping me entirely, pulling me back onto his lap as his head remained on my shoulder. “I heard a rumor,” he said.
“Mhm,” I nodded, sinking back into him. I didn’t know where he was going, but just to be touched by him was enough at that moment.
“You won’t believe it, of course,” he said, his hands locking around my waist, his lips pressing into my neck. “But word has it that there is a monk, one with a broken hand and a taste for ale far beyond anyone’s limits.” My eyes shut, body growing relaxed in his arms, “one that will take prints to the market, and trade them for exorbitant amounts of money.” His lips pressed just below my jaw, “and rumor has it, just a few months ago he lost his greatest prodigy.”
“To a man with big, long, pointy ears?” I asked, finally catching on.
“To a man she claims to be in love with,” Luka continued. “One who, rumor has it, might just love her back.”
“How sad for the monk,” I said with a hum. “I heard that same rumor and I think you’re right.”
Chapter Thirty
Artur Frankfurt sat at The Pig’s Trotter Tavern, the same tavern that it seemed he had been sitting at for months, ever since his employer informed him that he was fired and would not continue to teach their daughter the art of replication. He was drinking a tankard of ale, the same ale that it had been rumored was poured over his head years ago when his hand was broken after one of his forgeries was discovered. He put it on his tab, the same tab which had grown immensely since losing his prodigy, the same tab that he was likely thinking about skipping out of town because of.
Because, quite simply, he did not have the money to pay.
It was rare that he had the money to pay for anything.
And so, he sipped his drink in the nation’s capital, likely ready for it to be his last, and looked around the room for an exit, likely figuring that he needed to know where to run, considering the amount of money he owed.
It was not a new life for him. In fact, it was one he was quite intimately familiar with, one that he once claimed to regret. Tomorrow the family that had taken in the wandering man would awaken, all of their valuables gone and their books stolen. Then he would take to the road and start over, wishing, as he once said he always did, that he had a proper, working hand instead of what they left him with. Maybe if he had that, he could forge the papers needed to move out of this damned country.
It was all because of that boy. The one that he had been too stupid to warn her against. The one who stole away his student, his money maker. The one who his girl had once assured him she hated. Luka Kinsley, another Unseelie fae causing trouble if the rumors were to be believed.
Maybe, if he had asked her to steal a book or five from him none of this would have happened, and that boy would have never looked her way. Perhaps she would have kept replicating. Maybe, he would still be in Greenable, living life to the fullest in his rented house, the one he had left behind when the money dwindled faster than usual once his student was gone. She’d even done him the disservice of smudging her last print, costing him a good fifty silver. Maybe, if he made her sit down and make a new one before slinking off to that party, he would still have the money to pay for things like ale. Maybe if he hadn’t been caught pocketing jewelry and trinkets at said party, he would still be able to find employ teaching other replicators.
It wasn’t his fault; it was never his fault. The simple thing was that Artur’s life was full of maybes.
And I was one of them.
“A tankard of ale,” I said, “two, actually,” I insisted, causing the monk to look to his side, his jaw almost dropping to the ground. Lucky me, the bartender didn’t care about ages, just how much copper he could get.
All around Artur, the seedy, smokey tavern known as The Pig’s Trotter continued to move, filled with some of the worst in Whynne and so old that its floorboards were curling up. Not a place for a lady and yet…
“You!” He said, still not able to pull up his jaw. I wonder if he was thinking of his good luck.
“Me,” I said with a grin, sliding both drinks over to him the moment they were bought and pushing a silver coin the bartender’s way. And if he didn’t notice the leaves in my hair, or the ripped leggings I wore, or my tunic as being part of military dress, that was all the better.
He likely didn’t recognize anything, from the look of him. He was drunk, embarrassingly so.
“I’ve been looking for you,” I said, and his whole face lit up, his greedy arms reaching towards me. I could see behind his eyes that he was calculating how much money he could get if he were to con me into his employ again. Perhaps he was planning a script for how he would convince me I needed his lessons once more.
“My dearest Wren. Come here, my darling girl.” He was definitely angling to butter me up, his arms lingering far too long around me like I was a life preserver keeping his head above the waves.
“I’d keep my hands to myself if I were you,” said another voice at his side, causing him to recoil from the contact. The monk looked slowly over his side to the tall, regal figure sitting beside him, likely realizing that he was surrounded. “One slip of your hand, and I can guarantee you will not like the consequences.” He didn’t exactly trust the man, with good reason.
“Luka Kinsley,” he said in recognition, and suddenly he did not look so happy. In fact, he looked nervously to the drink beside him, tilting his head back and swallowing it all in one gulp, then grabbing the other one and taking a healthy swig of it. “I should have known,” Artur said, wiping the booze from his mouth, “Wren would never travel alone.” Under his breath he noted, “you’re probably here to elope or something foolish.”
“What’s the matter,” I said, “not happy to see me, old man?” I grinned, taking the tankard away from him and setting it on the bar beside him. “I told you I’d come back to do business.”
“I…” He found his path blocked when he tried to dart away, a body already standing behind him, looming over him.
In fact, he found two bodies standing in his way. Two, large, formidable men stood behind him, one with blonde hair and the other with dark black curls balanced atop his head. Artur gulped, recoiling.
“Wren, what is this? Who are your friends?”
“Just that,” Luka said, “friends.” He had no response to the monk’s terrified glance, instead informing him, “Winry is here as well, sitting with a young girl who we also consider our friend, if that makes you feel any better.”
Something about his face told me very clearly that it did not.
“Hello,
Artur,” I said, leaning in close to the old man. He was a monk once, technically still was one, but he always had a way of looking particularly swamy, even more so than the lot of us did. His few strands of hair did nothing to cover his bald spot, and his robes were all in a sort of disarray with a myriad of stains and tears. He once admitted to me that he had not been to the monastery he was a part of for over three decades. I was sure that they did not miss his sniveling, rodent-like face in the slightest, especially knowing what I did about him.
“Bartender,” Artur tried to no avail. We’d kept an eye on him all night, and aside from that first drink, the bartender refused to return to him. In fact, most of the patrons of the bar didn’t so much as bother to look in his direction.
“I don’t think he’ll come to your rescue,” Adam said. “Considering the amount of money you owe.”
“Wren?” The monk asked, his tone quivering as he turned to me, practically begging for mercy. I don’t think he’d ever had so many people looking at him at once. “If this is about the sculptures, or the trinkets I stole… I am sorry, you have to know that. I thought you wouldn’t miss them. I mean, rich people… You know.”
“We would never hurt you,” I lied. We most definitely would, if he did not cooperate. “You’re my dearest friend, Artur. I don’t care about the statues; I didn’t even notice they were gone.” I just knew about the jewelry, coins, and various other pocketable items. I had overlooked them for years, so it was funny that he thought that they’d upset me now—as if he could have ever managed to trick me.
He let out a whimper, it almost sounded like a thanks, or some other expression of gratitude. Artur always did his best to avoid fights, largely because there was no way that he could ever win them.
“But we are going to take you,” I said, and all of the gratefulness fled his face, the color leaving as well soon afterwards. “Just for the time being.” I think he would have argued, had Kristin and Adam not stood behind him, their arms looping around his.
And I like to think that if he went to a better bar, if he paid his bills on time, and if he did not scheme and scam as much as he did, someone likely would have stopped us. But, unfortunately for him, they didn’t.
Lucky for us, because as much as he whined, as much as he fought, and as much as he begged—we needed him. If we were going to save Whynne, if we were going to challenge the crown—We needed that sad lump.
There was nothing resembling a plan between the six of us, not at that moment, but I knew someday there would be. Someday we would stop the King and take back Whynne. That day just wasn’t today.
Don’t Miss the Final Chapter in the Chronicles of Whynne
Coming July, 2021
Find out more about the Kingdom of Whynne, the fae, and the upcoming final book at Bethanyannelovejoy.com.
About the Author
Bethany Anne Lovejoy is a longtime reader of romance novels and occasionally writes a few herself. She specializes in fantasy romance and has a great interest in magic users and men with crooked smiles.
When she is not writing romance novels, she is a devoted dog mother, amateur seamstress, and succulent collector. Find exclusive bonus content and news about future releases on her website, Bethanyannelovejoy.com
Quill and Cobweb (The Chronicles of Whynne Book 2) Page 25
