A Frost Of Time And Tears: A Dark, Festive Retelling (The Levanthria Series) by A.P Beswick

Author:A.P Beswick [Beswick, A.P]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: A.P Beswick Publications
Published: 2024-11-20T00:00:00+00:00

9

Gregor stared into his whisky as he swirled it around in his glass. This was his escape, this was his solace. The tavern was easy enough to find when he had returned to town. ‘The Squeaky Wheel’ was one of the quirkier names he had come across, but at least here he could disappear into the background, keep himself to himself.

The guilt that was pressing down against him was unbearable. The vision he had seen had been so clear. It showed him the person that he was – and he was no better than the demon he had made a deal with in his former life.

Usually with a whisky, Gregor would savour the taste, comparing it to the different regions he had been to with the water making contrasting tastes to his favoured drink. On this occasion, however, he just wanted to forget everything all over again, which was ironic. He had spent years trying to uncover his past from the darkness in his mind, but now he wanted the darkness to swallow him up completely.

He emptied his glass in a single go and slammed it onto the bar.

“One more please,” he said, his tone disinterested.

The tavern was quiet. Two men sat on the far side of the room, their conversation quieting since Gregor arrived three drinks prior. Their focus had remained on him the whole time, as if they were either waiting for him to do something or completely fascinated by his presence.

The rest of the tavern was tidy as the innkeeper cleaned around a table before tossing a log into the open fire. There was a warming scent of smoke from the fire tinged with cinnamon incense that was lit around the room, making the tavern extra welcoming. Normally, Gregor would appreciate this. Not today, however.

Gregor’s chest hurt with every breath he took. His neck strained from where the Krampus had gripped him. He hadn’t checked himself over for any injuries, but he was certain that his wounds were from the nightmare vision the Krampus had made him see.

The way he had seen himself act in the memory – so calm and cold as he carried the demon away, a way to keep its maker appeased – was like watching a complete stranger.

That wasn’t who he was now. Yes, he tried to keep himself from forming close bonds with others. After all, he had done this with Trulli, and the gnome lost his life fighting Gregor’s fight. He didn’t want to put anyone else in that position ever again.

That was why he drank in solitude.

“I said one more,” he growled at the innkeeper. His tone had changed. There was a hostility in his words that the innkeeper did not seem to appreciate. He also did not seem intimidated by Gregor’s size, his own fairly impressive. For a mortal, anyway.

“Less of that,” the innkeeper replied. He was a burly man, strong in build and wearing plain clothes with a tabard covering his chest and legs to protect them from any drink spillages.

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