A River of Golden Bones by A.K. Mulford

Author:A.K. Mulford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-12-05T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Three

“Aren’t you worried you’ll be recognized?” I asked, shuffling along the wooden bench beside Grae.

We found Hector at a rundown pub that reeked of old ale, sitting in a far shadowed booth.

“No one in Hengreave knows what the Damrienn prince looks like.” Grae blew out the candle in the center of the table. Even in our skin, we could see better than most humans and it would fend off any prying eyes. “Not unless they’ve traveled to the palace in Taigoska, and I doubt anyone here would’ve garnered an invitation.”

I twirled my fingers through the twisting trails of smoke. “You’ve been to the crater before, though?”

“From the opposite side of the ranges, the same way the Silver Wolves went. I’d stop there on my way to Taigoska.”

I pursed my lips. “But you were careful in Allesdale, when you came to collect me and Briar?”

Drunken laughter erupted from two men at the bar and I jolted. It was a quiet evening, half the tables empty.

“Allesdale is part of my kingdom,” he whispered. “I’ve traveled through Damrienn far more extensively, and more humans work in our castle.”

I cocked my head. “You don’t think a human from Hengreave could’ve traveled to Highwick?”

“Most humans don’t have the luxury of ever leaving the town they were born into.” Hector snorted into his tankard. “And those with enough coin to travel the realm aren’t coming to a place like this.” He took another long swig and gestured around the seedy, dark room.

A barmaid dropped three plates on the table. “Here ya are. Three fry ups.” She set down two cups for Grae and me, one filled with golden liquid, the other maroon. We hadn’t ordered them, and I guessed they were probably whatever drinks they had left.

Grae peered into the two glasses and swapped them, moving the golden one in front of my plate. I arched my brow.

“You still prefer the honey wine?”

He’d remembered.

Eight years . . . it was eight years ago that I’d told him how Briar and I would sneak drinks from the local tavern and that the only one I could stomach was the honey wine.

“Yes,” I whispered. He’d really remembered my stories as well as I remembered his.

I took a sip of the sweet honeyed wine, staring at the food swimming in a soupy gravy.

Hector chuckled at my frown. “It’s no roast pheasant, but I reckon it tastes better.”

I picked up my spoon and scooped up a bite of mashed potatoes. The buttery, salty flavors lit up my tongue. A hint of rosemary and sage.

“See?” Hector said. “The worst-looking places always have the best food.”

As I took another bite, I hummed my pleasure and Grae’s hand slid under the table to my knee. I never knew a hand on a knee could feel so intoxicating. I took another long swig of my wine, letting it burn down my throat as I darted a heated glance in his direction. His eyes darkened, his fingers pressing in on the flesh of my knee, and I knew exactly what he was thinking about.

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