After I’ve packed what little I brought with me, I leave my room at Luxor Inn, giving Killian’s door a knock as I pass it.
He opens it, eyeing me through a crack, before pulling the door a bit wider.
“Heading down for a bite. Coming?”
“I’ll meet you downstairs,” he says, standing taller.
I cock a brow and try to look over his shoulder, but he blocks my view. My eyes move to his again. “A Luxorian? That’s a new low for you, Kill.”
“She’s only visiting Luxor. She’s from Kessel.”
“Where’d you meet her?”
“At the bar, now fuck off. I’ll be down in a minute.” He shuts the door in my face as the woman giggles, and I huff a laugh, pulling out a bloom from my pocket and sparking it.
I enter the pub after marching down the stairs, grateful it’s mostly vacant. Most people are shuttling into this place at nightfall, filling up on tonics and stuffing their faces with greasy Luxorian food. This morning, there’s a maximum of four people, all drinking tea or eating at tables, and the barman.
I bob my head at the barman, who nods back with hesitancy, before sitting at a table in the corner. A waitress approaches, her hair silver, dressed head to toe in black.
“What can I get you?” she inquires.
“A whiskey and toast will do, thank you.”
She nods and takes off, walking behind the bar to a door leading to the kitchen.
The barman cleans out a glass, eyeing me again. I pull from my bloom, eyeing him back. Then he sets his glass down and walks around the counter, and I slide my hand to the gun at my waist.
“Don’t worry. I’m not coming over to cause you trouble,” the barman announces, then he extends an arm, offering me a hand. “Name’s Harold.”
“Nice to meet you, Harold.” His extended hand lingers, and I inhale again before stabbing out my bloom. “Might as well put that hand down. I don’t shake with strangers.”
“Oh.” Harold drops his hand and stands up straight, dusting himself off.
“Why are you staring at me, Harold?”
“Was I staring?” He looks around, his face turning as red as his hair. “I apologize, it’s just that…well, you don’t remember me, do you?”
I tip my chin, assessing him—his green eyes, freckles splattered across his nose and upper cheeks—but nothing about him rings a bell.
“Can’t say that I do.”
Harold pulls the chair on the opposite side of the table back, and I draw my gun out. He pauses halfway. “Mind if I sit?”
I press my lips but keep the gun on top of the table. I don’t know who he is. For all I know, he’s a distraction, and the woman in the room with Killian is too.
“Buckley’s Fight Club,” Harold says, and my eyes widen as I glare at him.
“What?”
“We met at Buckley’s Fight Club—well, it’s not called that anymore. Do you remember? I was the water boy. I fetched the pails, brought water back from the Ripple Hill Riverbank for the fighters. Oh, man, I used to love watching those fights! Especially when you were in the ring! You’d really rein it in for those wins! Beating those bastards to mush!”
I stare at Harold a moment. Probably a moment too long because he begins to look uneasy, fidgeting in his chair. A disgusting feeling slithers down to my stomach, causing it to churn, and my jaw ticks.
“Look, I—I’m sorry to bother you. I—I’ll go now.”
I grip my gun, sliding it closer to me, ready to pick it up and point it at him. “Yes. You’d better.”
Harold skitters off, rushing behind the bar and into the kitchen. When he’s gone, I close my eyes briefly and draw in a breath.
“Guns on the table. Don’t you have any manners?”
My eyes pop open, and Manx stands in the center of the pub. His white hair gleams, and if I’m not mistaken, he looks younger. The wrinkles around his eyes seem to have faded—then again, he’s a jolly man. He never lets stress settle in his body.
“Manx. What the hell are you doing here?” I ask as he pulls the chair out at my table to sit.
“Oh, don’t you mind me. I’m here to see The Council. Apparently, someone ran off and eradicated Rami, and now I must testify since that someone made a stop in Whisper Grove beforehand.” He leans in, smirking. “They believe I told you to do it.”
“That’s ridiculous. It had nothing to do with you. Besides, they saw me last night about it and we settled things. Why bother you?”
“I don’t know.” Manx sits back in his chair with a sigh. “Perhaps they’re just checking off a list of people to interrogate about it to make themselves feel accomplished.”
The waitress approaches my table, setting down my whiskey and toast. She asks if there will be anything else, I tell her no, and she walks off again.
“I know you killed Rami for her,” Manx goes on as I pick up my whiskey. I try swallowing the bile that built up in my throat from Harold’s conversation. It doesn’t go away.
“And how would you know that?” I ask.
“Well, why else would you have broken the Law of Monarchs, if not for her? Let me guess, she was your bait and it backfired?”
“She wasn’t bait,” I counter, despite the guilt gnawing at me. “She wanted to help.”
Manx chuckles. “You’ve never been one to accept blame.”
I bite into my toast, mulling that over. “You’re right, Manx. As I told The Council, I did kill Rami, but only to save her. He was forcing himself on her, and he had two members of my clan in his fight club. He was breaking two laws. I only broke one.”
“That isn’t the first time Rami has forced himself on a woman, and you know it.”
“It wasn’t just about that,” I mutter.
“No. Then what was it about?”
I look around before leaning in a bit and murmuring, “As you’re aware, she’s my Tether.”
“That she is,” he murmurs back. “And have you decided to accept it?”
“What do you mean accept it?”
“You know what I mean.”
I lean back again, eyeing him. His eyes drop to the half of toast left on my plate and when I don’t say anything, he asks, “Do you remember when the Whisper Grove army saved you from Buckley?”
“What the hell is going on here? You’re the second person to bring up Buckley today.” I take another gulp of whiskey.
“But do you remember?”
“Of course, I do.”
“You were so angry. You trusted no one,” Manx says.
I don’t say anything, but I do watch his face, the way it crumples with concern. “I remember thinking there was no saving you. Getting into fights with everyone. Running away from Maeve’s. But I promised your mother I would look out for you…and I did. I still do, right?”
“At times.” I smirk.
He cracks a smile, folding his hands on his lap. “I remember the boy who lived on the border of Whisper Grove and Blackwater—the free spirit who was full of life. With eyes as blue as his mother’s, and a heart of gold. I suppose your heart would be more of steel now,” he chuckles.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “What are you getting on about, Manx?”
“I’m just glad you didn’t turn out to be like your father,” he murmurs, and hearing that causes me to sit back again, slowly, as I watch his eyes. Where is this coming from? “I know Blackwater is tough terrain, but I see a much bigger difference now that you’re in charge compared to when he was in charge. And your mother, she would be proud of where you are now and all you’ve overcome. Just remember to keep that promise you gave me.”
“To never be like Magnus.”
“You’ve kept your promise thus far. Keep being the change Blackwater needs. With Willow at your side, perhaps it’ll become easier to attract peace in your territory.”
“Perhaps,” I mumble.
Manx smiles, then he looks toward the bar, at Harold who is looking between us. “Right. Well, The Council is waiting for me,” Manx says, standing. “And don’t you worry. I’ll be vouching for you. I’ve always hated Rami.”
I huff a laugh as he turns away. “Oh, before I go.” He faces me again, digging into the pocket of his jacket and taking out a brown pouch. “I was hoping to run into you sometime. I’ve tried your transmitter but hadn’t gotten contact. You probably won’t need these, but it’s more protection morsels for you and Willow. I wish I had other ways to help you than these gross things.”
I take the brown pouch from him. “Thank you, Manx.”
“Always.” He leaves the pub, and when he’s gone, I turn my head to look at Harold again, who is avoiding looking at me now.
Putting my gun away, I turn in my chair to face the bar and ask, “Harold, do you remember my fight against Dimitri?” and Harold lights up, rushing back around the counter to my table again.
“Do I? You practically murdered him!” As he gushes about the fight—one of the worst ones of my life that I almost didn’t survive—I remember one thing Manx always told me. He said to never let my pain fester. If it does, it’ll stink up the whole place and drag around me like I’m carrying a dead body, and who wants that weight?
I’ve done it for years—allowed the pain to swallow me up, weigh me down—and it has only caused me trouble. Perhaps he’s right about Willow. With her in Vakeeli with me, things can change. Peace can come, and the solution to our problem isn’t far away. My visit with The Council has declared it, no matter how unsettling. I do this for them, and awakening Selah can remove Decius. Willow and I can be ourselves, no one hunting us, tormenting us. We’ll be free of the burdens of this Tether. We’ll be able to be together, prospering as one. For the first time in my life, there’s hope.
My traumas are mine to deal with, and I won’t be someone who passes those traumas on to someone else, like my father did to me. I suppose to be a great monarch, you must be willing to sacrifice, and if my pain is what has this Harold stranger smiling and reliving what were probably wonderful days of his life, so be it. The change starts now.
