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I was prepared to shoot across the chamber, take her up into my arms, and fly us somewhere private, when?—
"Well now. Look what the dregs of the Black Hells coughed up." A dark chuckle. "If it isn't his Uncrowned Highness, come to grace his peasants for a bit of fun."
Chapter 4
Terror of the Mistwind Seas
YAKOBBA
Aprickling sensation needled the center of my palms. The beat was in tandem with the rhythm of my pounding hearts. I could feel the tantalizing desire to break something heat my blood. I forced myself to breathe. Not all confrontations had to end in a fight, right?
Ominous laughter filled the dimmed chambers of the Darkwing Kiss. A chilly flare flittered down my spine, egging on the pulse throbbing in my palms.
Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths, I chanted to myself.
No more fighting this dawn.
I stopped floating midway to the pretty courtesan in scantily clad clothing, covered in my favorite perfumes. I turned to find the idiot dumb enough to start something violent with me and gave him a murderous smile.
"Come again?" I pivoted to face the angel wholly, the hem of my noir cloak dragging along the aged carpet. "I didn't hear you. You'll have to speak louder."
The Darkwing Kiss fell quiet. All activity in the tavern skittered to a halt.
I made a note of the seven angels sitting at a long table, leaning back in their cloudchairs lazily, their wings drooping to the carpet. They looked unbothered, bored even. But the glint in their eyes told a different story. Several of them balanced a hand atop their cutlasses, tucked into their waistbands. These angels were as large as Engèli, if not bigger, and equally tall.
The stranger himself was darker than most in the tavern. His eyes glittered like iridescent pearls. Unlike my tall, wiry frame, he was all chiseled bulk with jagged lines branded into his face. Scanning his physique, my eyes snagged on the broken points in his wings. That could only mean one thing.
This angel was a deserter.
A disgraced former Sky Watcher.
"Did I stutter, skyrat?" I tilted my head with the grace I watched King Izakaya wear his entire reign, and tsk. "You can be loud. You can be dumb. But you're a pitiful excuse for an angel if you choose to be both."
The seven brutes at the table snarled, shooting to their feet, whipping out their cutlasses. In my peripheral vision, I saw Nyala and Jabari doing the same, as they simultaneously summoned their ethèr. Engèli sat at an opposite table, eyeing the seven angels, his pale and hazel eyes darkening with each passing moment.
I should have de-escalated this tension. My crew and I just had an altercation that ended in blood. They were hungry, tired, and needed a break. They didn't need to shed any more blood. Cause anymore scenes.
I should’ve let this go. I should’ve carried on with the courtesan still waiting for me. Instead, I exposed what the deserter did and insulted him, labeling him worse than the dung of Avarien dogs.
Besides, I was still in the mood for a fight.
The angel who spoke floated to a stand, levitating in the air. He squared his jaw and pulsed his wings in an act of intimidation. I almost laughed. He looked ridiculous. They all did.
"We're not afraid of you down here, High Prince Yakobba."
He laughed bitterly as mounting anger warmed my cheeks.
I suddenly felt exposed.
And ashamed.
The invisible crown above my head threatened to make me go mad.
"You think just because your payè wears the crown I won't still fold you like the little buckling you are?"
Hisses and snarls escaped the lips of my crew. Nyala bursted out in a slew of curses. Jabari used his ethèr to form a braided whip around the long, curved blade of his cutlass, his gold and amber eyes glowing dangerously in the dimmed light of the tavern. Engèli casually pushed back from the seat he'd just found, pulled out his cutlass, and drummed a ringed finger on the hilt. He was as much ready for a fight as I was.
I grew silent and unnaturally still.
