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"I don't trust anyone here," I say firmly.
"You may have to if you want to get out of here, Viola."
I snatch up another gurdat and pop it in my mouth. Speaking around it, I ask, "What would that entail?"
"Cirrha is a Tempest. Mace trusted her. I trust her. We can see if she can use Air to get a message to Plume." Zeph sounds hopeful, but potentially bringing someone else in on our plan makes my stomach sour. I drink the rest of my water to wash down the food.
"But how do we know we can trust her?"
He shrugs. "We don't, not really. But she's never been sold on the narrative Himureal is pushing. And Mace really did trust her. I think this is our best shot." He rises to his feet. "Do I have your permission, Shadowweaver, to enlist her help?"
Begrudgingly, I nod. "It seems like our best shot."
"Thank you. I'll keep you posted." He turns to leave.
"Zeph," I say, and he looks at me quizzically. "I'm so sorry about Loris."
A sad smile stretches across his face, and he nods. "Me too. Let's not let his sacrifice be in vain."
Chapter 5
Zeph
It's odd being at The Harsh Butcher sober.
The number of times Loris scraped me off the sticky floor here is ridiculous.
Memories of our exploits swirl around me. It's my first time in the tavern since Loris died four days ago.
Has it really only been four days?
Every second is an hour, every hour a day since he's been gone. I don't think I realized how much he was holding me together. Without him, I feel like a collection of loose parts tossed in a box and pushed under the bed.
Bracken leans across the bartop towards me, resting his rag on its scuffed surface. "Your usual?" he asks quietly. I know he feels culpability for the tournament's deaths, and his personality has been subdued since then.
"I don't think so," I say, pretending to be fascinated with my nails. "I'm trying to cut way back."
Bracken nods and turns around, heading into the kitchen. "Got something else, then." When he returns, he slides a mug of lukewarm cocoa broth before me. "S'not warm, but I figure you can handle that."
It takes no effort to warm the mug with a quick blast of fire, and I take a hearty sip. "It's good, thanks, Bracken." He grunts and walks away to grab a few mugs of mead for a group of young fae sitting in the booth Loris, Plume, and myself used to commandeer most evenings.
Despite the sun still clinging to the horizon, the Butcher is starting to fill up with people coming to relax after a day's work. A few greet me with nods or pats on the back, but most give me a wide berth.
When Cirrha slides onto the seat next to me and orders a glass of red wine, I've long since finished my cocoa broth, and liquor is calling to me. I push through that feeling, not allowing myself to numb the pain of my loss with something that I worked hard to reduce consumption of.
But I can't say I'm not tempted.
"Hey, Zeph," Cirrha says. Her voice is gentle, and her hand rests atop mine on the bar. With a sideways glance, I can see she's wearing a deep green dress that flows around her wide hips and brings out the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. Her natural hair sports a silver headband, and she's wearing sandals with straps that wrap up her legs. She always looks so put together, so graceful.
I smile at her, shifting sideways to bump my shoulder to hers. "Hey, yourself."
We sit in companionable silence while she drinks her wine, and then she stands. "Walk with me?" I nod, tossing a few coins on the counter for Bracken. I follow Cirrha out of the tavern, and she loops her arm in mine as we walk.
The sun has sunk down now, but there are still errant rays of colored light streaking the sky.
"I'm so sorry about Loris, Zeph," she says quietly. I can't bring myself to look at her. She was there. She saw what it was like. I feel her holding something back, a thought stuck in her chest. "I…" she starts, then shakes her head.
"No, tell me, please," I implore her. "I want to know what you're thinking."
