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"Mmm," Quade hums, pouring himself a glass of zzar. "Some weird rumblings from some sailors, but nothing concrete."
"What have they been saying?" I ask, infusing a small amount of Influence into my voice.
I see his head shake as his brain registers the magic that his consciousness can't understand. "Rumors of a new God," he rumbles. The man is heavyset, with a stomach that hangs over the band of his pants. His face his hidden behind a bushy black beard, his cheeks ruddy with color. Bright blue eyes sparkle under heavy brows, and dark hair is tied back against his neck. He's friendly-looking and attractive, a fact the women in the tavern have been admiring all night.
Tulip leans forward and places her hand on top of his. It looks affectionate at first glance, but the glint in the corner of her eyes reveals that she has picked up on some of the calculating manipulations Viola excels in. "The rumors are true, Quade," she says with a grin. "We met her."
"Her?" he says, swinging his gaze to Tulip. "They didn't say much. Just that a friend or family or something in one of the northern cities told someone to tell them that there's a new God and Winter magic is back."
Morrow can't rip his eyes off the combined hands of Tulip and Quade, but he still grunts out a response. "Aye, the Shadowweaver. She's something else."
"How do I know you're not just pulling my leg?" Quade asks skeptically.
"Who won the Race this year?" Tulip asks, sitting back and crossing her arms.
Quade sucks on his teeth and shrugs. "I don't know. Hold on." He kicks open the door to the kitchen, yelling back there. "Huck, who won the Race this year?"
A skinny man with tattoos up his neck pokes his head out the door. "Some broad, Viola something or other. Fogstream or something. Oh, and she had a tiny blond thing with her. Name was Tulip something or other. You didn't hear everyone talking about it for like two weeks?"
Quade raises his eyebrows and turns back to our group. Tulip's mouth stretches into a full grin. "Nice to meet you, Quade. I'm Tulip something or other."
"So you won the Race," he says, appraising her with newfound respect. "And this Viola?"
"The new God," I say firmly. When Viola arrived in Ytopie, the magic that was lying dormant within her fully awoke. It turns out it was a portion of the Frostweaver's magic." I drain my fifth glass of the Ferian liqueur. "Unfortunately, we found that out because the Frostweaver came back and decided he wants to force all humans to worship him and throw Krillium into eternal winter, with no care about how that affects the delicate ecosystem our world balances on."
Plume steps in. "So we have been traveling to help the Shadowweaver gain devotion and the supplies she needs to bring the Gods of Spring, Summer, and Autumn to the plane so she can step into hisplace."
Quade rubs his fingers between his eyebrows. "You lot are giving me a headache. Can you give me a shortened version of all of this?"
"We know the God. She needs people to believe in her. We came here in search of an item and journal she needs to stop the Frostweaver from ruining our world," I say dryly.
"Are all fae filled with such fantastical stories?" he asks with a chuff. "I'm supposed to believe a human woman turned into a God?"
"Believe it or don't." My irritation seeps into my words. I've been on a very steep ledge since Viola left us, and the smallest thing could push me over the edge. "Don't you know who I am?" I say, squinting my eyes at him. "I'm Mace Nightroot. Head of the Patricians. Orchestrator of the Race. If I tell you someone won my Race with Godly magic, you damn well better believe me."
"Simmer down, big guy," Morrow says, rolling his eyes. He looks at Quade. "Said God is also his lady, and it's been a minute since he's seen her. He's getting crotchety."
Quade narrows his eyes at me further. "You fucked a God?"
Tulip spits out her drink and laughs, and the sound of it is contagious because Plume joins her in a fit of giggles. "To be fair," Tulip says, wheezing through her laughter, "he didn't know she was a God the first time it happened."
"He doesn't need you spilling stories of his sexual exploits," I grumble, crossing my arms.
"Then don't have your sexual exploits where we can hear them," Morrowsays impassively. "You're not sneaky."
Eventually, my companions decide they don't need to continue spilling the details of my carnal relationship with Viola, and a comfortable quiet falls over us. To my surprise, Quade breaks it.
"Alright, say all of this is real, and you're here to stop some massive dick from fucking up the world. How can I help?"
I sit up taller. "We're looking for an artifact and a journal. Someone very pious and potentially higher up in power may know if it. It belonged to the last high priest of the Bloomtide."
"Oh," Plume says, interrupting me. "And we need you to spread word about The Shadowweaver. She needs people to believe in her, to be devoted to her so her magic is strong enough for what we must accomplish."
He scrunches his nose. "I suppose I can confirm the rumors when they start and mention her plan. The journal, though, may prove more difficult."
"Any idea where we can start?" I ask, hopeful.
"Yeah, maybe check with Xande. He's the leader here." Quade peers out the window. "Tomorrow, not tonight. See him in the daytime, and maybe he can point you in the right direction."
