Page 176 of Ashborne: Defiance

Bren stuck to my side, laughing and joking with the men—who kept us circled as we walked the road, then entered the city and braved the streets. Our brothers insisted that there were gangs of criminals causing issues in the streets. They warned us not to leave the tavern alone, and debated about which we should visit. The final call was made to patronize an establishment called The Gilded Fang. Which sounded very interesting.

I’d always imagined these places as dens of iniquity—dark corners that men frequented to find women and drink. So, I was surprised when we passed under a brightly painted shingle depicting a dragon coiled in flight, to enter a simple, but warm, cheerfully lit room with a large fire at one end, a bar at the other, and several massive, wooden tables, with benches long enough to sit six per side, and a stool or chair at each end. The glossy wooden rafters and stone hearth made the place something my mother would have described as rustic. Yet, I found it inviting.

Since it wasn’t yet the dinner hour, there were only a few of the smaller tables with patrons already seated.

We took an entire long table in the center.

I was thrilled when someone plonked a handle of ale down in front of me. I took a deep sip—only to cough and almost spit it back out.

Thick and aromatic in ways that weren’t pleasant, it was so hard to swallow. I choked for a time and ended up wiping tears from my cheeks, as Bren laughed and my brothers teased.

“Someone buy her a wine!”

“Nah—she has to finish the pint first. Grow the hair on her chest.”

“You should grow your own, before worrying about hers, Harle.”

“Shut up, Voski.”

I giggled, but held the handle of the large mug in one hand, and cupped my other to its slick side, praying if I held it in front of me, they wouldn’t notice if I didn’t drink it.

As the first hour passed, I sipped slowly at the cup—it became slightly less abhorrent with each mouthful—but mostly listened to them banter and tell stories. When Gil and Jhoare raised their voices, trying to shout each other down about a memory of Bren and Akhane’s flying roll during her assessment, and the others laughed, something in my chest turned warm and ached beautifully. There was something very special about being there with them all just together. I prayed the day would come when I felt as easy in their presence as Bren did, and could claim my place. Because watching them made it clear, they didn’t call each other brother as a title, or for status. But because they were truly a family.

I’d been in so many rooms, and navigated so many crowds throughout my life. Yet, the men and women in the court were a stark contrast to this camaraderie.

I’d once envied other nobles for their acceptance among our peers. Yet, I’d never seen warmth and solidarity like this. Friends in the noble classes always seemed to speak with one hand on their daggers—metaphorically. The women competed for the men, and the men competed with each other.

But here? While these men—my brothers?—fought to be the funniest, or the cleverest, or the strongest, it was all in good-natured, competitive spirit. The sense among them was that they were a unit. Held together by a common thread—the dragons. And while they might needle each other, the moment someone else approached, they closed ranks and stood shoulder to shoulder in protection of each other.

I’d always prayed to find that kind of friendship. A woman I could trust with even my darkest fears without having them used against me. As the shadows deepened on the street outside and my body grew looser, my limbs becoming heavy, I glanced to my right, at Bren. I hoped we’d find this kind of friendship.

For the first time in my life, it seemed possible. Yet, she was already one of them. A Furyknight.

Would I ever attain that? I prayed for that, even more fervently than to find a friend.

Still, it was a delight to have even the opportunity to become one of them.

Watching them, laughing, I forgot myself and took another long draw on the ale. And even though my eyes watered a little bit, it wasn’t nearly as offensive the second time. So, I took another, more careful sip.

I didn’t talk much, but I giggled with abandon—the men were much louder, so would cover any unladylike snorts or splutters.

The fun was only interrupted by the occasional patrol from a royal guard, or another Furyknight on shift. The bell on the door would jingle, and we’d all turn to see a large man with serious eyes, step inside, scan the room. Sometimes they’d speak quietly with the tavern owner before leaving again.

The moment the door closed, voices in the room rose to bubble around the rafters again, and laughter rang out once more. It felt warm, and comfortable, and special.

This is my world, I thought to myself as I scanned the table, taking in each smiling, reddened face, and burning it into my memory. It seemed impossible. A lie. And yet, these men called themselves my brothers, and Bren my sister. There was a dragon back in the Keep awaiting my return. I was cleared to fly. Tomorrow, when they all went out on patrol, I would be allowed to harness, and fly Koa all by myself. And if anyone from the city caught sight of me, they’d assume I was already a Furyknight.

I shook my head in disbelief and took another sip of the heavy, pungent ale.

This impossible world that they inhabited had just embraced me.

I never wanted this day to end.

“Tell them what you told me about Koa—when she named him!” Bren said, her eyes sparkling as she leaned into my side.

It took me a moment, then I remembered, and pressed a hand over my mouth to laugh. “But, the word is…”

“Just tell them.” She nudged me, giggling.