Page 64 of Revealing Fate

Prestyn glanced behind them and hesitated, gloved hand hovering as though unsure whether or not he should touch her. “Elder, are you alright?”

She swallowed thickly. “Yes,” she said. “Sorry. I…I’m fine. I’m unharmed.”

His brown eyes lit with uncertainty. “What happened?”

What happened? What indeed? She’d just watched her queen pull a shurii heart from a bronze basin. Who had it belonged to? Did they relinquish it willingly? How many other atrocities were being committed in the name of the Faithful Cursed?

“I’m not sure,” she said truthfully. She didn’t even know what time it was. The sun had begun its descent in the sky. Vulgren would be wondering why she was delayed in returning to the Stronghold, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Second Lieutenant Gore straightened, one hand on the hilt of his sword, and peered back in the direction of the temple, whose spires could be seen towering over the surrounding rooftops. He appeared conflicted, caught between what he wanted and what was expected of him. Finally, he addressed her. “What do you need, Elder?”

“Honestly?”

He nodded.

Imogen smoothed the front of her vestments, a fine tremble in her fingers. “I don’t know about you, Lieutenant,” she said. “But I could go for a drink.”

Chapter 25

OUT

IMOGEN LED HIM TO THE fringes of Asteros, away from the main city center and business district buzzing with activity. She didn’t want commotion. She wanted quiet. Somewhere she could sit and process what she’d just seen.

Lieutenant Gore followed dutifully, keeping near to Imogen’s side and glaring at anyone who passed too closely.

“If you keep making that face, Lieutenant, it may get stuck,” she apprised, glancing sidelong at him.

“I am not familiar with this area, Elder,” he said, restless gaze roving the emptying streets. “Your safety is my priority.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she replied. “But I grew up near here. Trust me, the poor have more pressing concerns. Accosting an elder and a soldier of the crown is decidedly low on the agenda.”

Imogen passed a familiar street lined with a row of dilapidated adobe structures. The roads here were packed earth, a stark contrast to the manicured cobblestones in the wealthier sections of Asteros. If she followed this path, she’d find a small red house with a cracked tile roof and a single square window occupying the far corner lot.

Her childhood home.

She hadn’t been back in a small eternity. The years spent in that house while her father was alive felt like they belonged to someone else’s past.

The image her memory conjured was a joyful one, a bubble of happiness in the harsh reality of the world. Her father had provided the kind of love and stability that every child needs but doesn’t realize they’ll crave until they’re old enough to reflect on how it was taken too soon.

If she were to see it now? What the house had become since leaving? That happy memory would burst. Now, it was just four walls at the end of a dirt road sheltering someone else.

Imogen didn’t turn down that street. Instead, she continued past for another quarter of a mile until they reached an unnamed pub nestled between an overgrown corral with rusted fencing and a cobbler’s shop.

Prestyn Gore eyed the building’s deteriorating façade with a dubious expression. “This is where you want to go for a drink?”

“What, a nameless, back-alley pub is beneath your standards?”

“I can think of several alternatives,” he began.

“Never been to the blighted underbelly of Asteros, have you?” When he didn’t answer, Imogen tilted her head up at him. “I didn’t take you for the discriminatory type, Lieutenant.”

He flushed slightly, gripping the worn iron ring that served as a door handle, and yanked it forward on screeching hinges.

Imogen stepped inside and welcomed the nostalgic scent of ale casks and cigar smoke as it washed over her. The pub was empty as she’d expected. The regular crowd of locals wouldn’t be in for hours yet. Not until their work in the city was finally finished for the day. She sidled up to the bar and slid onto a stool. Lieutenant Gore stood stiffly next to her.

The barkeep, Ross, took her order and pushed an unmarked bottle toward her with two dingy, squat glasses. She filled one and tossed back the clear liquor, relishing the way it carved a fiery path through the tightness in her chest.

Imogen lifted the glass in the stalwart Lieutenant’s direction. “Want one?”