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We order food. The stew is bland and the bread stale, but it is warm. Still, the unease lingers. The tavern’s atmosphere remains tense, whispers curling through the air.
After a while, I start to shift in my seat and finally ask, “So, when exactly is this contact supposed to arrive?”
Oberon’s jaw tightens. “He should have been here by now.”
Great. That doesn’t sound ominous at all.
Before I can press him further, the tavern door creaks open. A small figure slips inside: a boy, cloaked and barely noticeable among the dim surroundings. His eyes scan the room before locking onto Oberon.
With quiet determination, he makes his way to our table. He stops beside Oberon, glancing quickly at Ash and me. Then, almost imperceptibly, he slides a folded note across the rough wood of the table. His voice rings out, soft and rehearsed. “Excuse me, sir, do you have a coin to spare for a piece of bread?” A cover. Obvious and clumsy, but it does the job.
Oberon doesn’t hesitate. He reaches into his pocket and hands the boy a coin. The boy nods in thanks and slips away as quickly as he came.
I lean in. “Well? What does it say?”
Oberon unfolds the note, his sharp gaze flicking over the words. His face remains impassive, but I catch the slight tightening of his grip before he folds the parchment and tucks it into his pocket.
“The contact won’t be able to make it tonight,” he says at last. “We’ll stay here for the night. They’ll meet us in the morning.”
“Fantastic.” I lean back in my chair, groaning. “So, we dragged ourselves through a wormhole, walked into a war-torn village, and waited for hours in this charming establishment . . . just to sleep here?”
Ash grins, raising his mug. “Could be worse. At least we’ve got drinks and questionable company.”
Oberon stands, ignoring Ash’s remark. “Come. The tavern keeper keeps rooms upstairs. We’ll rest and be ready for tomorrow.”
With a heavy sigh, I grab my mug, sloshing the last of the bitter ale down my throat. “If I knew this was the plan, I would have stayed on the damn mountain.”
Ash winks. “But then you’d miss all this quality time with us.”
“Lucky me.”
As we climb the creaking staircase to the upper level of the tavern, the unease in my chest refuses to fade. The contact’s delay doesn’t sit right. Something is coming, I can feel it. But for now, all I can do is wait.
We find our rooms, and each claims our own. We exchange quiet goodnights before I slip into mine. The small room matches the rest of the town—old, worn, and unflattering. A single bed sags against one wall, draped in thin, dingy linens. The walls are bare, the wooden floor scuffed and uneven.
I don’t mind, though. I’ve slept in worse places, lived through worse things. One night here is nothing.
My head spins a little from the day’s events, a lot from the drinks Ash kept shoving into my hands with his signature grin. Lying back on the tattered bed, I stare at the beaten wooden ceiling. The haze in my mind makes it harder to place my emotions. Warmth? That can’t be right. I should hate Oberon for capturing me, for forcing me to stay at the cabin. And Ash? He isn’t innocent either.
Yet here I am, feeling . . . something. They gave me freedom eventually, and a purpose. And as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t mind their company. Not that it means much. I haven’t had companionship in a long time.
Exhaustion eventually wins. My thoughts fade, and sleep takes me.
Chapter seventeen
Just Dreams
“Lyra.” The voice feels distant at first. “Lyra.” A hand firmly grips my shoulder. “Lyra. Wake. Up.”
My body shoots upright, a sharp gasp escaping through clenched teeth. My surroundings blur as I scramble to make sense of what is happening.
Where am I? The room. The tavern. The village. Oberon?
He is here, on top of me. His legs straddle my hips, strong hands resting on my shoulders. My breath catches in my throat.
His shirt is gone, revealing every line and sharp edge of his torso. The tattoos I’ve only caught glimpses of before wind up his arms, intricate and dark against his skin. My face flushes hot.
I should look away.
