Page 112 of The Fury She Holds
They gathered their weapons in silence and left the pier. Tal busied herself with securing one of her sheaths when she was tugged toward the water with a force that had her stumbling into a newcomer. Something cold and sharp bit into her neck. Tal released an exasperated breath.
"Alisaire wants to speak with you."
Carrick tilted his head—an offer to step in—but Tal had already resigned to handle the situation herself.
She lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug before saying, "Fritz, I told you, if you put your hands on me again, you're dead."
The blade bit into her neck as the thug shook. Warm blood trickled down to her collarbone. A dark room with a wooden ceiling filled Tal's mind. She held Carrick's gaze to steady her thoughts.
"You're coming with me."
"Good-bye, Fritz." Tal fisted her hands. She didn't bother removing his knife. Pain didn't register in the recesses of her power where she traveled. It didn't take any effort at all. Between one breath and the next, pure fury exploded out of the man. He collapsed in a ball of flame before he could cry out.
Carrick gaped while Tal brushed remains from her sleeve. "Blazing pigs, Tal. You didn't touch him. You barely moved."
She picked Fritz's blade from the ashes, inspecting it and deeming it worth keeping.
"Are you at all fazed?"
She met his stare. No. She was not fazed. In fact, she was so unaffected by the use of her fury that she was terrified. The magic coursed through her, enticing her to use more. And she would.
Something changed in her on that table, and Tal didn't know whether to cling to her friends or tell them to run. So, rather than admitting the war within her, she said, "I'm fine."
“Uh huh." Carrick grabbed a nearby bucket and washed away the evidence of Tal's fury. "Looks like the gangs are getting restless again?"
"I'll deal with Alisaire when I'm ready. We have other plans tonight."
"Well then, come on." He dropped the bucket and threw an arm around her shoulders. “I hear the king is at Gale’s. Something tells me he has a thing for redheads.”
Tal smirked. “Is that so? Do you think he likes stubborn bounty hunters with a healthy appetite? Maybe I can swindle a round of drinks out of him.”
“Something tells me he’ll offer more than that.”
Tal shoved Carrick again, and still the man was unmoved. They turned north toward her favorite tavern.
“Do you think he brought dessert? I’m starving.” Carrick’s voice echoed over the Taralin.
“He better have. And if Sybil eats my custard again, I’ll be furious.”
Epilogue
Faron
“With all due respect,Your Majesty,” Councilman Gregor spat the word like poison on his lips, “your blatant disregard for policy and tradition has been downright insubordinate and has left many of us wondering if you’re even fit for the throne.” The bloated and balding man stood proudly, as if he had already won the argument. His swollen finger jabbed a page on the ledger in front of him. The sneer he directed at Faron should have been treasonous.
“With all due respect,Councilman,” Faron threw the title back at him, “our kingdom would benefit more from an alliance providing lumber and wool to house and clothe our people,notfrom steel. The alliance thatyouinsist on will provide enoughmetal to outfit every citizen with a weapon and suit of armor. Do you plan to declare war on the three kingdoms at once? Or did the eastern kingdom promise you something else with my marriage?” Faron splayed his hands on the table in front of him. The wood beneath his fingers helped ground him. Gregor’s contributions to the council were always self-serving. Despite being part of the group that appointed Faron’s father to the throne, Gregor would better serve the kingdom in his grave.
Radomir leaned forward in his seat, waving for Faron’s attention. “What Councilman Gregor means, Your Majesty, is that our kingdom has thrived on adhering to certain… expectations.” He nervously searched for Gregor’s approval.
Faron threw his hand toward the east. “You call this thriving? The people arestarving, their homes are collapsing on top of them, or worse—they’re living on the streets. Gangs have taken root in our port and corruption and violence are rampant. No one here is thriving except the so-callednobility.” Faron sneered. The pair disgusted him; Gregor, the boorish fuck and Radomir, his sniveling pet rat.
Gregor scoffed. “We’re handling the situation in our port. You’ve been told not to concern yourself with the matter, and you would do well to listen.”
“You’re handlingnothing!” Faron shouted. “As the king, I demand you turn your sights from foreign affairs and fix the mess you’ve made.”
“You’re in no position to make demands, boy.” Councilman Mackenzie didn’t bother to stand from his seat to deliver the veiled threat. While he claimed his hunched form hindered his mobility, Faron knew it was a farce so he wouldn’t have to pay the proper respect to his king.
“Calm down, Mackenzie, before you make a fool of yourself.” Connell waved a shaking hand at his fellow councilman.
