Page 69 of This Dark Descent
Force him, said the voice.
“That’s because it’s none of your business.” Welzin brandished his cigarette in her face, hot ash singeing her cheek. “Now, stop wasting my time. Either buy something or get out of my—” Ari’s enchantment-enhanced punch smashed into his face. He dropped the cat and stumbled back into the wall beside the cage of a snarling wolf.
Ari advanced on the reedy man, pinning her forearm against his throat. “Let me be very clear,” she said, ignoring his wheezing. “You are going to tell me what Lady Vanadahl told you, or I’m going to feed you bit by bit to the wolf.” She jerked his fingers toward the snapping jaws of the beast.
“Okay!” he rasped, and Ari nearly gagged on the stench of verillion smoke and rotting gums on his breath. She let up on his throat but kept her verillion burning. “Look, the lady didn’t tell me anything. She got herself into some gambling debts her father wouldn’t pay and needed the coin. She only came in to sell me the cat.”
“But she gave you my name?”
Welzin hesitated, and Ari shoved his hand between the bars. He yelped as she snatched it back, barely avoiding the wolf’s teeth. “No! She didn’t give me any names. Just the cat.”
That didn’t make any sense. She was missing something.
Welzin squirmed in her grip. “Come to think of it, a bloke came in asking after that cat. He had someone else with him, but I didn’t see their face. They were awfully interested in the beastie, though.”
“Were they big men?” she asked. “Dark hair, tall, broad shouldered? One carried a baton, the other a blade.”
Welzin shook his head. “The one I saw was lean and blond. I remember him because he kept riling up my animals. Right annoying, that one. If you’re looking for the rough sort, you should go to the Drowned Crow across the way. A lot of them that operate around here like to go in for a drink.”
Ari barely heard him. If Welzin never knew her name, then how had Damien gotten it? Though now that she thought about it, Damien had never said he’d heard of her through the enchant dealer. Only that he’d tracked a golem of hers down there. She’d come here looking for revenge on the men who harmed her and gotten only more questions in return. What was she missing?
Ari released him. “If you’re lying to me, or if you ever tell anyone about this, I’ll be back.” She didn’t bother to stop the golem cat from escaping as she shoved open the door and strode out.
THE DROWNED CROWsat on the edge of the Greystel River, crammed between a recruitment building and an inn. They leaned over the pub like an arch missing its keystone, casting its worn wooden exterior in shadow.
A warm orange glow washed over Ari as she entered, illuminating a clean, well-kept pub. The air was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, and she drew a deep breath, the familiar smell working away at her burgeoning headache. The gentle whisper of a brass band warming up in the corner rose over the steady hum of voices from the half-filled tables.
The place felt far homier than she’d expected for the drinking establishment of criminals.
“Can I help you, darling?” A dark-skinned person with thick eyebrowsand short, curly black hair looked up from the table they’d been wiping down. They were tall and thin, all elegant lines with kind eyes, and had the fading hints of a Yaroyan accent.
“I’m looking for someone.” Ari eyed the half-eaten stew the table’s patron had left behind. Her stomach growled. She’d left off burning the verillion, but the small amount she’d expended had still left her hungry. The more she used it, the more tolerance she built up, but she still had a long way to go.
The barkeep smiled. “Why don’t you have a seat at the bar.”
Ari followed them to where a dark cherrywood counter separated the room from the kitchen behind. She settled down in one of the well-worn stools as the barkeep ladled her a fresh bowl of stew.
“Oh, thank you, but I don’t have any coin,” she said quickly. Though Damien had paid her several times now, she hadn’t gotten used to carrying the coin around and often forgot to take it with her.
“Don’t worry yourself over it,” they replied. “I have quite a bit left and a coldbox with a dead enchantment.”
It was a common story on Rathsborne Street, where few could afford to maintain enchantments with rising verillion prices. From the looks of it, she wasn’t the only one eating for free. There was a Celairen family still with their luggage, and two gaunt-faced kids at the corner of the bar inhaling their stew.
Two more problems the Council of Lords could alleviate if they chose. They could stop the price gouging of grain and release verillion from the royal reserves, or fund refugee and veteran housing like the Adairs. Perhaps that was why Damien had accepted every invitation the prince sent his way since the day of the rebel attack—he could be a means of influencing the council.
“Name’s Vix, by the way.” The barkeep stuck out their hand.
Ari shook it. “Arielle.”
“Ah, a Kinnish name. My mother was a Sage in our town in Yaroya, thoughI myself have never been the religious sort.” Vix folded their arms atop the bar, an ease in their voice Ari wondered at. They spoke so definitively about their Kinnish identity; something she’d never felt comfortable doing.
Her Saba had always said that there wasn’t just one way to be Kinnish. Some people were born Kinnish, some became Kinnish through marriage, and some converted, but they were all equal in their welcome, no matter how deep their roots ran. Whether their connection came through religion, or culture, or heritage, they were one people. Yet somehow, she still felt leagues apart.
Ari scooped another bite of stew. It was warm and spicy on her tongue, reminding her of something her mother made when the weather turned cold. The memory sent a pang of nostalgia through her.
What for? It’s not as if they miss you too, said the voice.
She flinched.You don’t know that.
