Page 31 of Sword & Sacrifice

“Hello, Ev,” Valerian greeted with a lopsided grin. With ale on his breath and soaking his front, he’d have an easier time playing the ignorant drunk. “Want a drink?”

“No, I don’t want a drink,” Everett said, plucking the mug from Valerian’s hand and slamming it on the bar. When the barkeeper scowled at him, Everett shifted his position to show the blade hanging from his side. The barkeeper turned away and pretended not to notice the trouble. “I want,” Everett began, turning his ice blue eyes onto Valerian.

No, that’s not right, his eyes should be brown.

“—my wife.”

Valerian blinked and the eyes were brown again. Am I really drunk off half a pint? Exhaustion and magic use could lower his tolerance, but he didn’t think his reserves were that depleted. “Your who?”

“My wife,” Everett repeated through clenched teeth. “Where is she?”

“You got married? Congratulations! Barkeep, another round on me!” Valerian called, pulling a coin pouch from his belt. He gave Everett a disappointed look. “Who’d you marry, anyway? The nice village girl you saved during our last mission?”

The barkeeper didn’t move, probably concerned that any drinks he served them would end up all over his bar, the floor, or each other. Either way, it was a mess no sane man would want to clean up if he could avoid it.

“I’m talking about Adelaide,” Everett snarled. “Where. Is. Adelaide?”

Valerian gasped dramatically and pressed his hand to his chest. “You two are married? And you didn’t invite me? I thought we were friends.”

“Stop the act, Valerian. I know you aren’t actually drunk.”

Valerian let the facade slide from him like a discarded cloak. He straightened in his chair and cleared the slur from his voice as he said, “And I know you and Adelaide aren’t married. Not in any legal ceremony, at least.”

Everett stilled, his blue eyes—wrong, that’s wrong—narrowing on Valerian. “We will be as soon as I find her.”

“The bride running away doesn’t bode well for a happy marriage.”

Everett lunged for him, punching Valerian square in the jaw. He fell backwards, crushing the stool beneath him.

“Outside!” the barkeeper shouted. “Take it outside!”

Valerian looked up at Everett. “You heard the man.” Then he reached down and touched the mark already carved into the wood beneath him. “Let’s take this outside.”

The floorboards shifted and rolled at Valerian’s command, dumping Everett on his ass. His eyes widened and he scrabbled at the floor, trying to get a grip as it dragged him through the bar. Chairs and tables moved out of the way, carrying people with them. Startled screams filled the air, covering up Everett’s shouted expletives.

Valerian pushed himself to his feet, left a few gold coins on the bar to cover the damage, and walked outside to meet his former friend.

Thrown facedown into the dirt, Everett continued to curse as he shoved himself upright. He yanked his sword from its sheath and turned toward Valerian. “You will tell me,” he snarled, “one way or another.”

“Everett, Everett, Everett,” Valerian tsked. “Do you think you can do any worse to me than what I’ve already experienced?” Usually, he wore an enchanted ring to hide his scars, but now he pulled it off and tucked it into his pocket, allowing the other man to glimpse the horrors of Valerian’s past.

The only bit of skin left unmarred was his face. He never let anyone get close enough to scratch it, let alone leave their mark.

Everett thrust his sword toward him, and Valerian sidestepped. The sword didn’t even graze him, yet he still heard a rip, like something cutting through fabric. Valerian frowned, but before he could determine the source, he had to sidestep the swinging blade again.

“I don’t want to kill you, Valerian,” Everett said between strikes.

Valerian laughed at the man’s arrogance. “You think I’m worried about you killing me? I’m not using any magic, and you can’t even get close.” He caught movement out of the corner of his eye as he dodged another blow. Despite his taunts, the blade came within a hairsbreadth of him. If he didn’t start fighting back soon, he might actually be in trouble.

He and Everett had known each other for almost five years. They’d defeated villains, rescued damsels, and collected rewards together. They may have been ruthless mercenaries, but there was a time when they would have gone to the ends of the earth together.

When Everett had met Adelaide and fallen desperately in love with her, Valerian was happy for them, even with his own heartbreak still fresh in his mind. Adelaide had joined them on missions, offering magical support and healing their wounds, and she’d reminded Valerian so much of Olivia, with her bright smile and love of adventure. Except she hadn’t baulked at Everett’s wounds or run away when the work proved too dangerous. She stayed by his side and studied harder to offer more help in the field.

Then the bruises started to appear. First, Valerian mistook them for common injuries from their missions. A black eye after one. A red ring around her throat after the next. He couldn’t remember when she’d sustained them, but the fights grew so chaotic that he often lost sight of her in the tussle. The larger the team, the harder it was to track everyone’s movements, and Ada had proved herself capable enough for Valerian to stop worrying about her.

Until the purple handprint appeared on her upper arm.

They hadn’t been on a mission in over a month. Peace was a bad thing for a mercenary, it meant the jobs dried up and funds ran dangerously low. It should have been a good thing for a happy couple—should have given them time to enjoy each other’s company. When Valerian had been with Olivia, he’d loved those quiet times the most, even if it meant they had to tighten their belts a little.