Page 93 of Omen of ice
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We travel through the woods for three days, avoiding trails until we hit a small piskie hamlet. Delkin announces that we’re far enough away from prying eyes, saying he and Benj have some business to see to.
I can’t imagine what business they have in a piskie town. Piskie and Fae aren’t natural enemies by any stretch, but they aren’t notorious allies, either. Our history books tell us they fought together in the Ogre Wars out of necessity, and that piskies favor the warmer lands but don’t usually stick their necks out for outsiders—they keep to themselves and expect everyone else to do the same.
Before he disappeared into the town, I cornered Delkin and asked if there was any way to get our hands on jalva oil. Since losing the braid—his theory is that the power surge during our encounter with Orbik’s men ate it up—the power has been building again, the pressure threatening to force its way from my body in a violent explosion I fear would hurt someone. But we’re out of luck. The jalva plant only grows in a small section of land near Vey Brill. We don’t have time to double back.
“I haven’t been to a piskie town in over six hundred years.” Daroose wedges himself between Valen and me, then slings an arm lazily around my shoulder. He inclines his head toward the tavern on the other side of the square. “Then again, I haven’t been anywhere in six hundred years, so…”
“How long did they say they were going to be?” I take in the square. There are several piskies going about their day, offering us confused glances. Slightly shorter than average humans, the piskies are winged Fae with an affinity for nature. They can shrink themselves to the size of a rosebud and are said to commune with animals. There’s a theory that the druids weren’t one hundred percent human and shared a common ancestor with them, but I never believed it.
Valen stretches. “They didn’t say. But if it’s safe enough to be here now, maybe we could spend a night. I wouldn’t say no to an actual bed.”
I shiver. “And a warm fire.” Ever since I lost the braid, I’ve been cold. Not freezing, but definitely colder than I should be given the warmer climate.
“I’d love some ale!” Daroose exclaims and sighs. “How I missed ale…”
Before I know what’s happening, the kelpie drags me across the square and straight to the tavern doors. It’s still early; the sun is just beginning to set, so the place is quiet.
He stops short as we get to the building, then reaches around and tugs my hair free from its bindings.
“Hey!”
“Shh,” he says, shooing away my hands. “You need to cover those round ears of yours. We don’t want anyone asking why a human is keeping company with a Fae.” He sobers and points to my face. “Can you…”
My sigils. The initiation sigil and the one under my eye.
I close my eyes and focus on unmarked skin. The mask sigil warms for a moment before going cold.
“Perfect!” Daroose exclaims. He makes a show of arranging my hair around my face, then pushes me inside. Valen trails behind.
There’s a purple-haired piskie in the corner, nursing a red drink from a large glass. Every few seconds, he hiccups, sending a burst of pink bubbles into the air. He pops all but one, letting the sole survivor float until it crashes against the ceiling. With a hysterical chortle, he begins the process all over again.
The only other patron is a stocky piskie with beautiful, bright-orange hair and golden eyes. She’s dancing in the center of the room, twirling and laughing and humming to the lively tune played on a lute by a Fae at the far side of the room.
Daroose leans against the bar and grins. “Have you ever had piskie ale?”
“Can’t say that I have.” I glance back at Valen, who is hovering by the entrance, peering out the window.
“Then allow me to buy you your very first.” He taps the bar. “Barkeep. Two glasses of your finest ale, please!”
“We don’t have any money.”
“This is a piskie village.” He reaches over and unwraps one of the decorative leather strands on my sleeve, around my forearm, then slaps it on the bar. “Withthiswe can drink like kings.”
The barkeep’s eyes widen as he lifts the leather. With an assessing once-over, he nods at Daroose and disappears. When he returns a moment later, he has two small glasses filled to the brim with dark-red liquid.
I sniff the drink. A cross between hilpberries and sandalwood. “That doesn’t look the least bit appetizing.”
“Trust me. Would I steer you wrong?” He nods to my neck, where his collar hangs. “Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—I couldn’t.”
Aside from the unintentional taste I’ve gotten through the link with Valen, I’ve never had alcohol. It isn’t allowed at the Order. On the rare occasion we went into the main town, the barkeeps knew we weren’t to be served. Curiosity piqued, I pick up the glass and take a sip. The taste is surprisingly sweet and has a slightly fizzy sensation as it slides down my throat. “Not what I expected.”
“Told you. Now, just be sure to—”
The glass is small, so I tip it back and drain the remainder in one, satisfying swig.
“—take it slow.” Daroose’s eyes go wide, and his mouth falls open. “Um…”
