Page 1 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
Prologue
May, 2018 M.M., Evereostre
Heawokeinacloud of mist beside the Thorny Rose Tavern, sprawled shirtless in a flower bed. Cotton filmed his tongue, his head as heavy as the hogshead of honey mead he’d polished off in last night’s carousing. His morning glory throbbed in his leather trousers, straining to one-up the tulips surrounding him.
Clearly, he hadn’t gotten that ride with sweet-lipped Freesia. He briefly wondered why before loosing a monstrous groan and rolling onto hands and knees, hocking phlegm into the soil. More on instinct than on sight, he reached aside to graze a horn tankard and smirked through his hangover.
Auld Jade—always looking out for him.
After draining Jade’s disgusting dandelion tonic, he belched, expelling his toxins in a pungent mustard haze, which floated off to rankle some unlucky shrub elf.
The rising sun and the spring mizzle battled for supremacy as he rose, trudging toward the fluttering woods to wrangle his pisser and relieve himself. He was reveling in the sweet release of a full bladder when the shutters of the nearest tavern window banged open. “Watch you don’t wee on my crocuses, Pete,” a voice rasped the mild breeze. “You kill them, and I’ll make you pay your tab for once.”
His head already clearing after the tonic, Pete chuckled. “Such a pleasure to hear your silky tones first thing upon waking, my lovely Jade.”
Jade giggled like a schoolgirl who’d been smoking cigars for 20 years. In her case, it was more like 500. “Lay off the sweet talk, you scoundrel. Business arrived for you not an hour ago.”
Yawning, he waved. “I’ll be in shortly.” First, his tadger needed tending. “In the meantime, care to whip me up some of your delectable oat cakes?”
“Bah! You’ll get the porridge already cooking and like it.” He heard her hobble from the window and smiled.
Oat cakes and elderdeer sausage links awaited him as he lumbered into the tavern. Its hearth, a hollowed tree lined with bricks, crackled with fire. Inside sat a hefty cauldron simmering that porridge Jade had threatened him with. Mossy wisteria hung from the ceiling beams, lending the smoke a musky sweetness. Scratching his bristled chin, Pete wended through the tree trunks supporting the second story of the large public house—the only one at the juncture of the King’s Road and the Dagda’s passage.
Other patrons had long since retired to their rented rooms. The poorest travelers snored upon bedrolls within the common room. His own sat in a corner by the side staircase, untouched.
Little wonder Freesia had spurned his advances if he’d lacked the wherewithal to prepare a suitable bed for her. Rather high-minded for a tavern wench, she was. He’d have enjoyed a drunken roll in the tulips, but she treated her cunny like a damn gold box. He wondered whose bed she’d graced with her soft tits and lavender tongue the night before. Sedge’s, he guessed. The lucky sod.
Pete winked at the hefty Middling peering at him over a row of sudsy horn tankards. The piercings along her arched ear glinted in the light breaking through the open window.
“I knew you had a soft spot for me, Jade.” He padded to his breakfast. “Can’t deny it now.”
Before Pete sat to eat, the meaty hand of a Troll fae with a domed, blond head and mocking blue eyes snatched the trencher away. “I’d say her soft spot is more for your mongrel, human.” The Troll set the trencher on the floor beside his enormous sandaled feet and whistled. A nimble mutt of black and tan origin trotted over in response, feathery tail a-wagging.
Sionna devoured the entire meal in three chomps, then licked the trencher so clean it sparkled. Pete only stared at the empty plate, disappointed at the least.
Jade smiled, teal cheeks dimpling. “Sit yourself down, Pete. Reed, take a break from your washing and find something to fill his sour belly.” Smirking, the Troll dropped his rag into a sudsy bucket and wiped his hands on his stained apron. He swaggered toward the kitchen, ducking under the lintel. “And fetch the parcel what was delivered for him!” Jade shouted into the passthrough. “That ghoul nearly spooked the living shite out of me, bringing it here. Must be fair important.”
Exhaling, Pete rested on the bench where he’d meant to eat. It creaked in protest, bowing under his weight—not made for someone of his stature. Most fae weren’t distantly descended from Vikings. Though they wished.
“Did you drink the whole of my tonic?” Jade asked. “You’re still green around the gills.”
Pete swiped a hand through his mussed brown hair. It badly needed shorn. The longer it grew, the fluffier it got. “Yes, mam. Every drop.”
She grunted and set a dried pitcher upon one of the shelves behind her, where she kept the coveted imported spirits—from other courts and Earth. After Pete’s more profitable bounties, he’d treat himself with jiggers of his favorite Irish whiskey. This could cost him; Jade made him pay for the good stuff up front.
Imports from Earth were rare since the moronic king had closed the portals to traders. Still, some of the best human wares strayed into the fae realm through the black-market—and the black-market portals. He’d yet to find one of these outlawed portals himself, though he’d never stopped looking.
“I’d best fix you another draught.” Jade set her towel on the bar. “Reed won’t take kindly to replacing the moss so early in the day should you retch.” She waddled off to join Reed in the kitchen. Sionna, always a welcome guest, was permitted to follow.
Pete swiveled to hunch over the table. He was rubbing a dull throb from his temples when Reed returned, brandishing a plate piled with hash and a tankard of Jade’s tonic. Under his arm glared a bright purple scroll sealed with the Shadow Court insignia. “Bloody Christ,” Pete growled as Reed set down his burdens.
“What?” Reed griped, dropping the scroll on the table beside the plate. “You don’t want hash, and you don’t want porridge. Where is it you think you’re eating, your majesty? The Spring Palace?”
Pete laughed despite his clenching wame. “I’ve no complaint with your fare, fella. My qualm is with the message.”
Reed eyed the parcel. “Doesn’t look too wicked.”
Sighing, Pete grabbed it. “Regardless, it is.” He whistled, long and high, and Sionna skittered from the kitchen on cue, scampered straight to him as trained. He stroked her dutiful head, her chocolate eyes blinking up in anticipation, her tan brows wriggling to and fro.
