Page 132 of Of Bargains & Betrayal

“Not again,” Maksym muttered.

Only a few months had passed since the last incident with sick shifters in the city. That one left two Umbrite children dead and a third horrifically mutilated. Malakai had given his unwavering word to Maksym that his people would be out in full force, containing and even culling the sick when they had no other choice. Their efforts to understand what was causing the forced shifts and the sickness that came with them had made little progress over the last year, but Malakai was firm in his commitment. And, to my incredible dismay, he was prowling across the clearing straight towards us.

“Your Majesty. Mage,” the arrogant shifter lord drawled. “We had a few…slip through the cracks, it seems.”

“You don’t fucking say,” Maksym hissed. “Why in the hell wasn’t I notified already? If we had any civilian⁠—”

“Oh, just take a breath.” Malaki gestured at the golden sky with a flippant wave of his hand. “Do you see how fucking early it is, Max? You should thank me for not waking you unnecessarily. It was nothing to fret over. The only casualties were my sick men. Your pretty little wife saw that thoroughly handled before there were any problems.”

Between the sudden paling of Maksym’s face and the knot that took hold of my stomach, I wasn’t sure which of us was more likely to be taken out by a strong breeze.

“What?” he exhaled.

Malakai rolled his eyes and sighed. “How else would you prefer I explain it? That feisty Odessan broad slit a couple of shifter necks and solved our problem? She’s fine, if that’s what’s got a stick up your ass. Being plied with thanks and food at the Wench.”

“Watch your mouth about her,” was all Maksym bit back before he was traveling in a determined line back down the street, kicking up dirt in his wake.

There was a slim chance he’d forgotten I was with him.

I was left hurrying after his miserably long strides again, calling after him to no avail, until he was pushing past two men on the steps of the tavern and through the door.

Considering the time of day, The Busty Wench had a modest crowd already, sleepy faces dotted around at tables, cradling steaming mugs around plates of buns. Not the usual fodder housed on these tables by any means. The doors rarely opened until at least high noon, when a steady flow of ale and stew started.

But across the dim space, Enora was sitting at a table with the tavern’s owner, Bryer, cradling her own mug. Even though her face and white blouse were both splattered with blood, she looked uninjured, and relief coursed through me.

If only the same could be said for Maksym.

He was charging straight towards Enora, and I feared he’d break right through the table before Gallan intercepted him.

“My liege,” Gallan said with a tight smile as he grasped Maksym by the shoulders and attempted to break his narrowed line of focus. He was also covered in blood. “So lovely of you to join us this morning. You too, Jas.”

Maksym was not having any of it. “You brought her here?”

“Ah, well.” Gallan winced. “Yes, I did. Rather, she was planning on walking here from the Keep, on her own, unarmed, before sunrise. And I knew how catastrophic that combination could be, so…I chaperoned her.”

“I’ll deal with you after.” Maksym brushed Gallan to the side and kept on his determined path.

The Elixia cast me an exasperated look. “Fuck me.”

“Oh, you are so fucked,” I muttered as I watched Maksym approach the table and toss his hands to either side. “How was she?”

Gallan sighed wistfully. “Pretty damn incredible. A little shaken after, because, well…” He shook his head. “It was a lot. But she’s fine now. In that regard, at least. But she’s got a lot of pretty concerning feelings about…other things.”

Those other things needed no explanation, and I let a weary-looking Gallan slip away. From a distance, it was clear Maksym and Enora had fallen right into hurling unpleasant words back and forth at each other, and Bryer left the table in a hurry.

That was my cue to supervise, lest they try to maim one another.

“…have you ever heard of cell fever, Maksym? Isolation sickness?” Enora asked before played-up realization settled on her face. “Silly me. Of course you have! All that time imprisoned and whatnot by your dear old man. It’s a really fucking miserable feeling, isn’t it?”

Goddess, that was a harsh dig.

“What are you getting at?”

Enora simply shrugged. “I needed to get out.”

“You. Needed. To. Get. Out.” Maksym enunciated each word like she spat lunacy at him. “And you couldn’t have waited until a reasonable time of day and just asked someone? Me? Jasper? Eilir?”

A slow smile spread over Enora’s blood-spattered face.