Page 8 of Reign

He waved a hand toward the gods, knocking his tankard with his clumsy gesture. With a quick reaction, I managed to catch the teetering mug before it toppled over.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

Todd shrugged, nearly spilling his drink once more as he snatched it back, splashing ale onto his tunic before taking a hearty gulp. “Don’t—don’t be. Sixty-four years under his belt, that’s lucky, eh?” He let out a wet belch and shook his head. “The Lord’s marching lads off to war to die. Some of ’em—gods—some of ’em so young they don’t even have chest hair to keep them warm in the camps.” He leaned back, muttering into his tankard, “Cannot believe it. Boys, just boys, fighting wars.”

Todd continued mumbling incoherently as the barmaid thumped a wicker basket onto the table, hauled up her gray kirtle, and elbowed her way back through the throng. I grabbed a roll, wincing as I nearly chipped a tooth on its stale crust.

Instead of trying to understand the old bibber’s ramblings, I watched the barmaid, who, from behind, might have been mistaken for a beauty—with her thick braid of dark blond hair and waist small enough to wear a bracelet as a belt. But from the front, life had clearly been unkind to her. She caught my eye and attempted a charming smile, but it was marred by teeth the color of autumn leaves and skin as textured as tree bark. I smiled back, hoping to escape a future as bleak as hers.

Todd slammed down his tankard, the clatter claiming my attention. “On—on my travels,” he mumbled, blinking slowly, breathing heavily, “I spent a night at the Bell Inn. Got talking to some wayfarer—real rogue lad—but listen, listen to this.” He jabbed a finger at me. “The lad refuses to call our King James anything but the usurper!” He cackled loudly, smacking his palm against his thigh. “The lad was a soldier, fighting in Cambas. He fled, fearing for his life. Told me—listen here—Regina’s formed an army, unbeatable without magic.”

Before men were conscripted to war, Todd’s tales of Regina always felt like nothing more than fables. But since Father left to fight, they had started to feel real, like magic was returning to seek revenge.

Finn gave me a glance, rolling his eyes as the barmaid leaned over us—her hot breath burned my nose with the stench of her rotten teeth.

“How many times do I have to tell you to be careful talking about…” she began, pausing to glance over her shoulder.

I relished the brief surge of fresh air before she ducked back into our conversation.

“Magic folk,” she whispered so quietly I couldn’t tell if I’d heard the words or read them on her chapped lips. “You know the regulars get rowdy when talk turns to witchcraft.”

Todd let out a sharp huff, swaying slightly as Finn turned his attention back to Avice, settling his hand atop hers.

After stacking empty tankards until she could carry no more, the barmaid glanced over the table. “You lot want another round?”

We all nodded.

I was surprised that Todd had managed to catch my attention, but I couldn’t help but wonder: Why, after all these years, had Regina apparently formed her own army?

“Why does she want to wage war?” I asked. “Why now?”

Todd narrowed his eyes, struggling to focus. “Listen here, lass,” he slurred. “As we all know, on his deathbed, the last King named his son, James, the rightful heir. Changed the whole blasted line of succession—bypassed his eldest, Regina. The years might’ve drifted by, but she still wants that throne—aye, what she believes is duly hers.”

Finn scoffed, pushing his way back into a conversation he’d seemed desperate to avoid only moments before. “What did she expect?” His tone was sharp. “A son always outranks a daughter, that’s been the order of things since the living memory of man.”

My leg twitched at his remark, but I restrained the violent kick I wanted to plant on his shin.

Todd shrugged, wobbling slightly like a sailor on a storm-tossed ship. “Anyway,” he gargled with a hiccup, his breath stinking of ale. “After twenty years of banishment, she’s returned. The wayfarer swore he saw her, riding on dragonback, flying over the Marshlands only weeks ago, looking over the kingdom as though she ruled it…”

His words trailed off into a mutter, rambling on, but Avice cut through his intoxicated musings.

“Impossible,” she said, tearing her gaze from Finn to meet Todd’s wavering one. “If she had, she’d have been shot down. The lords work tirelessly to ensure no magical creatures curse the realm.”

I recalled something Mother had once told me—during the Dark Days, King James ordered his lords to do what must be done to obliterate all traces of magic. She said knights burned suspects at the stake, hung bodies in the square, and senselessly slaughtered creatures, magical or not, across the entire kingdom.

Todd sluggishly shrugged his shoulders. “I’m telling you what I heard,” he slurred, licking his lips. “Listen here, did I ever tell you I saw it? Her dragon?”

“Yes,” I groaned. “Many times.”

“With my own eyes,” Todd murmured, ignoring me entirely. He tipped his head back, looking up at the wooden beams, his breath snagging as if he could see something none of us could.

“Many summers ago, but I still feel it—the wind, strong enough to knock me off my feet, as she soared overhead. Her loyal followers right behind her, fleeing the kingdom, riding on the backs of wyverns.”

“Remind me, what’s a wyvern again?” Finn asked, and I wasn’t sure if it was to stop Todd’s ramblings or if he was genuinely curious.

Over the years, Todd had given us endless descriptions of magical creatures—most unimaginable, I thought to be made up. It was hard to remember what any of them supposedly looked like.

“A two-legged, winged serpent,” Todd replied, shaking his head in disappointment. “When I was a lad, my friends and I—catapults in hand—would sneak through the woodlands, hoping to find some sleeping wyvern to pelt with rocks. Now, you younglings don’t even know the creatures that once called your home theirs, too. Not a blasted one…”