Chapter 14: Cute Guys and Skulls Won't Let You Drink in Peace

We were halfway back to Cinabar before Serine’s brain decided to reboot. She’d been walking in silence, eyes wide as dinner plates, mouth twitching like she wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how. By the time the rooftops of the village came into view, she finally croaked out:

“Rissa… you… you didn’t even flinch. The wyrm just—” She snapped her fingers in the air. “Gone. Like dust. You’re… not normal.”

“Oh, thank you, darling,” I said sweetly. “Please, flatter me more. I do so love hearing how impossibly fabulous I am.”

Her glare could’ve curdled ale, but she didn’t argue. She couldn’t.

Arkanthos, on the other hand, sounded smug even without a face. “Mistress, forgive my curiosity, but I must ask… how exactly did you conclude that was the path? What elements did you fuse? Catalyst, intent, or pure instinct? The manifestation was far beyond—”

I smirked and shook my head. “Now, now. A girl’s gotta keep some mystery about her. Can’t just spill my divine secrets to the peanut gallery.”

“So you refuse to explain?”

“Refuse?” I tilted my head. “No, no. I’m simply cultivating intrigue. Much sexier that way.”

He groaned in my head like a disappointed schoolteacher. Delicious.

There was one small problem, though. The wyrm? Yeah, it wasn’t exactly in a presentable state. More like… charcoal confetti. Nothing left to prove we’d killed it. Not even a tooth. Which meant my dreams of swimming Scrooge McDuck-style in piles of wyrm-scale coinage died on the spot.

I wept internally the entire way down into that accursed rift.

Luckily, the wyrm’s nest had something shiny to soften the blow. Or rather, not shiny. Round. Heavy. Fragile.

A wyrm egg.

Serine almost fainted when she saw it. “We can’t carry that! What if it hatches?”

“Oh yes, because newborn wyrms are so famous for breathing firestorms and eating priestesses in one gulp.” I rolled my eyes. “Relax. Without mommy keeping it toasty with her bad breath, it’ll be about as dangerous as a very ugly chicken.”

Still, I could practically see the gold glinting in the shell already. That egg was our proof, our payday, our get-out-of-poverty card.

Elyndor’s workshop smelled of pine shavings and varnish, and there he was, exactly as I remembered: small-framed, soft-featured, his long green hair tied neatly in a bun at the back of his head. And of course, smiling like the world had never once given him a reason not to. Elyndor could have watched his own house burn down and he’d still greet you like an old friend at a spring festival.

When Serine and I heaved the wyrm egg onto his porch, his eyes widened, emerald-bright. He circled it once, tapped the shell gently with his knuckles, then looked up at me with a grin so sincere it nearly hurt my face to look at it.

“You did it,” he breathed, as if we’d just delivered him a miracle wrapped in scales. “Truly… this is more than enough proof. Thank you. With this burden lifted, I can set to work on the northern bridge at once. Ten days, no more, and Aveloria will be open to you.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Ten? What are you doing, weaving each plank out of unicorn hair?”

He chuckled, unbothered, and bowed lightly. “Quality, my lady Rissa, takes time. But I swear to you—it will last generations.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I was pretty sure they rattled. Still, he was so damn earnest I couldn’t even be mad at him. “Fine. Ten days. If I die of boredom in this backwater, I’m haunting you.”

And so we lingered in Cinabar.

Day one: I wandered the market, calculating exactly how many mugs of ale our wyrm egg might fetch if I pawned it off. Spoiler: a lot.

Day two: Serine scolded me for “recklessness,” because apparently destroying wyrms and drinking before noon were crimes against the gods.

Day three: Arkanthos tried—again—to pry my secret out of me. I kept him in the dark, because mysteries are fun.

Day four: jackpot.

A merchant finally took the bait.

He was portly, perfumed to the point of assault, and had the kind of greedy eyes that made me instantly nostalgic for my childhood scams. His hands trembled as he stroked the egg’s shell, pupils dilating like he’d just fallen in love.

“Ladies,” he whispered, “where exactly did you acquire such… a treasure?”

“Estate sale,” I said smoothly. “The wyrm family was downsizing. Had to let go of junior.”

He squinted at me. “So you stole it.”

I was about to give him a sarcastic encore when Serine—sweet, gullible, blabbering Serine—decided to ruin everything.

“We didn’t steal it!” she blurted, hands raised in protest. “Rissa killed the wyrm herself!”

The world slowed. I turned to her with the slow inevitability of an executioner lifting the axe. My expression said it all: I will end you later. Painfully.

The merchant’s jaw dropped, his lips forming the words but… before he could utter a thing, another voice slid into the conversation like a knife between ribs.

“That’s impossible.”

My blood ran cold.

Because here’s the thing: nothing sneaks up on me. Nothing. I hear the rats in the alley before they smell the bread. I feel the shift of air when someone three streets away slams a door. But this voice—this presence—had appeared right behind me without so much as a whisper of warning.

I spun, ready to gut whoever dared, and froze.

He was tall. Broad shoulders, lean frame, eyes the color of storm clouds at sea. His hair was gray—not old gray, but sharp, striking, steel-gray, as if the gods themselves had sculpted him from dusk and bad omens. And his stance… calm, balanced, predatory. My instincts screamed danger.

And I hated, absolutely hated, that I hadn’t noticed him until he spoke.

His gaze flicked to our robes, smirk tugging at his mouth. “A scholar and a priestess? Do you truly expect me to believe the two of you killed a wyrm?”

I forced a smile, sweet as poison. “Darling, I expect nothing from you. Believe me, don’t believe me, makes no difference. But if you think that means you’re getting the egg, think again.”

That rattled the merchant. He practically shoved his purse of gold at us, desperate not to lose his prize. Smart man. I snatched it up, heavy with coin, and tipped him a mocking curtsy.

And just like that, the deal was done and we ran out of there without saying a single word.

Nights in Cinabar were quieter than a tomb, so of course I escaped to the tavern. A mug of ale in one hand, Arkanthos’ skull tucked discreetly in my bag, I finally had peace.

Until the voice slithered into my head. “Now that lady Serine isn’t listening… tell me, mistress. What truly went through your mind when you struck the wyrm?”

I stared into my drink. The foam curled like smoke. My smirk slipped.

“I thought about dying,” I whispered in my head.

Arkanthos stilled. “Explain.”

“I thought about the taste of rust on my tongue. The burn in my lungs. The moment everything went black and I stopped being… me. The fury, the helplessness, the raw hatred of it all. I took that memory and handed it to the wyrm. My death, his instead. Simple trade.”

A heavy silence filled me. Then Arkanthos’ voice, dark and reverent: “As I suspected. You walk with both death and life, mistress. To die and to rise again… is to own both. That is why you command such power. You are the echo of an ending… and the promise of a beginning.”

I almost laughed. Almost. But the words sat too heavy in my chest.

And then—of course—because fate loves timing…

A shadow fell across my table.

I didn’t need to look up. I already knew who it was. Gray hair. Storm eyes. The stranger from before. The one who had managed to slip past my senses.

He sat without asking, quiet as shadow, posture rigid, eyes like stormclouds. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, steady, deliberate.

“Name’s Cassian. Wandering traveler.”

I nearly spat my ale. “Cassian? Oh, that’s adorable. Cassie, then.” I tapped my mug against the table in mock toast. “Cute little name, like a girl from a village fair. You should wear ribbons.”

His jaw tightened, but otherwise he didn’t move. “It’s Cassian.”

“Sure, Cassie.” I sipped again, watching him from the corner of my eye. “Wandering traveler, was it? You look about as much a traveler as I look like a nun. And trust me, sweetheart, I don’t pray.”

He ignored the barb. “I heard about the wyrm.” His gaze cut into me. “Tell me how you did it.”

“Oh, straight to the good part.” I leaned back in my chair, stretching lazily, pretending boredom. “I crocheted a blanket, sang it a lullaby, and it just… died of cuteness. Terrifying, I know.”

His eyes narrowed a fraction. “You mock. But wyrms don’t just vanish. You killed it. How?”

“Cassie, darling, I kill a lot of things. Flies. Bottles of wine. The occasional evening when Serine drones on about morality.” I tilted my head, smiling sweetly. “But wyrms? Oh, those I just shoo away with my broom.”

He studied me, unblinking, like he was dissecting every word, every twitch of my lips. Patient. Too patient. “You’re hiding something.”

“I’m hiding many things,” I purred. “Like the fact that I still haven’t told anyone about that terrible haircut of yours. Don’t worry, Cassie, your secret’s safe with me.”

His composure wavered, just slightly—a flicker in those storm-gray eyes. He leaned closer, voice lowering to a razor’s edge. “You think this is amusing. But I need answers. No priestess… no one like you should be able to do what you did.”

I clinked my mug against the edge of his untouched cup. “Need is such a strong word. Try want, Cassie. You want to know. I, however, want another drink. See how balanced that is?”

For a heartbeat, I thought he’d snap right there. But he inhaled slowly, forcing calm.

“It’s fun watching you sigh like a cute little girl in love.”

That was the last straw. He shoved back from the table, chair scraping the wood with a screech, storm crackling in his eyes. “You treat everything like a game.”

I raised my mug in salute, grinning. “Correction: it is a game. And right now? I’m winning.”

He turned sharply, boots striking the floorboards like thunder, vanishing into the smoky haze of the tavern.

I sat there alone, smirk tugging at my lips despite myself.

“Wandering traveler, my ass...” I murmured, lifting my drink. “To secrets. To handsome strangers with storm eyes… And to me—always the only one who knows the rules.”

Arkanthos’ voice slithered through the back of my mind, smooth as ever. “You noticed it, mistress.”

I swirled the dregs of my ale. “Of course I noticed. You’d have to be blind, deaf, and drunker than me not to. Cassie isn’t a common traveler. He reeks.”

“Of death,” the skull murmured. “The stench clings to him like rot to a corpse. Even without your affinity, any soul sensitive enough would feel it. But you—”

“Yeah, yeah,” I waved at the barmaid for another round, “I practically taste it on the air. Sour and heavy, like week-old wine. Makes me wonder how the hells no one else gags when he walks past.”

“Because they lack your… insight. He hides well. Too well. He carries secrets, mistress. Perhaps as many as you do.”

I snorted. “Oh please. Nobody has that many skeletons. I keep you in a bag, remember?”

The barmaid set down another mug. I drained half before Arkanthos spoke again. “He is dangerous. His presence unsettles me.”

“Good,” I muttered into the froth. “Means I’m not the only one.”

“You laugh, but heed me, mistress. A man who smells of death without being bound to it is one who has walked its edge—and returned. Such men do not simply wander taverns. They hunt. They watch. They wait.”

I raised a finger to the barmaid for another, ignoring the warning tightening around his words. “Relax, Bony. I’ve survived knights of the “holy whatver order”, a demon spider, drunk noblemen with more ego than brain and an angry and scorned princess. One cute boy with a tragic haircut isn’t going to keep me up at night.”

“And yet you jest because you are uneasy.”

I downed the rest of the mug and smacked it onto the table. “Arkanthos, I jest because it’s the only thing that makes the hangovers worth it.”

There was silence, the kind that meant Arkanthos was grinding his teeth in that very skull-like way he had. Finally, his voice returned, low and steady: “Mock all you like, mistress. But the next time you see him—do not turn your back.”

I grinned at the empty space beside me, raising my mug again. “Oh, I won’t turn my back on Cassie.” I licked a drop of ale from my lip. “I’ll keep him right where he belongs—in front of me, asking questions I’ll never answer. And now, please let me drink in peace bag of bones, or I’ll use you as a cup for the next drink.”