One of the men behind him—a guard—has moved in to press the tip of his sword against Zander’s jugular, freezing him in place.
On instinct, I move to stand.
“No.” Jarek’s arm loops around my waist before I’ve shifted an inch. “Do not do anything to draw attention to yourself. We need to see how this plays out.” His free hand settles on the dagger at his side, waiting.
Zander remains still as the men strip him of his weapons, his gaze locked on the lord, unreadable.
Where the inside of the Greasy Yak was once boisterous, now every cleared throat echoes through the space. Behind the bar, the waitress sobs as she cradles her wrist. She was likely given no choice but to comply with the lord’s instructions, yet I can’t muster pity for her.
“Norcaster has had more than its fair share of strangers filtering through its gate as of late,” Isembert announces in a baritone, the slight accent making his words sound harsh. He’s educated, though, more refined than the ox twins and probably most people here. “You are yet another. A well-armed one, at that.”
Zander’s face is a picture of ease, despite the blood trickling down his neck and the blade against his throat. “I did not realize that Norcaster had sealed its gates to weary travelers who wish to protect themselves.”
“Is that all you are? A weary traveler? With your companion at the bar, playing stranger and asking questions?” He nods toward Elisaf. “And the female warrior you came through the gate with tonight.” Isembert scans the tavern, and Jarek ducks his head, but I doubt the lord is focusing on anyone. He’s simply making his point. “Where is she?”
“Humping someone in an alleyway, if she’s lucky.”
Nervous chuckles float around the room.
Isembert smiles, but it’s not genuine. “One can’t be too careful lately, with these Ybarisans out peddling poison to kill our kind.”
Zander’s eyebrow arches. “Are you pegging me as Ybarisan?”
“Are you?”
“While I have been called a sweetheart from time to time”—his eyes cut to the treacherous waitress—“I do not believe they were referring to the scent of my blood. A Ybarisan, I most certainly am not.”
Isembert’s lips twist. “What is your name, weary traveler?”
“Zander.” A slow, mischievous smile touches his lips, and I know he’s decided before he says it out loud. “But you may call me King.”
Whispers flare. Even the guard holding Zander at sword point wavers, his blade shifting away a few inches.
“Fuck.” Jarek heaves a sigh. “This is going to get ugly.”
Isembert’s hand flies up. “Silence!”
Quiet falls.
“King Zander.” If the lord is at all surprised, he hides it well. “What brings us the honor of your appearance?” He sneers, not a hint of deference. “Could it be that you are fleeing the kingdom you lost after bedding that Ybarisan whore and betraying your people?”
“See?” Jarek whispers. “Big, fucking balls.”
I’m going to enjoy crushing them. My ring burns against my finger, and I take deep breaths to calm myself before I turn every mug of ale into a flying weapon.
A muscle twitches in Zander’s jaw, the only sign that the lord’s words bother him.
“The people within these mountains lead simple lives, in relative peace, and may not be current with the political circus of the south. Let me spend a moment enlightening them, for I receive regular news, and the latest is disturbing, to say the least.” Isembert stands and begins pacing around the tavern. “Those Ybarisan monsters you’ve heard rumors of, skulking through villages, intent on destroying Islor with their poison? They were invited to cross the rift by this male”—he jabs a finger toward Zander—“and his family. The Ybarisan princess they swore would bring peace and prosperity to our realm? She has brought war and ruin, the poison that bleeds into Islor the very blood from her veins. It is said just one drop will kill any elven.”
A chorus of gasps sounds. They may have heard about the poison, but clearly they haven’t heard all the details.
“And even after she killed King Eachann and Queen Esma—his parents!—still he promised her the throne next to him, with all its wealth and power. What kind of king does that? Unless he is aligned with her in thought. Unless he has already betrayed his people.”
On instinct, I spin my ring until the stone is hidden and hope the lord doesn’t notice me. Even those bandits could see value in it.
Isembert’s boots scuff across the hardwood as he approaches this side of the room, slowing next to Elisaf, as if taunting him. “Now they flee together, the disgraced King Zander and his poisonous princess, heading north to collect her soldiers and continue what they started. That is why he is here now. Those mortals who hang from the gallows?” He casts a wayward hand toward the square. “They do so because of him. The keepers who were so violently murdered may as well have been by his hand. His, and the realm of Ybaris.”
Isembert is mere feet from us. Any second, he’s going to see Jarek.