A Promise of Iron Brandon McCoy (howl and other poems TXT) 📖

racial exclusion. She attacked the very nature of the Cause and its treatment of those deemed lesser men. The priest stood no chance.

She was as well versed in Venticle teachings as any on the council could claim. Her knowledge was like a spear into the heart of their hypocrisy. She organized marches, work stoppages and read passionately from the Book of the Cause, the real book, the source that had been twisted to fit the Empire’s ambitions. Being young, Cyllian, and beautiful, she often drew a crowd. But she was not just some unhinged woman on a morality crusade. Her voice carried weight, not solely from the passion of her rhetoric, but by the bloodline she belonged.

Lord Edrogan Valerius was the righteous leader of the Northern Purity Council, her father, and an absolute prick of a man. He was staunch in his interpretation of the word and resolute in his definition of depravity. Her familiarity with me was such a depravity. A wiser man would understand this, understand the risks, and move on; I was anything but wise. He tolerated her as a father does his only daughter, but she was, without a doubt, a complication to his work, a complication to his cause.

Crylwin returned with a fresh round. Pale beer in tall fluted glasses. Our food followed shortly after, Rohger with it. Warm bread with soft butter, a thick wedge of hard yellow cheese, a clay jar of fruit preserves, and a whole roasted chicken served with cold potatoes and honey sauce for dipping.

Crylwin and I tore at the chicken like barbarians. It was flavorful and salted to perfection. I skipped the sauce. It was too sweet for my taste, but Lira slathered in on by the spoonful. Unlike us, she ate with delicate, courtly bites, something befitting a lady, but after a few gentle reminders of her surroundings, she went at it as ravenously as us.

“So where’s Decia, tonight?” she asked between bites. “I was hoping we would get a chance to gossip.”

Crylwin offered a non-committal shrug.

“Hey, you don’t get off that easily,” I said.

Lira turned back towards him, eyes mischievous. “Oh, what did you do?”

Crylwin took a long drink of his ale. “I may ‘ave accidentally left her waitin’ at home.” He sighed. “But it’s for the best. She’d ‘ave found some way to ruin it.”

Lira nodded. “So, all is not well with the happy couple?”

Crylwin scoffed. “Hardly.”

“That complicates a long-awaited betrothal,” I added with a grin.

Crylwin glared, then downed the rest of his glass. “Some friends you are. I think I’m just gonna spend the rest of the night with Rohger; at least he won’t sit there judging me like you are.”

“Hey, no one’s judging you,” I said, raising my palms. “Just teasing… You guys have been in copper for what? A full cycle now?”

Lira gave me a quieting look. “I understand how you feel, Crylwin,” she said. “I can’t imagine how I would feel if my father arranged my life like that.”

“It’s not like that… not all the way. I like her… I just…” Crylwin trailed off.

“Life lived without love is a life unlived,” Lira said, patting him on the hand. “Be honest with her. Be honest with yourself.”

Crylwin nodded, but I could see the weight of obligation weighing heavily on him. Decia was a noble bride from a noble family; someone meant to restore the respectability of his house—respectability he had lost.

“I know what it’s like to disappoint your father,” she reassured him. “You should tell her how you feel; maybe she feels the same, maybe she doesn’t. The last thing you should do is commit to something half-hearted. If you respect her, you owe her that much. Your father will be disappointed, but he will forgive. Decia’s not the only eligible maid in the Empire.”

She turned to me then, and I felt my face flush.

We talked long into the night of smaller things. Turns grew quiet, wrapping around us like a blanket on a chill evening. I felt like a king, surrounded by the warmth of friendship and lamp light—a perfect ending to a nearly perfect day.

The door opened, and the chill night air blew in with it. I looked up instinctively. Three figures entered, two dressed in officer’s gray, a third dressed in long black leathers. They stumbled in noisily, taking a seat at the far end of the room.

“What the hell is a jack doing here?” I whispered. I turned to Crylwin, who was preoccupied. He didn’t answer.

“Three shock, import only, none of that unfiltered shit you pass off up here,” the younger of the three said as he positioned around the table directly within my eye line. He wore a mocking smile as he took his seat.

“You’re welcome to get your drinks from the bar, sirs,” Rohger said apologetically. “I sent the girl home hours ago. It was a light crowd tonight what with the raid and all, so I’ll be closing up soon.”

“What kind of tavern makes me carry my own drinks?” The man scoffed. He stood and stalked to the bar. “Shall I pour them as well? Here just give us the bottle then.”

With an even nod, the fat barkeep produced an uncorked bottle from underneath the counter.

“My finest for the finest,” he said obligingly as he stacked three glasses next to the bottle. With a grunt, the officer took them back to his table, popped the cork, and filled each of the glasses until they overflowed with liquor.

“That’s three coppers, is it, barman?” the officer called out, a sum I guessed was less than a quarter of the cost that was just poured. Rohger hesitated, then nodded his head in agreement.

The officer raised his glass. “That’s a good man.”

Rohger did not return the gesture.

I looked to Crylwin, who was fixated on the group.

“What are you looking at, pretty boy? You see something you like?” the officer called out.

Crylwin sat in silence, though his glare spoke volumes.

“I heard lords north of the Burh fancy the lads; I just