Vassal Sterling D'Este (top 10 books of all time .TXT) 📖

Experimentally, the halfbreed stretched the muscles she would use to control her wings, inching them out towards the sides of the narrow streets. At first, nothing seemed to happen. No one turned around, demanding to know who had brushed them; she felt nothing at all. And then, with a hard knock against an invisible joint, Delyth’s wing sent a jug of milk crashing off its owner’s stand, spilling pure white into the muddy streets. The priestess flinched, but no one turned to demand that she make amends. They could not tell that she was any different from the other travelers passing through.

She tugged her wings tight against her back a little sheepishly, to keep from knocking into anything again. It was an odd sort of relief to find that her wings were still there, especially after a lifetime’s worth of difficulty caused by them.

In her youth, Delyth had often imagined a life without wings, without the stares and insults of those around her. Now though, it just felt strange. Like some part of her, strange and inconvenient though it might be, was suddenly missing.

Delyth shook her head to bring herself back to the present as Etienne peeled off towards a bustling market to barter for supplies. The Aur’draig clan was laid out similarly to the Mynnyd Gwyllt, a settlement farther to the north and east that she had visited as a teenager. They both had an impressive hall at their center, the chief’s home and gathering place combined, and a large central market. Barracks, smithies, bakeries, tailors, and cobblers had shops ringing outward with the tannery on the outskirts of the settlement. The Aur’draig boasted a tavern and brothel as well, two buildings she did not recall seeing in the Mynydd Gwyllt. Perhaps this settlement’s location closer to the port cities of Aberdwyr and Morpentre meant that there was a greater demand for that sort of thing. There was certainly a greater variety of people. Mixed in with the typical, stocky mountain people, there were the dark-skinned, strong-bodied people of Esha’s lands and the warm, slant-eyed people of the islands. There were even a few whom Delyth could not place—tattooed men and women in colorful garb and intricately braided hair.

She was so consumed with the sights around them, she hardly noticed where they were headed until Enyo stopped before the rowdiest gambling den Delyth had ever seen. Over the top of Alphonse’s head, she stared down every man that so much as looked their way, a silent, foreboding warning. She may be weaker than a Goddess, but she certainly wasn’t about to lose a fight to any of these ruffians. As a rule, they were armed in the typical manner of mountain people. Axes, swords, a few clubs. She saw none among them that posed any real threat, but few stood out: one or two red-bearded fellows with greatswords, and a slimmer, blond man playing dice. She thought at first he was unarmed, but the distinct outlines of knives were visible beneath his clothes.

Enyo was practically preening, fussing with Alphonse’s long tawny hair, it’s waving locks wilder than usual from the unexpected rain washing it had received. And with no veil to tame it, her hair had golden hues, like her eyes in the firelight. The Goddess took a deep breath, glowing as though this was not some hole reeking of spilled ale and sweaty bodies and dried blood, but some sweetly perfumed sanctuary.

Delyth tried not to breathe in the stench at all, her chest hardly rising with light, shallow breaths.

Enyo’s head swiveled as she followed the form of a scantily clad server who winked at her in appreciation, his wide smile flashing between dark hair and dangling earrings. There were too many interested faces for his to keep her occupied for long, though, and Delyth glared at them all.

“Ba’oto, who looks to be the best playmate?” the Goddess asked, smirking. Ember eyes flickered from patron to patron until finally landing on a slender man. Delyth had remarked him earlier; lithe and sly-faced and quite obviously enjoying a game of dice. “Him. Does he not inspire deplorable things?”

Enyo didn’t wait for a response but strode through the throng of players towards the dicing man.

⚄

Tristan was winning. As usual.

He had always had a knack for reading the faces of his opponents, and in recent years it had become an art form. It never hurt to lose once in a while, just to keep opponents coming to the table, but just now, he was enjoying the rewards of his cleverness.

The gambling house was in its usual, festive state of drunken cacophony when the blond gambler reached forward to rake the pile of coins in the center of the table into his waiting purse. The scowling faces around him were just icing on the cake. “Thanks, boys!” he said in a jovial tone. “Your donations are greatly appreciated.”

“Come on, Tristan,” one of his companions said. “Give us a chance to win our money back.”

He might have considered it too, but just then, two of the most interesting people Tristan had ever seen in this lackluster settlement walked into the gambling den.

In the lead was a slim, beautiful girl clothed in a demure dress, though it did not match her face. She stared openly back at the men sizing her up, the attention only seeming to feed her pride. Behind her walked one of the fiercest women he had ever seen, scowling and armed with the sword Tristan had been looking for.

He grinned devilishly.

“Not today,lads,” the rogue told the men around him. “I’m afraid I’ve got other business to occupy my time, but your drinks are on me for the afternoon.”

The closest man rumbled agreeably and punched Tristan in the arm. “Don’t pay for too many drinks, son. I’ll have those winnings off you tomorrow night!”

The blond rogue laughed good-naturedly and extricated himself from the group. Thankfully, he didn’t have to look for the