Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3) C.J. Aaron (mobi reader .txt) 📖

On the other hand, there was a deep sense of revulsion. Blood had been spilled over a simple handshake. The act had cost innocent men and women their lives. They had been slaughtered for the sin of standing up for what was right. He struggled to quiet his racing mind.

A single handshake between two men had caused a ripple effect.

In two days, they would give them something that would shake Damaris to its core.

Chapter 18

The conversation with Breila had turned to lighter subjects. Ryl found that he enjoyed time spent with the pair, though his own curiosity was roused as no further light was shed on their previous dealings. They bantered like siblings separated by time—laughed over stories, lamented changes and mourned over acquaintances lost too early.

Though she had not been directly asked her opinion on the matter, Ryl was confident he knew where she stood in relation to the tributes. As unexpected as the friendship was, he welcomed any additional support behind the cause.

Ryl knew not how for long they had been enjoying her company, yet he knew the hour to be getting late. For the majority of their impromptu meeting, he’d savored the sense of freedom from the weight of destiny and of purpose—he was merely a free man enjoying the good company of friends over wine and food. Regretfully, the night had to end.

There was much that needed to be done.

Breila daintily stifled a yawn with the palm of her hand, rising from her seat at the table.

“Andr, my friend, I’m afraid that I must excuse myself for the evening,” she said as she puckered her lips into a slight frown. “Though I grow weary, I have enjoyed myself more tonight than I have in cycles. My heart is lighter knowing that you’re still alive.”

She moved gracefully from her seat at the table crossing behind the large desk near the back of the room. She reached into a drawer behind the desk, retrieving a small object which she clutched in the palm of her hand. Ryl and Andr had risen by the time she returned; they stood patiently waiting. She held her hand out in front of her body, a single silver key rested in her palm.

“I trust you know where your room is?” she asked with a smile.

“Aye, that I do,” Andr replied quietly.

She extended her hand, flipping it over, placing it gently onto Andr’s. She maintained contact with the merchant for a long moment.

“Please grant me the kindness of a ‘farewell’ before you depart,” Breila’s voice was thick with emotion. “I’ll have instructed the staff to let you both come and go as you please.”

She stepped forward, wrapping her thin arms around Andr’s neck, pulling the mercenary into an embrace. She left a single kiss on his cheek.

Turning to Ryl, she spoke kindly. There was not a hint of insincerity in her voice.

“Ryl, I know not what you have planned, though I know the heart of the man that stands beside you and the opportunities he pursues,” she lectured. “I’ve seen enough cycles to know there’s something about you that I can’t explain. You have Andr’s trust and friendship, so too you have mine. See him safe through your endeavors.”

“Until the end, Breila,” was all Ryl could reply.

Her embrace was heartfelt yet brief. She left him with a gentle, motherly kiss on the cheek.

Moments later, Ryl followed again in Andr’s wake as they descended the plush red carpeted staircase, retracing their steps toward the tavern. Andr had explained quietly that their lodging was outside of the main building, hidden in the alleyway through the rear exit to the stables. Though the hour was late, there were still several women lounging in varying stages of undress scattered throughout the room. A single man, his head held down to disguise his face, was being led by the hand up the stairs on the opposite side of the room.

The bouncer merely nodded his head as they exited into the entryway. They quickly retrieved their weapons, leaving the key in the small silver lock.

“Let’s make for the room and some rest,” Andr said quietly, speaking only loud enough to be heard over the noise from the tavern. “The hour is late; the others have surely left the farm by now. We’ll have much to do tomorrow.”

The tavern was still crowded as they exited the quiet, tranquil calm of the inner sanctuary. The duality between the two was even more startling than it had been on the way in. The heat and stench of the room was overpowering. The cacophony of sounds rang in his ears.

He followed deftly in Andr’s wake as they eagerly made their way through the crowd toward the side exit. Ryl was anxious for the relief that the outside air, though tainted, would bring. They weaved their way around a group of intoxicated revelers. The party was in the midst of singing some incoherent variation of a drinking song. Ale sloshed from their tankards as they careened about with little regard for those around them. Ryl's eyes traveled beyond the group, cataloging the myriad of debauchery that occurred in every corner of the large room. As his eyes roved the crowd, a figure on the opposite side of the wall caught his eye.

The man was alone, leaning heavily against a vertical support that carried the load for the balcony of the floor above. Like many others in the room he was dressed in the apparel of a guard, though his uniform shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a well-worn tunic below. His head bobbed slightly, modeling the effects of the tavern’s potent brew. The tankard in his hand was held carelessly, and small drops splashed over its rim as he fought to remain afoot. His eyes however, though they moved with polished discretion, couldn’t hide their true intent.

Ryl knew the face instantly. Though their interactions had been brief, he’d left a lasting impression in his mind. His