“I’m a Rune Sorcerer,” said Amelia. “I can use the tattoos, but I can’t give them. Only William can do that.”
“An Ink Mage, and a Rune Sorcerer,” Mistress Blossom said. “I’ve met hundreds of Mages, but never a pair like you two. Until this evening, I had never even heard of such mages. And now, two of them have entered my tavern on a single night? It almost beggars belief.”
Amelia smiled and withdrew her Mana from the spell. The ice immediately melted back into her hand. She glanced at me, and I smiled at her; she was learning an impressive amount of control over her new power.
I looked at the barmaid, Sophie, and wondered whether she cared about the terrible condition of the tavern after the fight. I doubted the Mistress would be cleaning it all up; it would be Sophie and the other barmaids who mopped the floors and gathered the broken furniture.
“So, you didn’t use any weapons,” Mistress Blossom continued. “I suppose that means you technically didn’t break any of the rules. But the tattoos seem to be magical weapons themselves. Perhaps I should ban you all the same? I’d need to change the wording on the sign...”
“If I may, your ladyship,” Veronica spoke up. “I know these two travelers, and I can vouch for them.”
Mistress Blossom turned her attention to Veronica, whose brow still glistened from the exertion of combat.
“And what makes you think they are trustworthy, Veronica?” Mistress Blossom asked, her arms crossed over her generous bosom.
“William is a recently escaped slave.” Veronica pointed to me.
I hadn’t expected that to be Veronica’s leading point; it seemed like something that would render someone untrustworthy. But the Mistress glanced at me, impressed.
“So, you got away?” she said. “Good for you, lad.”
Veronica continued. “Amelia and William both assisted me in battle today; their help was invaluable. And they are both strong supporters of freedom, like we are. They killed some slavers yesterday.”
“I see,” the Mistress said. “Well that does change things a bit.” She turned to Jacques, who was picking his teeth with a large splinter that might have come from some broken furniture.
“But what about you?” She rounded on him. “You used a mug in the brawl.”
Jacques spread his hands and grinned, laying the splinter on an only partially broken table beside him. “The mug came from inside the tavern, ma’am.” He bowed his head in deference. “I simply used the environment of your fine establishment.”
“You threw one of my patrons into the fire,” Mistress Blossom countered.
“Also contained in the tavern, your ladyship. I didn’t bring in any weapons.”
Mistress Blossom sighed. “You’re right, as ever.”
Jacques gave an ingratiating grin.
“Where’s my cut, Jacques?” the Mistress asked him.
Jacques cleared his throat. “But of course, where are my manners? I forgot all about this.”
He fished in one of the pockets of his trousers and pulled out a coin purse.
The Mistress’s face lit up, and she extended her hand.
Jacques dropped the purse into her hand with a clink. “This is half of what I earned from those brawlers before our little quarrel began.”
“Earned,” the Mistress repeated with a chuckle. “Ah, Jacques. You know I can never stay mad at you for long. I’m never happier than when defrauding scum who torment slaves for fun. Even better when we make a profit doing so.” She gave a lilting laugh.
Amelia blanched. “You regularly steal from your patrons?” she asked.
Mistress Blossom looked earnest. “But of course, dear. We’re only stealing from them what they’ve already stolen from the poor. All the proceeds go to the upkeep of this noble establishment. We’re looking after the needs of the poor, using the profits exploited by their oppressors. Speaking of upkeep, it’s time I took care of the little mess you all made.”
I was about to apologize once more, when a breeze picked up inside the tavern. I looked around to see if one of the doors or a window had been opened, although there were no windows in this part of the tavern.
A fresh smell filled the air, of flowers and vegetation. Mistress Blossom stood motionless, her hands outstretched, and her eyes closed.
The candles flickered in the breeze, but none of them went out. From the Mistress’s feet, a glow of green light emanated into the wooden floor around us. It glowed bright as waves of energy pulsed from the Mistress into the surrounding room.
“What’s happening?” Amelia asked, her voice quivering.
“Ssh, wait and see,” said Jacques. “This is perfectly normal.”
As we watched, the table next to us appeared to rise of its own accord. The splintered boards met each other and fused. Green energy flashed in the gap between the boards, and wood regrew, splicing the pieces together. The benches on either side rocked back into position, green light zipping across the surface, knitting splinters back into the surface of the wood.
Fragments of stone beer mugs flew into the air in a whirlwind around us. The hundreds of shards merged together, forming whole mugs once more, which settled on the surrounding tables, some of them still containing unfinished beer.
“Incredible,” Veronica whispered. “I’ve seen this a few times already, but it never ceases to amaze me.”
“How are you doing this?” I asked. “You don’t have a wand. You don’t have tattoos, do you?” I suddenly wondered whether Mistress Blossom might have known about Ink Mages all along, and that I wasn’t so unique.
Mistress Blossom laughed. “Of course not. Whatever it is you’re capable of doing is extremely rare. I’ve never once come across such a thing in all my time in Brightwater.”
“But if you’re not doing it with tattoos or a wand, how are you doing it?” Amelia asked.
The Mistress pointed down at her legs. “Believe it or not, these fishnet stockings are good for more than just enhancing my gorgeous looks. They’re magical stockings, with small runes inscribed on the threads. A very expensive
