Chapter Thirty-One
Cheyenne loomed over the last drunken raug she’d just put on his back and summoned an energy sphere in warning. Black and purple light flickered across the raug’s scarred gray face. “You wanna try that again, or are you done?”
The raug spat a glob of blood-stained saliva, then laughed and waved her off. “I looked forward to ripping the Weaver’s head off his shoulders.”
“Yeah, I bet you did.” She stepped back, still cradling an energy sphere, and glanced at the other two raugs helping each other up off the stone floor. “Anyone else?”
The raugs turned away, wiping blood and spit and dirt off their faces before joining their kinsmen. The spectators roared in approval and welcomed their clansmen back into the small crowd with fresh cups of Bloodshine and hard thumps on the back.
The other citizens of Hirúl Breach glared down at the brawlers, muttering in French and casting even dirtier looks at Cheyenne.
She stared right back at them and spread her arms. “Sure. Next time I’ll let them kill each other.”
“They can try,” L’zar hissed behind her.
Cheyenne spun and stormed toward him, fighting to keep her magic under control as it burned through her. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
L’zar made a poor attempt at wrenching himself free from Corian’s and Maleshi’s grasps. The nightstalkers instantly let go and stepped back when Cheyenne approached her father, her glowing golden eyes blazing. “Just my self-righteous spawn getting in the way.”
The energy sphere crackled, briefly flaring to twice its size in the halfling’s hand. “Say that again.”
“Not the time,” Corian warned in a low voice.
“I know it’s not the time. Why do you think I came here? We’re supposed to be heading to wherever the Crown’s secret kid is, and he’s out here making an ass of himself.” Cheyenne killed the black orb and scowled at L’zar. “You look like shit. Did you get any sleep?”
He scoffed and flung his hand toward her in a dismissive wave. “I don’t need to sleep. Not now.”
“You can barely stand.”
“A minor setback, easily fix—” L’zar staggered across the ground, his eyes wide and unfocused. “Easily fixed by another drink. Where’s the damn Bloodshine?”
“Not here.” Cheyenne folded her arms. “Bet I could find a bucket of water for you, though. I’d be happy to hold your head under it for you.”
He hiccupped, blinked heavily at the nightstalkers, then spun away from his daughter and stumbled toward the other side of the courtyard and the open streets of the raug city beyond. “Whenever you assholes are ready to leave, I’ll be at the gates.”
His footsteps echoed through the stone alley between buildings, and he gave a huge belch before wiping away the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and another cut at his temple. A raug hissed another curse at him in French from an open balcony, and L’zar shot him the O’gúleesh version of the middle finger and stalked away.
“I don’t get it.” Cheyenne turned toward Maleshi and Corian and spread her arms. “Does he have some kind of hidden agenda for drunken street fights, or is he finally showing his stupid side?”
Pursing her lips, Maleshi shrugged.
Corian stared after the drow thief even after L’zar disappeared around the corner and shook his head. “I’m not sure I want to know the answer to that. We need to give him time, kid. He’ll be fine.”
“Uh-huh.” Cheyenne glanced at the nightstalkers and finally had the chance to take in their appearance. Maleshi’s black hair was tangled and mussed in a dark halo around her feline face. The white shirt hanging off her frame looked oddly loose and big on her. Conversely, the black jacket with the gray stripe running down the side looked way too tight on Corian, the sleeve cuffs ending two inches above his wrists because it was the general’s.
Looks like L’zar wasn’t the only one getting into trouble last night. The halfling folded her arms and met Maleshi’s gaze. “I’d ask if it was against the rules to lend your uniform to civilians, but I guess he’s not technically a civilian, huh?”
Corian’s eyes widened, and he looked down at General Hi’et’s unfastened military jacket hanging off his shoulders. “Shit.”
Maleshi chuckled.
“Not funny.” With a final warning glance at Cheyenne, Corian whirled and disappeared in a flash of silver light. Inside the building where they’d all been put up for the night, a heavy door slammed with an echoing boom.
“Well.” Cheyenne met the general’s gaze again and raised her eyebrows. “You can spare me the gory details. Please tell me the two of you worked out whatever it was going on between you.”
The corner of Maleshi’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Gory, huh?”
“Come on. I know enough about nightstalkers at this point to be sure there was at least a little violence involved.”
“You can think whatever you want, kid. What Corian and I work out in private is none of your business.”
“Right.” Cheyenne stared at the nightstalker woman for a moment longer. Stand here and wait. That’s all some people need to open right up. Maleshi stared across the courtyard at the alley leading into the city streets of Hirúl Breach. The halfling nodded. “Okay, good talk. Wanna change the subject and tell me what’s going on with the shit-faced drow who fought like it was his first time?”
Slowly, Maleshi turned her gaze to Cheyenne and pursed her lips. “I’m leaning toward scrambled brains.”
“You’re talking about L’zar too, right?”
“Yeah, kid,” The general said, “Look, I get how frustrating it is to see him go through these mood swings.”
“Nice euphemism.”
“He needs time, Cheyenne.” Maleshi stared at the sleeves of Corian’s button-up shirt hanging past her wrists before she focused on rolling them halfway up her forearms. “The Weaving he cast on himself to hide his return to Ambar’ogúl was bound to take its toll sooner or later.
