Two guards and the third cloaked individual entered the room behind them. The group stopped, fanning out on either side of the door.
“Sit, please,” Fay offered. “You must be starving. I’ll have food brought out with haste.”
With quickened steps, Fay hastened toward the wall to the west. His calculating eyes roved the modest bar as he passed. He disappeared into the open door leading to the kitchen.
Aelin looked skeptically at Ryl.
“Fear not, my friend,” he admitted as he placed his pack on the chair against the wall. “I trust Fay with my life. He was my sponsor, after all. He is the reason I’ve walked free from the moment I exited the gates. How is the food?”
Ryl looked questioningly at Breila. He unhooked the custom holster, hanging the masterwork of the late Deyalou over the back of the chair. It only took a moment to don his original shirt. He felt the sudden thrill, the jolt of energy that rushed through him as he slipped the cloak over his arms.
“The food here is of very good quality, though not exquisite,” she offered quietly. “The owner is a kind man, by all accounts, though I’ve met him only in passing.”
Ryl nodded as he completed securing the holster and the Leaves to his back. Aelin plopped his weakened frame unceremoniously into the chair to Ryl’s right.
“Exquisite fare attracts those with pretentious tastes,” came the voice from the kitchen. “I’m afraid I’ve no patience for that amount of self-importance.”
A middle-aged man moved confidently from the kitchen. His voice was kind, spoken in a singsong manner that longed for storytelling. Lord Eligar exited the kitchen a step behind though his course veered to the back of the modest bar.
“Present company excluded, of course, my lord.” He waved and twisted at the waist, performing a mock attempt at a proper bow. The man had an uncommonly jovial look upon his face. The expression was natural to a fault. It was one that spread cheer while speaking nothing but truth, even when the brutal honesty hurt. Fay grinned as he collected four glasses before returning to the table.
“The name’s Ekard. I welcome you to my humble cafe.” He smiled ear to ear as he greeted his guests. His eyes focused on Breila for a moment. A spark of recognition seemed to flare in their depths. “The assessment about the food, I admit, is delightfully accurate. It pretends to be nothing it’s not. I’m afraid I haven’t prepared much with the current climate of the city, but when the gracious Lord Eligar comes calling, one can hardly say no. Do I need to feed the whole of your house or just this lot?”
Fay deposited the glasses around the table before stalking back to the bar. He grabbed a pitcher of water and a bottle of wine before returning to the table once again.
“Just us, Ekard.” Fay thanked him. “And as always, I judge there is less time to spare than we desire.”
Ryl nodded as his eyes met with Fay’s. The lord cracked a small forced smile. There was genuine longing there. An apparent absence of meaningful friendship that came with someone of his station.
“Aye, Fay,” Ekard agreed as he hastened back toward his kitchen.
Fay commenced with serving, pouring Aelin a glass of water before serving wine to Breila and then Ryl. He poured a healthy glass for himself before sliding comfortably into the open chair to Ryl’s left. He commenced immediately with the ritual of swirling the precious liquid in his glass, sniffing heavily of the aromas before wetting his lips with the first sip.
“Fate has an interesting way of seeing us reunited, my friend,” Fay admitted. “Just as I haven’t enjoyed the cooking and company of Ekard in cycles, until I found myself on his doorstep this afternoon. I hoped to see you, yet never thought it would be this soon.”
“Aye, Fay,” Ryl responded. “You risk too much for us. Your presence will be seen as an act of war.”
Lord Eligar gazed into his glass for a long moment before responding.
“You can imagine my surprise when I received your missive,” Fay said. “Words cannot describe the joy I felt. We sent you on a fool’s mission. We pulled you from one unthinkable life, forcing you into the next without a moment’s rest between.”
Lord Eligar’s eyes rose from his glass, travelling quickly toward the door. They hesitated for a moment there before returning to the swirling velvet red liquid in his glass. Ryl risked a casual glance in the same direction, investigating the focus of Fay’s distraction.
The peculiar, hooded man stood awkwardly to the side of the entrance. He fidgeted side to side as he fought to assume a comfortable position. The pair of soldiers he had entered with stood motionless. Statuesque.
“Think nothing of my troubles,” Fay added, breaking Ryl’s focus on the stranger. “It is the assistance you needed, whether you asked for it or not. I stand to risk but little. War has already reached my doorstep. The raids on the homesteads bordering the other houses have been increasing by the day. Outlying villages have been ransacked; the settlers murdered. They no longer attempt to disguise their aggression. War is already upon us.”
“But you leave your home unguarded?” Ryl added.
“Fear not for my lands, as there are an ample number of soldiers yet manning the defenses,” Fay lamented. “I only wish that I could have mustered a larger force. We are barely three thousand strong.”
Ryl opened his mouth to respond, yet the words stopped before they exited his lips.
“The army of the king marches on Cadsae Proper,” Fay reported somberly. “The king has grown increasingly paranoid. Rumors spread of discontent. Of rebellion. They bring the entirety of their force to bear. The other houses have all followed suit. Some are several days, others several weeks behind, yet they come with haste. So, you see, there are none left to molest my home. Royal decrees were
