The Duchess Cannot Sleep || ONC 2021

11 | The Reunion

Gadsabera's tavern was as quiet as ever. Compared to other inns and pubs in Feledir, Gadsabera's crowd was of an entirely different breed—unobtrusive, sharp-eyed, quirked lips, hungry pockets. The people here only drank when someone had the intent to buy a drink for them, and the only form of ruckus they made was the hum of lowered tones making even lower deals. This was the place those who did not know went to find those who did—to buy a drink. To buy an answer.

Reide set down his bow and pulled out a chair without a welcome from the bartender, which wasn't surprising considering her heed often required payment of some kind. The woman lounging across the table flicked her gaze up from a set of cards, dry lips pursing.

"Can I offer you a drink?" said Reide. She plucked a card from her hand and twirled it between her fingers.

"Perry or mead?" she hummed.

Perry was a question, mead a task. One was cheaper than the other and Reide struggled to remember which it was. He leaned back casually in his chair, matching the air of the rest of the shadowed tavern and showing the woman across from him he was not new to this business, nor easy to overcharge. "Perry."

For a moment, she judged him and did not make secret of it. Her pale eyes—snakelike, as they all were at this tavern—studied his composure in search of cracks. She needed money, he brought an inquiry. Inquiries brought money.

A slow smile crept upon her mouth. "Perry it is, then. I'll take as many as you purchase."

With a raise of Reide's hand, the bartender answered. A silent minute later, two small glasses clinked on the table and neither party moved to touch them. Instead, they sat forward at the same time as if absorbed in a conversation.

"The curse of immortality," Reide began, tone no more than a husky breath. "What are its origins, and how is it broken?"

Two questions. He could afford that many drinks.

"Immortality?" the woman mused, tapping her nail on the tabletop. "Immortality... there are very few known accounts of immortals, most in legends and folklore. The curse has been broken before, according to one, but"—she lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug—"the way in which it was done is not part of the tale. I could fabricate an end to that story, if you would like?"

Reide's jaw ticked. "I did not pay for fabrications."

"Then don't ask about fairytales, mister." The woman swiped her drink from the space between them and reclined again as she downed it. Her doing so symbolically ended her response to his question.

Reide cursed under his breath and pushed his chair from the table, leaving his own drink abandoned. No refunds, all risks were accepted upon entry. Those were the rules. He paid the bartender on the way out and didn't glance back to see the woman's smirk.

The chaos and ruckus of the streets only caught him for a moment, then Reide was storming off to another place. He didn't know where, or if he would find Andreya there, or if he would find any answers—or if it would even do any good if he did. For all he knew, it could already be too late, he could already have missed her. His breath caught at the thought.

His steps abruptly stuttered at a chorus of shouts down the road. He blinked at the commotion, a green guard's carriage parked on the side of the street and a small crowd gathered. An arrest, it looked like. Probably a common thief. Reide padded down his interest and kept walking as a shopkeeper helped several guards force the struggling shoplifter into the carriage. He spared a glance as the horses kicked forward, caught a single glimpse inside the coach's side window—

He stopped dead at a flash of red and orange.

It raced past and Reide swiveled around, mouth opened silently as it disappeared down the street he had just come from. Was that—?