Ring of Gold Revisited

Chapter Twenty Five

Waylana drew her hood lower as she wove her way through the streets of Tonitrua, her eyes skimming each alleyway and face that she passed. Her senses were on high alert, braced for the unexpected. But it never came.

She'd been searching for nearly an hour already, listening in on conversations. Nothing. Not even the slightest hint of where this Cobalt might be.

It wasn't usually this hard for her to track down her targets, and it seemed the crime lord was as hard to find as everyone said he was. Her frustration swelled in her chest, so she slipped into an old tavern and settled at the bar, sliding a mark to the bartender, who looked alarmed at the sight of her cloaked in darkness.

She couldn't risk lowering her hood, though. She'd been to Tonitrua before, and couldn't risk being recognized.

The bartender slid her a mug of ale and as she was taking a sip, the door of the tavern swung open, the room filling with bellowing laughter of a group of men. Waylana's spine stiffed but she didn't turn as they settled at a table directly behind her chair, tossing down a deck of cards and shouting at the bartender to bring them ale.

Rude, spoiled nobles. Drunks too, by the sound of it.

She knew she shouldn't judge them – even her own brother turned to booze more often than he probably should – but it still made her skin prick with unease.

Drunk men were dangerous things. It could bring the worst out of the best of them.

"Can you believe it?" one slurred. "She was sneaking out to see him!"

"You dug yourself your own grave with that one, Ronin," another chided, hiccupping loudly.

"I did not!"

"Did, too!"

"Oh, shut it," said a third voice, sounding much more sober than the others. "Yer wife is the least of your problems now. We got into Thunder's Call, can ye believe it? The invites usually take months to obtain."

Waylana lifted her head slightly, listening closely. Thunder's Call? She'd never heard of it.

"I don't believe you for a minute!" exclaimed another.

Something hit the table. "Look!"

Waylana glanced back subtly, her eyes landing on the deep navy card lying in the center of the table. It was framed by sharp silver lines that shone in the dull light, and two large butterflies sat above and below the writing, which was so small she couldn't make out from that distance.

Swinging off her stool in a clumsy matter, Waylana snatched up her ale and staggered over. As she walked past, she tipped her mug to the side and spilt the ale down the front of one of the men's shirts. He yelped in surprise, brown eyes shooting wide.

"Oh, sweet stars!" she exclaimed. She scrambled towards him, wiping a hand down his shirt to try removing the liquid. "I'm so clumsy."

In her frantic attempt to wipe him down, she tilted her mug again, sending ale splashing across the table. The men began shouting and Waylan reached out, snatching the stack of cards and the navy invite before the liquid reached it. With a worried expression on her face, she moved to clean up that mess as well, but the man she'd spilt on simply held up a hand, blocking her.

"That's quite enough," he said, annoyance flickering in his gaze. "We'll clean up."

Waylana's smile turned sheepish as she said, "Sorry," and handed him the deck of cards before quickly scurrying out the door.

The moment she exited the tavern, her panicked movements evened out and she laughed, glancing down at the navy card in her hand.

Too easy.