Dreamwater by Chrystalla Thoma Page A

shook my head, letting my hair fall over my face and cover my expression. Maybe it was some old ritual King Esh had revived. Even though I was of the royal line, I had never aspired to the throne, never thought about all it entailed. Perhaps elven Kings had to visit the magical forest, pay their dues.
    All I cared about was that King Esh was coming here, into my waiting arms. My blade was thirsty.
    Jonder focused his attention on his ale. Turning my back, I resumed work. I did my round of the tables, carried trays with bowls of stew and chunks of bread and ale in clay jugs. I kept busy, kept my mind empty of fear.
    The men grabbed at my ass, missed when I twisted and turned, shouted about all the things they wanted to do to me, vile, unheard of practices. I longed to give them pain, make them beg for mercy, shut their mouths at long last, and stop their taunting. I was weary, and sorrow weighed heavy on my heart, ever since the day Syrana died. Syrana the beautiful, who had been betrothed to the King of Fairy, Syrana, my lover.
    The drakes killed her on her wedding day, and so killed my heart in one stroke.
    I’d destroy the drakes, kill them to the last. But first…
    I slipped between the men’s arms like water, avoiding grasping hands and booted feet laid out to make me trip. I sidestepped them without really looking; I served food and poured ale, my mind whirling.
    As I turned to wipe another table down, shiny metal flashed. A big knife tumbled across my path.
    Iron!
    I flinched but snatched it in midair by its gem-encrusted hilt. I raised it, my pulse soaring. How the light played on the polished blade. I had not held a weapon since I left the Fairy Court.
    I laid it flat on the table. “You dropped this,” I said.
    “Not a bad move for a dainty lass. Not bad at all,” Jonder said in a voice devoid of emotion.
    I blinked and took a step back. My breath came out in a hiss.
    Jonder grinned. His teeth were strong and white, not an old man’s teeth at all.
    “Who are you? What do you want?” I asked, my mind frozen.
    “I want the same as you.”
    I backed away, but my legs tangled in my skirts, and I fell in an ungraceful heap. How did women walk in the accursed things? Swearing, I hauled myself to my knees, using the bench for support. He loomed over me, a dark shadow, the long knife gripped in one gnarled hand.
    The human men gathered to watch this new game, their beards waving over me like banners in a country fair.
    “Leave me alone,” I said again, forcing my jaw to unclench, trying to sound nonchalant. “I told you, I just work here, and I do not—I don’t know what you mean or what you want.”
    “Really.” It was not a question. Jonder raised the knife and I cowered before the cold iron blade. He avoided my flesh, though, instead choosing to run the tip over my bodice, never on bare skin, as if he knew the effect that particular metal would have on me. “What do you hide under these long skirts, wench, I wonder.”
    The men laughed, a raucous sound, they clapped and cheered. If only they knew. I clamped my legs together. Just how bad could this evening get?
    Shouts rang from the door and I turned, trying to see something, but the burly bodies of the bystanders blocked my view. At least their attention was off me now; even Jonder moved away, his blade glinting in the torchlight.
    “The elven King is here!”
    Oh, Melekarth, already, tonight? Joy, effervescence, anger, rage, sorrow. I schooled my face, my thoughts. At last .
    Keeping a hand on the bench for balance, I rose and smoothed my skirts. My fingers sought my silver weapon tattoo. I traced the symbols, inserted my fingertips and pulled the dagger out of my flesh. The blade slipped out, making me shiver with delight, and I held it out – a knife like a sliver of light, slim enough to throw.
    But maybe, hopefully, I would get a chance to get closer.
    King Esh had yet to appear, but his power slithered inside the inn, coating the walls and