the gates.”
“Agreed.” Telvin smiled and turned crisply on his heels to march down the portico to his own quarters. He had broad shoulders and a strong back, and there was something pleasing about his sharp, serious movements.
Dara looked up at the tower, a gloomy spire in the fading light. Siv was doing what was necessary. Why shouldn’t she grab a bite to eat with one of her new colleagues? She needed all the allies she could get.
6.
The Guardsman
DARAchanged into a black blouse, tucked soft gray trousers into her old boots, and braided her hair again. She slung her black cloak over her arm. It had been a gift from Selivia, and it was by far the finest item of clothing she owned. She also buckled her Savven blade at her waist. She needed to be prepared for her midnight stroll with Berg.
Telvin Jale waited for her at the small sally port by the main castle gates. He still wore his guard uniform, but his coat buttons were undone, and his shirt hung open at the neck. He greeted Dara with a nod and only the slightest glance at the ornate black hilt of the Savven on her hip.
They ambled down through Lower King’s, passing the fine greathouses with elegant balconies and marble-trimmed porticos. A hush permeated the streets at this twilight hour. Dara and Telvin had to step aside to allow the occasional palanquin to pass by, but most people on King’s Peak would be at their dinners already, bent over bowls of goat stew, flatbread, and orchard fruits.
“I don’t know many good places to eat in Lower King’s,” Telvin said as they made their way from the residential areas near the castle to a busier street lined with stylish shops and parlors. “My favorite haunts are over on Square.”
“Did you live there before you joined the army?”
“No, I grew up on Village,” Telvin said. “Not far from the mines. My father and brothers still work there.”
Dara reassessed his broad shoulders and strong build. Yes, she could see his mining family roots.
“But you joined the army?”
“It’s a better life than my father’s,” Telvin said. “And Castle Guard is better still.”
They peered in the windows of the shops and taverns as they walked, looking for somewhere to eat. Dara stopped at a familiar sign: Bridge Troll Tavern.
“I’ve actually been here before,” Dara said. With Siv. She still remembered the cozy warmth of the establishment, the way one patron had smoked a pipe by the window, the tendrils escaping into the night. And she remembered Siv leaning in to advise her about how to act around potential patrons, nearly taking her hand. It felt strange to bring Telvin here, but then Siv would be entertaining—and possibly proposing—to Lady Tull at that very moment. “I don’t know if the food is any good, but we could try it.”
“Looks fine to me.” Telvin pulled open the door for her with a creak.
Dara led the way to a table on the opposite side of the tavern from where she had sat with Siv. The Bridge Troll Tavern was quiet this evening. A pair of travelers sat in a corner booth, and a well-dressed craftsman leaned against the bar and chatted with the tavern keeper. A few men came in behind Dara and Telvin, looking like butlers or noblemen’s attendants on their night off. Their voices were soft and sober. Gloom had settled over the city during the past month of mourning. King Sevren had been well loved. Something would need to change soon in Vertigon, or this winter would be very grim indeed.
Dara tried to shake off the somberness of the evening as she settled in across from Telvin with goat pies and ale. She hated the taste of ale, but she took a long sip from her tankard anyway. She was one of the Guard now, and she should embrace her new role. Siv was doing the same.
A small Firebulb hanging above their table created a warm pool of light around them. Dara and Telvin talked about dueling as they ate, but that only made her miss the rush of competition and the roar of
“Agreed.” Telvin smiled and turned crisply on his heels to march down the portico to his own quarters. He had broad shoulders and a strong back, and there was something pleasing about his sharp, serious movements.
Dara looked up at the tower, a gloomy spire in the fading light. Siv was doing what was necessary. Why shouldn’t she grab a bite to eat with one of her new colleagues? She needed all the allies she could get.
6.
The Guardsman
DARAchanged into a black blouse, tucked soft gray trousers into her old boots, and braided her hair again. She slung her black cloak over her arm. It had been a gift from Selivia, and it was by far the finest item of clothing she owned. She also buckled her Savven blade at her waist. She needed to be prepared for her midnight stroll with Berg.
Telvin Jale waited for her at the small sally port by the main castle gates. He still wore his guard uniform, but his coat buttons were undone, and his shirt hung open at the neck. He greeted Dara with a nod and only the slightest glance at the ornate black hilt of the Savven on her hip.
They ambled down through Lower King’s, passing the fine greathouses with elegant balconies and marble-trimmed porticos. A hush permeated the streets at this twilight hour. Dara and Telvin had to step aside to allow the occasional palanquin to pass by, but most people on King’s Peak would be at their dinners already, bent over bowls of goat stew, flatbread, and orchard fruits.
“I don’t know many good places to eat in Lower King’s,” Telvin said as they made their way from the residential areas near the castle to a busier street lined with stylish shops and parlors. “My favorite haunts are over on Square.”
“Did you live there before you joined the army?”
“No, I grew up on Village,” Telvin said. “Not far from the mines. My father and brothers still work there.”
Dara reassessed his broad shoulders and strong build. Yes, she could see his mining family roots.
“But you joined the army?”
“It’s a better life than my father’s,” Telvin said. “And Castle Guard is better still.”
They peered in the windows of the shops and taverns as they walked, looking for somewhere to eat. Dara stopped at a familiar sign: Bridge Troll Tavern.
“I’ve actually been here before,” Dara said. With Siv. She still remembered the cozy warmth of the establishment, the way one patron had smoked a pipe by the window, the tendrils escaping into the night. And she remembered Siv leaning in to advise her about how to act around potential patrons, nearly taking her hand. It felt strange to bring Telvin here, but then Siv would be entertaining—and possibly proposing—to Lady Tull at that very moment. “I don’t know if the food is any good, but we could try it.”
“Looks fine to me.” Telvin pulled open the door for her with a creak.
Dara led the way to a table on the opposite side of the tavern from where she had sat with Siv. The Bridge Troll Tavern was quiet this evening. A pair of travelers sat in a corner booth, and a well-dressed craftsman leaned against the bar and chatted with the tavern keeper. A few men came in behind Dara and Telvin, looking like butlers or noblemen’s attendants on their night off. Their voices were soft and sober. Gloom had settled over the city during the past month of mourning. King Sevren had been well loved. Something would need to change soon in Vertigon, or this winter would be very grim indeed.
Dara tried to shake off the somberness of the evening as she settled in across from Telvin with goat pies and ale. She hated the taste of ale, but she took a long sip from her tankard anyway. She was one of the Guard now, and she should embrace her new role. Siv was doing the same.
A small Firebulb hanging above their table created a warm pool of light around them. Dara and Telvin talked about dueling as they ate, but that only made her miss the rush of competition and the roar of
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