The Queen's Line (Inheritance of Hunger #1) - Kathryn Moon Page 0,37

back. Let me tell him…he has visitors," the bartender said slowly, without turning away from us. He was staring at me, and I wasn't sure if he was someone I was meant to avoid looking at or not, but it was impossible to resist the urge to glance directly back at the one eye fixed to me. He grinned, and it was gap-toothed but not unfriendly, then he chuckled and turned away to a crank that rolled one of the barrels out of the row and revealed a tunnel.

"Oi! You got someone here to see you."

"Who?"

The word was barely audible but I knew the irritable tone, and I bit my lip at the sudden flare of goosebumps and excitement. Oh, you idiot, I thought. How is he any more attainable than a book character?

"Hello, love, ain't you pretty," rasped a voice at my back, the fabric of my skirt rustling.

"Royalty," the bartender called down the tunnel.

I twisted between my Chosen and nearly startled at the figure behind me. They were…not put together as I thought they ought to have been, shoulders at different angles and a smile hanging in the opposite direction.

"Oh dear," Wendell murmured, and I pressed my foot to the top of his to stop him from saying anything else.

"Hello," I said, smiling. "I like your vest."

It was patched together, in a not completely dissimilar way to the man I was looking at, but it was colorful and the stitches were even and minuscule, perfectly crafted. The crooked smile spread over the unusual face, and there was no mistaking the keen intelligence in this man's gaze. He straightened slightly, a brief reveal that some of his deformity was in fact an act, and he winked at me.

"Need another fella?"

"I think I'm a bit over-stocked at the moment, but I'll keep you in mind," I said, and the man looked delighted with me.

"Scrapper! Leave the girl alone!"

I startled at Aric's bark but Scrapper, my new friend, just leaned cooly to the left, staring across the bar to see Aric where he stood at the mouth of the tunnel.

"Was just being cordial," he said, and made to leave.

"Give it back first," Aric growled, and I volleyed my gaze between them.

"Don't know what you—"

"Scrapper, I'm not joking around. Turn it over. All of it."

Scrapper sighed, and gnarled hands dipped into patches of his vest which were in fact pockets, pulling out a pretty pin and chain set that had been at the back of my dress, as well as my handkerchief, and something that looked like it might've been a trinket of Wendell's.

"Oh," I said, as he pushed my ornaments into my palm. "Here, keep this. As a memento."

I tried to push the pin back, and Scrapper only shook his head. "I'd rather have the handkerchief, Your Loveliness."

Aric huffed as I gave Scrapper my handkerchief after pressing a stained kiss to the corner. Scrapper waved it like a flag in the direction of Aric's scowl before ducking and disappearing into one of the bar's shadows. Aric waited behind the counter for us, frowning and glaring around the room.

"Vic, give the gentlemen a pint while they wait and make sure no one works them for coin," Aric muttered. "Pri—Bryony, in here."

"Would you rather we—?" Wendell started, but I only shook my head at him.

"I'm fine. Have a drink." I stepped into the tunnel, and a second later Aric was at my back, hand splayed on my spine and pushing me forward.

"What on earth do you think you're doing here?" Aric hissed.

"You invited me."

"I—You—" He scoffed and sighed as we moved out of the density of darkness in the tunnel and into a room lit from thick glass skylights and a collection of lanterns. It was cool and clearly underground, but made comfortable with dense rugs and good, well-worn furniture. "I should've known you'd actually take me up on it."

"Of course you should have," I said, and marveled at the tremble that ran through me at Aric's resulting growl. "Aric, this isn't really a normal tavern, is it? And they call you Your Majesty. I probably shouldn't have come with the royal guard, should I?"

"You what?" Aric gasped, spinning me to face him in front of a desk. It was bigger than Rebecca's and infinitely less organized, covered in unusual instruments and maps and scraps of paper. In fact, the entire room was filled with little interesting bits of machinery and dried plants and odd collections.

"You're not really just a tavern owner, are

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