Songstress

Verona stared at Bryonn from across the tavern’s back room, yawning as loudly and obnoxiously as she could and trying to suppress the urge to vomit.

Again. Oh, Gods. Corbin had closed the Crow after the half-fae’s little kidnapping incident, and she had been draining the establishment’s kegs ever since. Bryonn was helping with that venture, as well, although Verona had refused to speak to him all of last night. They were both piss-drunk, and probably smelled like it, too. She suppressed the urge to take a whiff of her armpits.

Damn that half-fae. That handsome, pretty, charming…musically-talented…

“Are you ready to tell me the information you’re keeping from me yet?” She yelled out to Corbin, who stood glowering at her from against the wall.

“Are you ready to stop stinking up my establishment and come with me to pack your belongings?”

She only shook her head at him, and tipped her mug back into her mouth, glaring at him from over the glass’s rim. She belched loudly once it was empty, for good measure. A hiss of laughter erupted from where Bryonn sat, and she heard Corbin swear under his breath before stalking away into the front of the building. The nook where he’d been standing appeared to lighten up slightly, although with the amount she’d imbibed so far today, everything was starting to look a bit odd.

Mission accomplished. She smirked to herself, letting her eyes trail to a chuckling Bryonn. She traced his form with her gaze, eventually focusing on his ears, which curved into a gentle point. I don’t have to speak to him to admire his looks.

“Dammit, Verona! In the stew bowl, too?!” Corbin’s voice came booming from the back of the bar, eliciting a loud guffaw from Bryonn. She couldn’t keep herself from grinning this time, at both the half-fae’s ridiculous laugh, and Corbin’s fury. Yes, she had left a little gift for him at some point last night- she couldn’t recall the exact time. Everything had been a blur since she’d been dragged here and kept from leaving for well over a day so far.

How long would they keep her here? There was no way she would gather her stuff and let them take her away from her home. At least not without the information she was owed. If it took puking her guts out daily to convince Corbin to tell her the truth, so be it.

They hadn’t taken the liberty to explain the delay in departure, either, though she didn’t quite mind. She let her eyes trail to Bryonn, who still sat smiling at her, and screwed her face into a snarl. He laughed loudly again, and Verona lost control completely. She tried holding in her smile, but eventually gave in and started chucking.

“It’s not funny!” Corbin’s yell was laced with fury, and accompanied by scraping sounds.

“Neither is withholding information from me! Or kidnapping!” Verona yelled back, glanced at her empty glass and swore. She needed more. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from me?” Bryonn had left his seat and now stood directly in front of her, grinning. He had no business being so good-looking, or smelling so damn good.

“I like you, Winspear. Even if you have poor self-discipline.” He said, a smile playing upon his features. “You need a refill? I don’t know if Corbin will let you drink anymore after the stunt you pulled with the stew pot.” He held his hand to her, nodding at the empty glass.

“I…yeah, if you don’t mind.” She handed it to him and watched wearily as he left for the front room.

“That had better be for you and not the girl,” Corbin muttered from the bar area. She heard Bryonn huff a laugh before he returned, handing her a frothy mug of ale.

“Thanks, Bryonn.” Verona mumbled, and took a long sip before grimacing. Perhaps she should slow down- her stomach roiled as the drink made its way down her throat. When the half-fae didn’t move away, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Just because you got me beer, that doesn’t make us friends. That doesn’t mean that I want to sit and have a chat-”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Not a chat. But would you like me to tell you a story?” Bryonn sat down in a chair nearby, and raised his eyebrows at her.

“I… what?” The man’s deep blue eyes held hers as he motioned for her to take a seat beside him. “Is it the information I’m asking for, or some strange fae nonsense?”

“Hmmm… first of all, that’s rude. Fae stories are not ‘nonsense,’ sweet Verona. You’ll learn that soon enough. This is a story- a legend that may well hold your interest.” Sighing, she sat down beside him and set her drink onto the dark wood of the nearby table, tracing the grains, rough on her fingers. Her palms were still sore today, occasionally sending a sharp prickle of pain up her arms.

“What’s it about?” She asked, circling a pointer finger around a particularly oddly-shaped knot on the table.

“It’s a story about hope. And betrayal. The story of a civilization far East of here, across the Rihlian Steppes, past the bountiful canopies of the Nithra.”

Verona knew what the story was about, even before Bryonn spoke the word, his tone laced with reverence.

“It’s the story of the Eyrie, and its goddess, Adiamora.”

Verona’s chest swelled at the mention of the name, as if it were something familiar to her. As if it were dear to her, a long held, treasured childhood memory. But to her knowledge, she’d never heard the name before.

“Adiamora?” She repeated, her palms flaring with pain as the name left her lips. Bryonn’s gaze strayed to her hands, and she realized she’d been massaging the tender flesh of one of her palms, quickly moving to hide her hands under the table.

“Is it a name you know?” He asked, a thin line forming between his brows.

“I… no… not as far as I can remember.”

“She is known by another name, the more common title of Celestial Eagle.” At that, her palms seared with pain, enough that she bit down on a whimper and pushed her hands further into her skirts. “And she is the progenitor and mother of the Eyrie race.”

“The Eyrie…? You mean the…bird people?”

Bryonn huffed a laugh, but nodded slightly.

“They’re more than just bird people, though that is a fitting title for them. Thousands of years ago, their human ancestors were struggling. It was a difficult winter, and most of their population was slowly starving to death. Game numbers were low, food was scarce. They say that their tribal leaders waited until the bright colors in the sky touched the ground, and begged Adiamora to help them survive the winter.”

A buzzing feeling, and sharp pain erupted in Verona’s head. She squinted at her ale, willing the soreness to go away. “It’s said that the leader woke when the sun rose, and found herself in the shape of a great golden eagle. The rest of the tribe, too, had been gifted with second, feathered forms, and powerful elemental magic. They survived the rest of the season, and flourished, becoming the powerful race they are today.”

Verona grasped her drink with her sore palms, hoping that the cool ceramic would soothe the burns.

“My people, the fae- and the Eyrie have never quite gotten along. Because their second forms and their magic came from a sacred source, the shifters of the Eyrie tend to be… arrogant.” Bryonn continued to speak, his voice soothing and his eyes scanning Verona as she took a sip of her beer and leaned back in her chair.

“Arrogant how?”

“Fae magic comes from the planet, from living things, in the case of the Sidhe, or from stone and gems in the case of the Pari. The Eyrie views our magic as…”

“Inferior.” She mumbled, speaking before she realized what she was saying.

“Yes.”

“Hence the arrogance. They think…what? That their magic is better because it’s sourced from a Goddess?”

“There’s more to it, but… that’s about right.”

“So they…what? Fight over magic, or territory?” She took another sip of her drink.

“They did years ago, and fiercely. Before your lifetime, most certainly, and even mine. There was a horrific war between the Sidhe and the Eyrie, one that resulted in certain shifters leaving the Eyrie ranks, and the birth of a wholly new race. It’s this race that the Eyrie leadership abhors more than anything, and keeps a secret. Not even most Eyrie shifters know about their existence.”

“What are they called?” Bryonn met Verona’s gaze directly, his azure eyes darkening.

“The Void Falk.”