Flare

A snarl escaped from her lips, and Verona drew her dagger with a slight hiss.

“Verona! What the—”

The room erupted into chaos.

Verona straddled Rafferty, who leaned back in his chair, away from the blade held at his throat. Stew sloshed onto the table, before toppling to the floor. The ceramic bowl shattered.

“What? Not so keen to grope me, now, are we?” She pushed the blade, pressing the cold steel in until a bead of blood ran down his neck. Corbin was on her before she had a chance to react, her dagger knocked from her grip. He had her wrists pinioned, turning her away from Rafferty, who had fallen from where he sat and proceeded to scramble away from the pair.

“Get out.” He called to Rafferty. “Don’t worry about the tab.”

Rafferty regarded Verona with narrowed eyes as he wiped blood off of his neck and spat on the floor before leaving the tavern. There was a promise of death in that gaze.

“He was harassing me, and you did nothing.” Verona pulled out of Corbin’s grip.

“You know I would have intervened, had he done anything more than laugh at you.”

“He grabbed at my skirts!”

Corbin’s brow furrowed. He stepped back, hands raised as if to prove he meant no harm.

“You didn’t tell me that,” His voice came out chopped. “He’s never polite, never proper. You didn’t tell me he tried touching you. If you had, I would have had him removed.”

“I was in the process of removing him. He deserved to have his throat slit for how he treated me. He should have been strung up long ago, for how he treats women. And his animals.”

“Why the loss of control? Why the sudden temper, Verona?”

“You should have just let me do it.”

A heavy silence enveloped them, words left unspoken suspended in the air. Verona’s past, steeped in loss and regret, lay before them like a gulch. Several patrons at the bar had turned in their seats to watch the scene. Verona paled. She hadn’t even noticed that there were more people at the bar. As if the world had narrowed, as if only Firmin and his slights existed at that moment.

Sure, Firmin Rafferty certainly deserved to get some sense scared into him. No one was sorry about that.

Where had that anger come from? That sudden heat? She hardly remembered drawing the dagger.

Am I losing control, at last? Is this it? The dreams, the lack of sleep? Am I finally losing my mind entirely?

“Why don’t you just… go get some rest?”

“But, Corbin, I-”

“Rest, Verona.” There was no room for negotiation in Corbin’s tone. His decision was final. He palmed her dagger and offered it to her handle first, as Verona untied her work apron. He took it from her grasp gently, ushering her outside.

**************************************************************************

I’m going insane, Verona thought as she was pushed out the door.

She had to get a hold of herself. There had to be a better sleeping tea, an herb that could help her. There had to be something. She reached down to stroke the silver sash around her waist. The fabric was smooth, and cool to the touch. Strange. Either her body temperature had increased, or the sash had gone from exuding warmth to cold.

It was an odd garment, now that she really thought about it. What use did Corbin have for such a thing? Men wore sashes as well in many regions, but this ensemble was very clearly designed for a woman. Verona untied it and held it in her grip carefully to examine it, as she walked home to her family’s cabin. The warmth and cold, the light that seemed to sparkle in the strands of silk…even the dress had lovely silver stitching along the seams. She ran her fingers over the silver threads.

A jolt of energy, heat and immediate cold, racked her body.

Gods. She pulled her fingers away, and wrapped it back around her waist tightly. This was not something she should risk losing.

Corbin gifted me a magic-laced sash. And a dress with enchanted threading?

Clothing with magic sewed into the very threads of them were not only rare on this side of the Steppes, but prohibitively expensive, as well. Rumored to be from a specific class of Eyrie shifters, enchanted items were impossible to find in Everthorn. What was the bartender thinking, gifting her such a thing? What kind of power was contained in this sash?

A shoulder to her chest interrupted Verona’s thoughts, nearly knocking her over.

“Oh, sorry,” Regaining her balance, she moved to step out of the way.

A fist flew through the air, faster than she could dodge. The ground rose to meet her. She felt her nose crack against the ground, the stone biting into the skin of her palms and elbows.

Sprawled like a newborn foal, Verona struggled to regain her bearings. Lifting her head up, she blinked tears of pain from her eyes, and swore. Her nose was almost certainly broken. Who had struck her? The taste of copper on her tongue told her she was bleeding. Split lip, broken nose…

Kithys take me…

Inhaling deeply, she braced her arms at her side and moved to reposition onto her knees. The familiar, potent stench hit her before a hand grasped her hair and slammed her face into the stone.

Firmin Rafferty.

“Thinking you can humiliate me, huh, Winspear?” She could smell the alcohol on his breath. As if he’d drank elsewhere immediately after departing the Crow. But there was nowhere else to drink in the village.

He must have been waiting for her, flask in hand. Firmin. Vermin.

He was going to kill her, if she didn’t do something. Verona reached behind her, clawing at the man’s hands as they wound painfully into her hair.

“Hold a knife to my throat will you, urchin?”

The sash around her waist grew warm once again, the magic thrumming against her.

It must react to strong emotions.

Rafferty’s weight bearing down on her, he pulled her head even further backwards, the muscles in her neck straining. Verona screamed, reaching to wrench herself out of his grip.

“Let go!” Verona spat, the red splattering onto the cobblestones below. The heat from before rose again, trickling to her legs and toes from her bosom. It was certainly the sash that caused her outburst, earlier. The magic, encouraging her to turn her rage into violence. She closed her eyes, and kicked blindly upwards.

With a cry, the grip on her hair faltered. Her pulse hammering, only one thought repeated in her mind.

Verona was going to kill him. Firmin the Vermin. She was going to drive her dagger into his heart, and enjoy doing it.

She forced herself to her knees. Her tongue still tasted copper, the pain radiating from her nose up to her sinuses. Behind her, Rafferty groaned, grasping his crotch.

Should have hit him harder. She reached to her hip and sighed in relief at the feel of her dagger’s handle. The fool hadn’t even taken it before punching her. A smile crept across Verona’s face, as she unsheathed the blade.

Firmin’s face was bright red, as his hands shifted from his groin. He stalked forward, rodent-like eyes narrowed.

Verona straightened her knees and forced herself to stand up straight, fighting the intense wave of dizziness that followed, and the rolling nausea. She held her dagger, tracking Firmin Rafferty's every movement as he took heavy steps in her direction. She ignored the soreness of her muscles, wiped the blood dripping from her nostrils with the back of her hand, and leveled her blade at him.

She had to find a way to chase him off.

“I’m faster than you, Firmin. Turn and leave, or I’ll do worse than give you a shallow cut on the neck this time.” The warmth from the sash on her waist pulsed, radiated, the sensation unbearable.

Rafferty said nothing, only fisted his hands and threw a punch. She barely dodged it, backing up until the chance of escape was impossible.

“Come one step closer,’ She growled, “And I’ll kill you.” She brandished the blade, jabbing it at Firmin. It had tasted his blood once already today. If she had to, Verona would cut him again.

Rafferty’s thin lips curled into a smile. He took a step closer to her, his boots slicking on the stones below them.

Why is he smiling? He should have been scared, or turning to leave. But no. One more step, and he would be within arm’s reach of her. Panic began to crawl up her spine. The dagger quaked in her grip. She could feel the blood drying on her face, the sharp pain with every breath as her stomach curled in on itself. Another wave of dizziness hit her, the world spinning.

He had hit her too hard. Something was damaged, and it wasn’t just her nose. Swearing, Verona pitched forward and vomited. Her dagger fell to the ground with a clang, bouncing once, twice, before landing at Firmin’s feet. His lip curled into a sneer, his dark eyes fixated on Verona’s vomit-spittled face as his hand closed on the handle of the blade.

Wiping the drool and blood from her chin, she watched with dread as Rafferty struck out, blade in hand.

I’m going to get killed by my own dagger! She ducked. Rafferty’s arm arched in the air above her. She pivoted to keep him in her line of sight.

There had to be some way out of this. With this dizziness, running wasn’t an option, but there had to be something else. A way to fight back. A way to get that damned blade back in her possession.

“Just stop trying, Winspear.” He swung at her again and missed. The dagger struck a brick building, the steel scraping the brick with a loud squeal that made Verona cringe.

Then it occurred to her. She wasn’t huge like he was. Rafferty was a slow, lumbering fool, while she had the advantage of speed and agility.

He was also drunk.

Verona wasn’t.

For once, she thought, and avoided yet another attack. The only reason he’d been able to lay hands on her before was due to a surprise assault. Verona dodged again, the buzzing heat from Corbin’s sash resonating at her waist again. The heat pulsed, sending itself up and through her arms. Whatever kind of enchantment had been cast on the sash, it was reacting to her again.

When Rafferty tried to attack a fourth time, she was ready. Almost as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes, she moved before thinking, grabbing Rafferty’s hand and squeezing. He paused for a moment, eyeing her with a mixture of mocking and confusion, before he cried out. The dagger fell out of his grasp.

No. Don’t let go.

Verona wasn’t certain if it was her own inner voice saying it, or someone else’s.

She held on, moving her other hand to the man’s sweaty, pig-like face.

Her surroundings became a blur of fury, and she thought vaguely that he sounded like a frightened swine as he screamed. A smell, oddly like cooked meat, drifted from the man’s face.

She hadn’t known that a man’s voice could reach such octaves.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Verona watched as Firmin screamed, trying to squirm out of her grasp. She pressed her palm onto his face even harder. It was as if his flesh caved in at her touch.

A surge of…something…swelled in her chest. Was this what power felt like? Is this what the fae felt like every day? Invincible, untouchable, with magic at their fingertips?

No man could hurt her. No Cearnian could touch her. Rafferty here would never harass a woman again.

The word thrummed in her mind. Power. Power. Power. Her vision became ablaze with stars. There was nothing left but her breath and the inevitability of what was now occurring.

It almost felt like a dream.

Power. Magic. Stars.

Chainbreaker…

She wasn’t sure how long she’d held Rafferty this way, his screams increasing in volume, until they cut off suddenly. He slumped in her grip. She let him drop to the ground with a thud.

It took a moment for her to regain her bearings and come back to herself. To push out the thrumming and buzzing of magic, before she hesitantly lowered her gaze to the quiet heap that lay at her feet.

The wave of heat, of strange magic, faded, leaving her painfully, pitifully cold. Except for her hands, which felt as if they had been lit on fire. The pain in her nose, her head, came back to her in a rush.

She fell to her knees and clenched her stomach, trying not to throw up, failing in that endeavor when she saw Firmin Rafferty’s face up close.

Or what had once been his face.

A sound came out of Verona-a cry, a gasp, or a pathetic squeal, and she leaned over and emptied the contents of her stomach onto the street once again.

Rafferty's nose was gone, replaced by a scorch mark and severely blistered tissue in the exact shape of her hand. His upper lip, where the heel of her palm had been, was scorched to a crisp. The white of bone was exposed in several places, stark against the grisly burns.

Verona’s gaze froze on his chest, watching, hoping for it to lift. She willed him to breathe.

He didn’t.

Oh. Gods.

Firmin Rafferty was truly dead.

Still sobbing and bleeding from her broken nose and a split lip, Verona forced herself to stand and stumbled her way back to The Soggy Crow.

She nearly toppled over the instant she crossed the threshold, barely managing to slump into a chair. The tavern spun around her, as she scanned the room for Corbin. He wasn’t at the bar, as far as she could tell. Not that she could discern much through the chaos of her mind. Her world was spinning, her vision blurred and spotty.

By the Gods. My stomach. My nose. My head. Ice grasped Verona’s heart for a moment. My soul.

Her everything. Her palms still stung, burned from the injuries inflicted on Rafferty. It was the least she deserved. She was a murderer.

She closed her eyes, willing the dizziness to stop. Anything was better than this constant spinning. If she didn’t look at anything, there was nothing to make her feel like a rotating celestial body.

This was bad.

Firmin was most certainly dead, and she had left an imprint on his face as evidence, using magic.

I should have just run him through, like any reasonable person would. It was self defense. He was going to kill me, or worse. It was me, or him. Her nails bit into her sore palms as she fisted her hands tightly.

“Verona…Verona? What happened to you?”

She opened her eyes gingerly to a concerned Corbin. His brows were furrowed, his mouth set in a deep frown as he took in her state.

Answer. Answer. Verona stared up at him dumbly, her words on the tip of her tongue.

“Hey.” His fingers were warm as he gently grasped Verona by the chin, tilting her head up towards him. “Why are you bleeding? Did someone attack you? Is anything broken?” Verona hissed in pain and shrunk away from his grip. “Your nose...oh, Winspear. You’re an absolute mess. Let’s get you cleaned up in the back.” He took a few steps before he turned back to her, eyeing her cautiously. “Can you walk on your own?” Verona nodded, and picked her way gingerly to the back of the tavern, trying to ignore the extra colors and whirling sensation.

Corbin unlocked a door she had never noticed before, and ushered her in. It was a small room, mostly plain excepting a shelf with assorted tomes, and simple wooden chair and table. There was a pile of blankets in the corner, luxurious fur-lined ones she would have never expected in a tavern.

He helped her into the chair, and leaned to light a torch that hung on the wall opposite where she sat. Verona hadn’t noticed the lack of windows, until the bartender rushed out of the room, closing the door most of the way.

Shadows flickered on the walls, and on the old-looking books that sat on the shelf. Squinting at them, she realized none of them were in the language spoken in Everthorn.

Corbin returned with a wet washcloth and a basin, and immediately left again after setting them down on the table.

Verona leaned forward, reaching out for the washcloth, only to be wracked by a wave of nausea. She leaned back into the chair.

Breathe, she told herself. Count to ten. Inhale. Exhale. Her throat was already raw from throwing up.

Murderer.

Firmin had deserved it. But she had never wanted it to happen by her hand. She prodded at the tender flesh of her palms, wincing from the sharp pain.

Corbin appeared, a small cup in hand. Verona turned her hands over, hiding the burns from his sight. An intense scent wafted from the cup Corbin put down, an herbal mixture Verona couldn’t quite label. Almost as mysterious as the foreign books Corbin kept in this locked back room. There were notes of lavender, of drakemint and parsley. Other than that, Verona couldn’t identify any of the ingredients by smell alone.

Not of Everthorn. Like her name, according to that pretty lute player Bryonn. Verona’s mother came to mind. Her kind face, her bright smile. The entire village had lined up for her help, especially during the winter, when illness tended to burn its way through the population like wildfire. She never charged for her services, for her tinctures and teas. Mother would have known what Corbin was giving her, from the scent alone.

If her parents hadn’t been massacred by those damned Cearnians, none of this would have happened. Her nose wouldn’t be broken, and her heart would still be whole.

“Drink it all. Don’t pause for too long. Hurry with it. I’ll admit it isn’t the best tasting tea I’ve ever brewed.”

Verona took a sip and cringed at the bitter taste. Ginger. There was definitely ginger somewhere in that cup. And a hint of mint, the only saving grace of the horrendous flavor profile. He might have been underestimating the meaning of “not the best tea ever brewed”.

Corbin coughed. “Well then, go on. I told you to drink it quickly, didn’t I?”

She finished it in another three sips, enjoying the feel of the warmth splashing down her sore throat. Her headache was fading quickly. Whatever was in this tea, it was working. She reached to grab a washcloth and get to work on what had to be the mess of her face.

“Let me.” Corbin’s hand darted into the basin, grasping the cloth and dabbing it gingerly on her nose. Verona started at the pain. She felt guilty at the way Corbin’s eyes darkened at her reaction. It came away rust-colored, staining the water red when he dipped it into the bowl. “So, when are you going to tell me who broke your nose and why?” There was something else to his gaze, a thinly-veiled steel behind the mask of concern. Any words Verona might have had caught in her throat. Would he throw her out of the Crow? Refuse to serve her? Ban her from sessions, and stop buying what measly things she managed to catch?

He continued until the water was filthy and needed changing, and left to refresh the basin without another word. Verona took the chance to untie the sash from her waist, and lay it gently onto the table. There was something else going on, here. Her innate wrongness aside, nothing felt right.

And she wasn’t even drunk, although the tea left her pleasantly numb.

”Why are you hiding your hands, Verona?”

Corbin’s voice startled her, and she stilled, digging her hands into her legs even further, despite the pain. His eyes darted to the sash on the table, its silver gleaming in the dim lamp light, before alighting on her once again. His brows lifted, almost to his dark hairline.

“Did you hurt your hands, too?” Quickly, so that she had no time to protest, Corbin took her hands in his, and flipped them over.

Verona flinched at his touch, at the way his eyes flared when he saw the scorch marks on her hands.

“Verona,” His voice came out as hardly a gasp. “What have you done?”

“Rafferty was waiting for me outside.”

Corbin’s hands traced the burns on her palms gingerly, his eyes not moving from them.

“He ambushed me on the way home, punched me right in the face. He had me pinned onto the ground, and I…the sash. I felt warmth, and suddenly I had my hand on his face, and everything felt like fire. I lost control, Corbin. I lost control. What is that sash? What did you give me? Is it magic?”

“The sash only serves to restrain magic, or control and focus it. That’s what it was crafted to do.”

“What…what are you talking about, Corbin? I don’t have any magic. I…there was a voice. Someone told me not to let go of his face.” Verona could feel her voice cracking, the soreness in her throat lingering even after the healing tea had soothed most of her pain. “I could smell it,” She choked out, “Smell his skin burning, just like…”

The piles of corpses burning on pyres that day after the Cearnians attacked.

The putrid stench of rot and burning hair and flesh, the hazy columns of smoke rising like demons.

I can’t breathe, her chest rose and fell rapidly, though no air was getting in. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe…

Could she have made a difference if she’d had the sash back then? Turned the Cearnians’ filthy masks into piles of ash like her parents had been reduced to?

“Verona,” Corbin’s voice cut through the panic. “Verona, you have to breathe. There are no pyres, there are no Cearnians. Not here. Not now…”

Corbin watched her intently, the grim expression on his face frozen. His eyes hadn’t left her palms, and he had yet to let go of her hands. Verona counted, inhaled deeply, exhaled…trying to get the dark memories out of her head.

“That sash was my wife’s, many years ago. Before I left the… before I came to Everthorn. It’s special. From a renowned tailor in the East.”

Verona stared at him dumbly.

“I should have known better.” He said, at last. “There are…some things I’ve neglected to tell you. I should have…”

Verona blinked. “What?”

“This was all a mistake. This has all been a mistake. The sash. Letting you drink so much. Allowing you to work here.” Quietly, almost to himself, “It’s finally happened.”

Her stomach sank at those last words. He regretted letting her work here?

“Corbin, I don’t….I don’t understand. I… I just killed a man! What do you mean it’s finally happened?”

“I thought that sash would help you. This is my fault.”

She could sense it in his tone, the tension visible in his shoulders and in the depths of his dark eyes. There were secrets being kept from her. She hated secrets, possibly as much as she despised Cearnians and men like Firmin. Narrowing her eyes at him, she demanded, “Help me how?”

When Corbin hesitated to answer, boring into her with those damned dark brown eyes of his, she yelled. “Help me how, Corbin!”

Still no answer. She just wanted to go home. Somehow clean up her mess, and disappear for a while. A week would do, maybe. Anything but meet Corbin’s intense gaze.

Verona stood abruptly, bracing for the dizzy spell to hit. She hesitantly stepped towards the door, her heart racing in her chest. She wanted to get out of here. Escape this tavern, breathe fresh air. And take care of what was left of Rafferty. She had to find the body before someone else did. The thought brought a fresh wave of nausea to her stomach. She had gutted hundreds of fish, butchered game for years. But a human body…

“You’re hiding things from me, aren’t you?” She asked, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

Corbin faced her silently, the sash clasped tightly in his fists.

“Verona…there are some things that aren’t safe for you to know. There’s knowledge that would put your life in danger. And mine.”

“I don’t care about my life.”

“Well, I do care about your life. Your parents cared about your life .”

Verona recoiled at the mention of her parents. How dare he bring them up. Use them as an excuse to hide the truth. She sniffled, clenching her fists despite the sting of pain.

No. No tears.

She would have plenty of time to cry when she was alone trying to hide a body.

Oh Gods.

“Well, my parents are gone.” Even if Corbin cared about her, he was the only one. Pain swelled in her chest, a wave of emptiness that threatened to take her breath away. “I’ll get out of your hair, if that makes things easier for you.” It was easier not to care. That was the one lesson she had made certain to learn, after watching her parents get slaughtered.

“Verona, I never once said that I wanted you to leave. Or that watching you all these years was too much.” Verona ignored him, and turned to leave.

“Thank you for everything, Corbin. I can drop off some fish, if they ever start biting again. I’ll come back tomorrow and pay off whatever I owe you.”

“Verona!”

Half expecting the bartender to stop her, Verona strode out of the room. Her footsteps increased in tempo, her heart rate rising, until she stood before the unmanned bar and turned to see if she’d been followed.

Nothing.

She bit back a sob, her throat burning, her head still throbbing.

Of course not. Had she expected him to chase after her, to lay the truth bare? Stumbling over the threshold and shoving through the heavy front door, she swallowed her panic and headed home.