EVA

FOR ONCE, EVA'S TREMORS weren't from the cold. The weight of their situation crashed upon her shoulders as she forced herself to leave Emrys' side and shut the shed door.

He was injured. That much she knew, but the extent or even its true cause was still unclear, and she only hoped that he had the strength to get by until she returned. Various scenarios, each worse than the last, flooded her mind when she came upon the entrance to the tavern. Nestled within the large arc of trees, the wooden structure was awash with golden light from lanterns floating above the dirt path.

She was so caught up in the what-ifs that she never saw an absent-minded gnome stumble out the front door with half a pint of amethyst liquor. Their collision jolted both of them from their dazed states. Liquid sloshed from his glass, slapping their clothes with purple splotches that quickly absorbed into the dark material.

When her widened eyes met the narrowed ones of the gnome, whose head barely came to her ribcage, an unwelcome memory resurfaced—one of the first time she'd followed Thana and Emrys into a pub... and the first time she witnessed Thana take a life by sheer accident. The thought of his eyes frosting over with the same steely gray as Emrys' fingers made her insides twist.

"'Ay! Watch yer step, wouldya?" The gnome's gravelly growl made her wince. He downed the rest of his drink in one displeased gulp before shoving the empty pint into her hands.

Crinkling up her nose, she nearly pushed the glass back at him, but his sharp stare cut through her soul.

"Take it inside, wench," he grumbled, "and if ya see Fradnic, tell that son o' a bitch he owes me for his tab."

Eva stared after the gnome as he shoved past, knocking her off-balance with surprising strength. She looked into the glass he'd forced upon her. Luminescent film coated the inside, hardly enough to cast a faint lilac sheen on her skin.

She recognized it right away: Nectar, a beverage only sold in one Astraelan tavern, but so popular that patrons flocked from neighboring towns and far-off villages just for a taste. One glance at the wooden sign hanging above the entrance was enough to confirm her location.

The Elysian Lily.

Eva pulled open the rustic door, and the smell was enough to stop her in her tracks. Intoxicatingly sweet with a hint of stale smoke, the aroma blanketed the room in a visible haze. She blinked, but the effect remained, softening her vision and clouding her brain with pleasurable fuzz.

Much to her surprise, the tavern was the emptiest she had ever seen it. Usually bustling with life from open to close with patrons waiting outside for available tables, the tavern was dead except for three figures at the far end of the room.

Two of them stood rigid, hands steady over the radiant swords sheathed at their sides. The faint cerulean glow from their battle-worn breastplates gave away their positions as Guild officers—and well-experienced ones at that, judging by the Honor Sigils shining across their silver pauldrons.

The third was a satyr, much shorter in stature than the male officers, yet with more personality in her wide doe eyes than the other two had likely shown in their entire lives. A purple, plaid skirt swished around her furry legs as she tapped an impatient hoof against the hardwood floor.

Mystia Grievland.

Eva repeated the name in her head. Nervous waves crashed upon her mind at the thought of approaching the woman when two members of the deadliest Astraelan alliance had her targeted with coarse stares.

Still, she walked—or, more accurately, stumbled—forward, left foot stepping upon the right and nearly sending her into a face-plant. When she regained her balance, she was met with the Guild officers' tightly-pursed lips and a hefty sigh from the goat-woman.

"We're closed, hon," Mystia said, tone laced with frustration.

Eva's gaze drifted to the shorter of the two men: a wood elf with greasy, copper hair that poked beneath the brim of his helm. Though he watched her with the same hardened stare as his blonde half-giant companion, she couldn't help but notice the way his eyes traveled her body, lingering for too long in all the wrong places.

She shoved her hands in her pockets to conceal her trembling fingers. "I—I just need..." Eva swallowed hard and refocused her attention on the satyr. "A drink."

It wasn't a lie.

The longer she stared at the racks of multi-colored Nectar hung wall-to-wall behind the bar, the more she craved the blissful effects it had provided her characters. A strong haze still hung over the room from recently smoked herbal rolls, muddling her thoughts with every passing second, but it wasn't enough to cure her anxious tremors.

"You and everyone else who just left." Mystia's foreign accent, an uncommon tongue for the Astraelan woodlands, grew stronger with patient irritation. "It's dangerous to be outside the city right now. You'll have to wait for the skies to be opened up like everyone else."

Eva's heart thundered as the two Guild officers approached with the hungry-eyed wood elf leading their charge. Fluttering syllables raced through her mind, but with the fog blurring her thoughts, she couldn't recall Emrys' code phrase.

"We'll guide you home, miss," said the wood elf. "Tell us the way, and we'll take good care of you."

The smile that contorted his thin lips, matched with his partner's narrowing stare, drained the color from her face. She backed away from the men to no avail, since their longer strides doubled her own.

When the wood elf reached for her upper arm, clopping hooves drew closer in rapid succession. Mystia had nearly narrowed the gap between them.

"No!" Eva scrambled back, nearly tumbling over herself to get out of the man's reach. "I don't need... I just..."

She caught Mystia's concerned eyes with a plea for mercy. Her breathing quickened, and she dodged another advancement from the elf. Spiraling fear encapsulated her throat, threatening to restrict her from crying for help, but she finally spat out the first words to enter her mind.

"Tickalia eix!"

The wood elf stopped in his tracks. Brow furrowed in confusion, he backed up to inspect her yet again—this time more concerned than lustful.

Even Mystia paused. With the stunned silence that followed, Eva wondered if she had even spoken the right language, until the satyr's mouth fell open. Before another word could be said, Mystia closed the remaining distance. Her hooves clicked in measured steps while she put herself between Eva and the horny elf.

"Hon," she said, giving Eva a disapproving head shake, "I don't know where you've come from, but you've already had too much of something." Mystia passed such a piercing glare at the elf that he dropped his hand without a word. "I'll get her sobered up and on her way, Officer Riegel."

It took a long moment for the elf to compose himself, as if only just realizing he had been separated from his target by a satyr who didn't even come to his armpits. He wrinkled his sharp nose.

"It's no trouble, miss," he insisted.

Mystia's eyes narrowed. "You've got a city to protect, no? Better to spend your time figuring out what those Visionaries were going off about than to mess with this poor, confused woman."

When Riegel opened his mouth to argue, the half-giant clapped a hand over his shoulder with a steeled expression. The officers shared a knowing look, and for a moment, Eva feared that both would advance upon them.

Finally, Riegel relented under his partner's scrutiny. He stormed toward the door, leaving the half-giant to follow in cold silence.

Before the men could reach the exit, slim fingers clutched Eva's forearm. Mystia dragged her behind the bar and made a beeline for the swinging kitchen doors.

"Thank you," Eva said, voice thick with emotion as they pushed through the doors. "You saved my—"

Mystia slammed Eva's back against the cement wall beside a rack of pans, knocking the air from her lungs. The satyr slipped a hand beneath the lace collar of her off-the-shoulder bodice to reveal a dagger tattooed along her collarbone. The hilt materialized beneath her fingers, and she pressed the weapon to Eva's throat. She scanned Eva's face with a stare so cold it froze her on the spot.

"What are you?" demanded Mystia. Though her high-pitched voice gave the impression of a harmless mouse, Eva had never been more terrified.

"Eva."

"That's your name, doll face." Mystia leaned closer until their noses nearly touched. "What are you?"

Eva stammered again, her lips emitting nothing but strange, fearful noises. What was the phrase? She had to remember the phrase.

"Ti-tickalia eix!"

Mystia's brow lifted in a sharp, yet confused arch. "How do you know goblin-tongue?"

"Emrys sent me."

Eva yelped as Mystia's nails dug further into her arm. Blood trailed down her bicep, warm and wet against her gooseflesh.

"That's impossible," Mystia growled. "Emrys is dead."

"He's not, I swear—at least not yet." Tears stung her eyes, blurring the edges of the satyr's glowering face. "Please! He's outside, but he's hurt. If the Guild finds him before we can help—"

Mystia pressed the blade closer, hardly a millimeter from breaking skin.

"Emrys says my eyes give me away," Eva begged, her voice hoarse under the weapon's pressure. "Look into them and tell me if I'm lying."

For a moment, as Mystia's stare bore into her soul, Eva prayed that her throat wouldn't be slit in that woman's dingy kitchen. But, while she braced herself for searing pain, warmth swelled inside her chest. Afraid to move, she felt heat work its way up her body, filling her with an emotion she had never felt—like pure, unfiltered rage that dissipated within seconds. Even as the sensation faded, her gaze fixated on the woman in front of her.

Mystia's intensity faltered. She lessened the pressure on Eva's neck, lips parted just enough to notice. "Fine. Take me to him."

If Eva didn't know better, she would've sworn Mystia's fingers trembled when she retracted the dagger. The satyr's piercing nails lessened to a firm grip, though she yanked Eva from the wall with just as much roughness as she'd placed her there with.

Mystia clenched her jaw, whipping Eva around and pressing the dagger's point to the small of her back. "But if you are lying? I'll rip the flesh from your bones and use it for a wineskin."

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