Spark coos and huffs a cloud of black smoke.
“All right then. I’ll see you in a few hours,” Laini says before turning back to me.
She looks at the tavern door like she’s trying to muster up the will to enter. Already, the conversation inside is loud and raucous. The large bells the males wear clang into the quiet night.
“Come on. You can leave early if you want,” I say. Laini isn’t the party type. This feral night isn’t really made for quiet folks like her. “I only need your backup for the first part of the plan. Rom is going to sit with him, right?”
“He said he would, yes. I didn’t tell him what you were up to.”
“Good. He would probably try the nice way and that would only alert Argos and make my job harder.”
“I don’t like this, Tully.”
“Did you see the market today?” I ask.
“Yes, Argos was putting on a show again with his illusions of an estate where unicorns galloped near a waterfall.”
I pretend to gag.
“So over the top,” Laini says.
I cut my eyes to her face, and even though she’s wearing a mask, I can tell she is fibbing to save my feelings.
“Look, if he keeps on, I will go out of business, Laini. I’ll have to move. Because I refuse to settle for selling to the customers he leaves for me like crumbs.”
“I know. He needs to stop. I agree with that…” She stares me down, her earnest eyes glittering through the holes in her mask. “You promise not to use your magic on him?”
I hold up a hand. “I swear it on my grandwitch’s grave.”
She nods. “I still don’t like this plan.”
“Well, I like it enough for the both of us. Now, come on.” I take her arm again and tug at her.
When we walk into the cacophony of folks singing and the heavy bells clanking from the backs of all the males, I see a set of bull horns and I grin. I’m going to get the best of this arrogant minotaur if it’s the last thing I do.
Chapter 8
Argos
Wood and pipe smoke gather in the rafters at the Goat and Dragon. It’s insanely loud in here what with these ancient bells strapped to my back as well as the backs of every other male in attendance. I’m at a round table in the center of the large room, having a pint with Romulus, the watchtower gargoyle.
“Explain the bells to me, Romulus.”
I’m glad to spend a fun evening here, but what I truly need is an opportunity to pick Grumlin’s mind about the khymeia. From what Cyrus said, the northern folk—which includes most of my kith and kin—call wizards darkbloods, and my father told me to ask one such person about the stones. But I do worry about what he’ll think of me having them. Will he be like Tully is, believing I shouldn’t have them because I’m a non-magical creature?
“Call me Rom, please.” The gargoyle seems like a good fellow, quiet but clever when he opens his mouth. Unlike most people. “I had a meeting with Rustion this morning,” the big gray guy says. “He explained that the bells are meant to scare away the dark so that the spring comes early.”
“But why don’t the females wear them?”
“The whole event is an old fertility rite, so originally it was meant to boost virility and encourage rutting. More ringing bells means more younglings in the spring.”
I laugh and take a sip of my ale. It’s sharp and slightly sweet. Delicious. “And the masks?”
Rom shrugs one shoulder, one of his bells clanking. “Rustion didn’t tell me.”
I nod and touch one of the embroidered straps holding the bells to my back. “I’m assuming it’s to honor the Owl of Winter.” The owl is a symbol of wisdom throughout the Veiled Kingdoms. “Maybe it’s simultaneously keeping a bit of secrecy for the whole rucking part of the evening.”
Rom nods. “Who helped you put your bells on?”
