Elsyn and Corvus trekked down the mountain. This time, the former was spared a reckless ride because Corvus's body was charged with electricity, making him a walking hazard. He did not know how it happened, but he had walked unscathed from a bolt of lightning while absorbing some of its energy within him.

  Walking down the sloping road, Corvus said, "We can't work like this. If things become dire then I'll have to carry you."

  "You can wear an extra layer of cloth, maybe that will work," Elsyn replied.

  Corvus nodded. "Wait here, El. I will be back in a minute."

  Before Elsyn could respond he had zipped through the air, leaving behind a blur of dust and ash. Some of it settled on Elsyn's face, forcing her to cough.

  Was he faster than before... much faster? Elsyn thought in amazement.

  Moments later, Corvus returned with a white coat and wore it on top of his—stolen—green jacket.

  He noticed Elsyn giving him a weird look, and asked, "What?"

  "Could you really not find anything else?"

  "What's wrong with this coat; it's neat, stylish, and above all it's thick enough to let you touch me without getting zipped."

  "It looks kinda shady even by Bleakmoor's standards."

  Corvus shrugged and moved ahead. "Don't be jealous. We don't have much time like you said, remember, let's go."

  I'm not jealous. Kicking aside a pebble, she followed after him.

  Before long, they returned to the lawless settlement of Glaswold, Bleakmoor Hearth.

  Though the sun was in the sky, the Hearth was still fraught with danger. It had no place for those not prepared to accept—or become—peril.

  "Ask for the direction of a tavern and leave the rest to me," Corvus said.

  "Why? What's in a tavern?"

  "An old geezer I know always goes to tavern whenever he wants to know about something. I used to think, and still do, that he just wanted to drink himself silly. But for some reason, he never walked out empty handed. According to him: taverns are a den of intel and bliss."

  Bliss? Elsyn was not sure, but she decided to rely on Corvus's experience.

  Asking strangers for directions, they soon reached a large tavern. Its exterior reeked of liquor, and in a line outside, several homeless people scavenged for leftovers, their tattered clothes leaving patches of skin exposed.

  One of the men stared at Elsyn, saliva dripping from his mouth.

  The sight instantly reminded her of the giant mole from Cinderglaze. Yet unlike the mole, this man had eyes—eyes more hollow than the blind creature’s.

  She shivered and stepped back.

  Corvus stepped in front of her and pointed at the homeless man. "Move it, bum, unless you’re bored of alcohol and life."

  The man fled at once. The sight of him running was both pitiful and appalling—his back bent, arms twisted, and crude stitches lining the back of his head.

  Elsyn steadied herself and followed Corvus into the tavern.

  The stench hit them the moment they stepped inside: alcohol, vomit, and excrement mingled into an almost unbearable reek.

  Elsyn clamped a hand over her mouth and nose. She felt her stomach lurch, but gritting her teeth, she forced herself to endure it.

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  "Are you uncomfortable? Didn't you used to help out your uncle?" Corvus questioned.

  "I'm fine, it just caught me off-guard. And my uncle used to run a café, not a tavern. Though he also served drinks and rough-heads often visited King's Delight, but never like this. How are you not bothered by this stench?"

  "By spending a lifetime surrounded with filth grislier than this," Corvus answered, his voice distant and even.

  Elsyn suddenly felt bad for Corvus. For all his strength and bravado, he's just a boy with a past... like me.

  But she could not linger in her thoughts. Shaking off her emotions, she focused ahead.

  The tavern had an expansive interior lined with dozens of long tables and wooden chairs. Over a hundred people reveled in booze or company—some sprawled on the ground, some on tables, and others were about to. The air buzzed with clatter of mugs and drunken laughter.

  A lot of them had bruised faces and blood-smeared clothes. Yet their eyes were carefree, as though their troubles had been left outside the gate.

  Navigating past rowdy patrons and overworked waiters, Corvus and Elsyn made their way to a wide counter where a stout man was barking orders at his employees.

  They passed mostly unnoticed, save for a few wary glances that followed Corvus. He caught the looks but remained unfazed.

  "Corvus, what did you meant by leave the rest to me?" Elsyn whispered.

  "I got this, just follow my lead," he whispered back, and sat in front of the counter. Elsyn remained standing right beside him.

  The stout man eyed Elsyn without any regard, then he noticed Corvus and quickly came forward: "Morning sir, welcome to the Marlen's. I am Harry your host for today. What shall I bring you?"

  Sir? What's the pleasantry for? Corvus thought.

  Elsyn meanwhile was so rattled by Harry's stench that she barely heard his words.

  "Bring me your best, lad," Corvus ordered.

  "In a moment, sir," Harry briskly left.

  Elsyn leaned on Corvus’s shoulder and said, "Lad? Is that really the impression you want to make? We need information and we don’t have a penny, remember?"

  "First rule of tavern-talking I learned from the geezer: never call anyone anything but lad, boy, or punk—age doesn’t matter. And don’t worry about the money. In taverns, it’s not the one who orders the drink who pays for it, but the one who’s left last. That’s the second rule, by the way."

  Elsyn blinked, half-perplexed, half-intrigued. "And the third rule?"

  "Never be the last one left," Corvus said, eyes narrowing toward the counter. "Look sharp—the pork’s coming back."

  Harry placed a bottle of wine on the counter and poured it in a large mug: "This here is Dew Of The Bloody Moon, the finest wine of my cellar. A true vintage just for you, sir." He slid the mug towards Corvus.

  Corvus took a small sip and immediately spat the wine on the floor. "I thought this establishment served drinks—not horse piss."

  He threw the mug aimlessly at the crowd behind and grabbed Harry's collar, pulling him over the counter.

  "Are you trying to make a fool out of me, lad? Let me assure you it won't end well for you, lad?" Corvus's voice echoed through the tavern walls.

  "Quit being noisy, boy!" a voice came from behind.

  Corvus glanced back; a bald man was holding the mug that he had thrown. The whole tavern's attention shifted toward them now.

  The bald man added, "Looks like this is yours." And threw the mug back at Corvus.

  The mug hit inches from Corvus’s face. He did not even flinch.

  Dropping Harry, he stepped onto a table and jumped toward the bald man in a single, impossibly long leap.

  Gasps rippled through the tavern.

  Corvus landed on the bald man’s table, planting his boot on the man’s head and slamming it against the wood.

  The bald man strained, but Corvus’s leg did not so much as twitch. Two of his companions rushed in. Corvus pivoted atop the bald man’s head and kicked them both squarely in the jaw, dropping them cold.

  Two more advanced, climbing onto the table and swinging their blades from either side.

  Corvus leapt high, dodging both strikes, then came down again on the bald man’s head. His heel crashed into one attacker’s gut, sending him retching over the floor.

  The last man turned to flee—but Corvus was already upon him.

  Corvus grabbed the man by the throat and squeezed. Lightning crackled from his hands, coursing through the man’s body. The attacker convulsed, spasming violently, then went still.

  Corvus looked down. The bald man was still conscious, seething with rage.

  Smirking, Corvus pressed his boot harder. The table gave way with a loud crack—splinters flew in every direction. When the dust settled, the bald man lay bleeding beneath the wreckage.

  Stepping clear of the debris, Corvus found every eye in the tavern fixed on him. Elsyn had her face buried in her hands.

  I’m not with him—I barely know the guy, she thought.

  Corvus braced for another fight to break out, but instead the tavern erupted in cheers and wild applause. Men shouted his name, tankards raised, voices roaring for more.

  The experience was new to Corvus—but he knew what to do. Raising both hands, he basked in the crowd’s adoration, grinning ear to ear.

  Elsyn sighed. Show-off.

  When the crowd’s cheers finally died down, Corvus turned back to Harry.

  Harry raised his trembling hands in air. "S–Sir, I meant no disrespect! Please, you must understand—my patrons, the Cartel, they won’t forgive this behavior, not even from someone of your status…"

  Unmoved, Corvus closed the distance between them.

  He grabbed a fistful of Harry’s hair and yanked his head up. "Where can I find a green carriage with an anchor sigil," he said coldly.

  "Tell me and perhaps we'll leave."