THE RED DWARF was a low-slung gray brick building on the southern edge of town in the middle of a warren of crowded, twisted streets and narrow alleys. It had taken Javan, Kellan, and five of the girls from hall six nearly an hour to walk there. The slender fingernail of a moon did little to illuminate the roads, but the street lanterns were still lit, and there were plenty of people moving through the town in carriages, on horseback, or on foot.
Kellan and Javan had flanked the girls as they walked, their hands resting on the hilts of the daggers they’d strapped to their waists. Three of the girls had daggers too. None of them mentioned the dragon who’d attacked Javan, but they’d spent much of the hour-long walk craning their necks to examine rooftops and skylines, just in case.
The fact that they’d made it to the tavern without incident was slightly reassuring. If the Draconi had been acting alone, the injury it had sustained had kept it from returning. If someone had sent the dragon, the security on the academy’s grounds had kept any further threats at bay. Javan wasn’t sure how that would also keep the students safe when they left the academy’s property, but perhaps the headmaster had employed extra security throughout the town of Abhahan as well.
Javan shoved thoughts of the dragon to the back of his mind as he approached the tavern. Tonight was his chance to see what he’d been missing all those years of turning down invitations so he could study. His chance to have fun without worrying that he would somehow disappoint his father.
His jaw clenched tight, and he reached for the tavern’s door handle.
It was hard to disappoint someone who didn’t care enough to show up for the most important moment of your life. The fact that the headmaster had received a message that the royal coach would arrive to collect Javan in the morning was somehow worse than being forgotten completely. Maybe Uncle Fariq was wrong. Maybe the king’s letters had grown impersonal and infrequent because Javan had become nothing more than another duty in a long list of responsibilities weighing on the king’s shoulders.
Pushing thoughts of his father into the same corner of his mind where the dragon crouched, Javan opened the thick wooden door to the tavern and was hit with a wall of noise. Fiddles played a lively jig. Wood crackled in an enormous fireplace that took up most of the far wall, and a din of voices was raised in merriment. A quick peek confirmed his suspicions—most of the graduating class was inside. Holding the door open for the girls, Javan raised a brow at Kellan.
“I thought it was just going to be the two of us and the girls from hall six.”
Kellan grinned. “I guess word got around.”
Javan rolled his eyes. “Somehow with you, it always does.”
Kellan’s grin widened. “If you play your cards right, it will still be just us with the girls from hall six.”
The tavern’s door closed behind him with a soft thud, and Javan’s gaze swept the room. Square wooden tables filled half the floor, surrounded by chairs painted red, green, or black; and the other half of the floor already had a few couples dancing. Exposed wooden beams divided the ceiling into smaller sections, each lit with its own simple iron chandelier. To his left, a long counter separated the dining area from kegs of ale, racks of mugs, and bottles of whiskey. A swinging half door at the far end of the bar counter led to the kitchen.
Javan’s stomach rumbled as he followed Kellan to two empty tables near the fireplace. The tavern smelled of roasting pig, fried blackberry tarts, and the sharpness of fermented grain, reminding Javan that he hadn’t eaten since that morning. As Kellan pushed the two tables together, Javan held out a chair for each of the girls and then shrugged out of his cloak and settled into the one closest to the fireplace, his back to the wall, his eyes on the rest of the room.
Maybe he was just being paranoid about the Draconi, but there was no point in taking chances.
Javan smiled at Bria, a short girl with bright red hair and an adorably freckled nose, and prepared himself to be charming and fun. Unlike Kellan, Javan had been too busy with his studies to learn how to flirt. Still, if Kellan could do it, so could he. Javan had never once failed at anything he set his mind to, and this would be no different.
A waitress laid platters of roasted pig, stewed apples, wilted greens, and fried blackberry tarts in front of them. Once they’d eaten their fill, Javan met Bria’s eyes and said a line he’d heard Kellan say a hundred times.
“You look lovely. I don’t know what material your dress is made of, but I’d love to find out.” He winced visibly the second the words left his mouth, and Bria’s eyes widened. His voice rose. “I mean . . . no! Not like that, I just . . . I meant dancing. Dance with me! That’s what I meant.”
Yl’ Haliq be merciful, this was a disaster. How did Kellan get away with saying such awkwardly awful things?
“You want to dance with me so you can touch my dress?”
“Yes. No! I’m not . . . I’d just be touching you.” That sounded so much worse. His face felt as hot as the fire at his back. He had to fix this. Fast. “Unless you don’t want me to touch you. I don’t have to touch anything! I can just . . . We can dance. That’s all. Is it hot in here?”
He tugged on the collar of his shirt and prayed that Yl’ Haliq would open up the floor and swallow him.
“Um . . .” Bria cast a quick glance at her friends. “We can dance, but I think you’ll have to at least touch my back since they’re playing a pallestaya.”
“Of course. That’s perfect.” Javan stood abruptly, and reached for Bria’s chair, but she was already pushing it back, her cheeks pink.
He cast a quick look at Kellan, but his friend already had a girl on each arm and was whirling them both into the sweeping movements of the pallestaya. Javan offered his arm to Bria and led her to the dance floor without once looking at her face. Thank Yl’ Haliq he knew how to dance. It was a required course at the academy, so Javan had dedicated himself to excelling at it. Now he just had to get through the next few moments without saying anything stupid, and he would have redeemed himself.
Javan spent the entire dance excruciatingly aware of the space between himself and Bria. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He was too busy making sure he didn’t sway too close or allow more than his fingertips to rest against her dress. How did one enjoy dancing while constantly monitoring oneself to make sure not a single dishonorable message was sent, even by accident?
By the end of the dance, Javan’s shoulders were knotted with tension, and all he wanted was his chair in the back corner of the tavern again. Instead, one of Kellan’s partners cheerfully offered to swap with Bria, and Javan found himself once again painfully aware of how difficult it was to keep a proper distance while dancing. Kellan didn’t seem to mind. He whirled around the floor, his hands firmly on his partners’ backs, his face leaning toward theirs while they all laughed.
A third dance started, and Javan found himself facing Kellan. His friend leaned close and said, “You look like you’re being forced to dance with old Mrs. Denham from the dining hall. Relax. You’re supposed to be having fun.”
“I’m trying!” Javan rolled his shoulders to release some of the tension and glared at Kellan.
Kellan made an exasperated noise in the back of his throat as he grabbed Javan and led them both into the movements of the dance. “Having fun isn’t a skill you have to learn. This isn’t a test. It’s just dancing and conversation.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing,” Javan said through clenched teeth.
“No, you’ve been perfectly executing your dance steps while trying not to touch your partner.” Kellan swept Javan into a flawless dip, and Javan glared.
“I’m trying not to send any dishonorable messages. And stop spinning me. Why are we even dancing together?”
Kellan spun Javan out three steps and back in. “Because I wanted to prove to you that you can dance and talk and touch another person without looking like you swallowed rancid milk. Plus, it’s fun. See?”
“It would be a lot more fun if I didn’t have to look at your ugly face while doing this.” Javan took the lead and flung Kellan into a dizzying spin. “Also, how do you get away with saying such terrible lines to girls? I tried one, and it was a disaster.”
Kellan laughed. “It’s all about the delivery. You have to say them with confidence and a sense of humor.”
“Even though they’re the worst things to ever come out of your mouth?”
“Those are hardly the worst things to have come out of my mouth.”
Javan laughed. “Point taken. Now stop dancing with me. I’d much rather pick a different partner.”
“You wound me.” Kellan winked as he smoothly handed Javan off to Cherise, a softly rounded girl with blond hair and stunning blue eyes.
Javan lost track of time as he danced, laughed, and danced some more. Friends slapped him on the shoulder and congratulated him for achieving top honors. Others offered to buy him an ale and toast the fact that he’d sent a dragon running. And, miracle of miracles, he had no lack of dance partners, despite the fact that he refused to say another one of Kellan’s stupid lines.
By the time the tavern began emptying, Javan’s feet were sore, his bladder was full, and his spirit felt lighter than it had in weeks. He was going to have to make it a point to have fun more often. A difficult task for the heir to Akram’s throne, but Javan was no stranger to accomplishing difficult tasks.
The thought of returning to Akram, and to his father, was a dash of cold water on his spirit. He was ready to fulfill the destiny Yl’ Haliq had set for him.
He wasn’t ready to face his father.
The thought sent a dull pain through Javan’s chest. Before the hurt could show on his face, he bowed to his last dance partner and caught Kellan’s eye as he reached for his cloak.
“I’m heading out back to the privy. Do you mind escorting the remaining girls back to the academy without me?” He prayed Kellan would say yes and give Javan some time to wrestle with his thoughts.
Kellan glanced at the two girls from hall six who still remained. “Happy to do the honors if you’d rather walk back alone.”
“Thanks.” Javan let the tavern’s door shut behind him and headed toward the privy in the back. The slim crescent of a moon was hidden behind clouds now, and knee-high ribbons of fog clung to the deserted city streets. He used the privy quickly, checked that his dagger was securely strapped to his waist, and then stepped out of the little outbuilding.
A whisper of sound came from his left, and Javan whirled as someone’s fist crashed into his face.
The blow rocked him back on his heels. He reached for his dagger, and someone slammed into him from the side. He lashed out, sweeping a leg that connected with someone’s knee. A man swore viciously, and something inside Javan went cold.
That was an Akramian peasant’s curse.
There was no reason a band of Akramian peasants would cross the desert and lie in wait outside an ordinary tavern in Loch Talam to rob just anyone.
They were here for him.
Had the dragon been waiting specifically for him as well?
Pain exploded across the back of Javan’s head as something hard connected with his skull, and he crumpled to the ground as darkness closed in and the world went silent.