SECOND BOOK OF THE CHRONICLES OF FANTASILIA SERIES
𝘈𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘦. 𝘈 𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘴. 𝘈 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.
Xanthiene Vivenca, af...
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2412 Strilaxis 18, Jyda
Reeca hunched over a glass of ale, hoping her hood covers enough of her face. After letting Jered Axilia pass uneventfully, she had to try her luck and start asking around.
She found a circular tavern that reeked of sweaty tucked somewhere in the slew of circular buildings in Depandes. She ignored an array of stares from Brownies who were seated inside, getting their morning doses. The brownie behind the counter gave a visible shiver before smiling with uncertainty. Reeca pulled her hood lower.
She flipped a small kalta dryde at the countertop. The versallis glinted silver as it rolled across the splintery wood before slowing to a stop by the bartender's hand. Reeca stared at the coin as the bartender picked it up, turned it towards the sunlight, and tucked it in his apron. There goes the last of her money.
A wooden mug of translucent, sanguine liquid presented itself in front of Reeca. She wrinkled her nose when the whiff reached her nose. Ugh. Stale. She took the mug and strode to the shadiest part of the tavern—the west corner which was void of windows. Good.
She settled on the chair accompanying a lone, rotting table. Her eyes began taking in details, thinking of how she would escape should the poachers track her here and decided to take revenge.
Three hours had passed.
Brownies have trickled in and out the tavern. Reeca watched them stroll by. She had to pick her target carefully if she had to stay hidden. Someone who was used to a lot of strange and unfamiliar things, who wouldn't scream at the first sight of her. Sadly, brownies were not known to possess those qualities.
Her fingers pulled her hood lower. She slumped in her chair. Her drink remained untouched. Let it go stale a bit more. She didn't care even though it cost her a fair amount of versallis. Her thoughts swirled along with the ripples in her drink.
Reeca frowned at her face being reflected in the boorish liquid. It wasn't enough that the poachers escaped. She wanted them dead. They managed to track her once. Who's to say they wouldn't find her again? Those charlatans wouldn't settle for failure.
Reeca dropped her gaze at the trail dimension and sat upright. A sharp curse blew out of her lips with a hiss. How foolish of her. She forgot to hide her trail! Rhys would never let her hear the end of it if he knew about this.
Reeca plucked a ring off her finger, studying its engraved swirls signifying the Narfalk crest. When she and Rhys ran from the castle, they didn't have time to remove any of their Royal costumes. Reeca still had the dress she wore in prison the day she underwent the Council trial. It's what composed most of her cape and the padding of her bark armor.
She turned the ring here and there, remembering all of its details as well as the events that flashed into her mind that came with it. Her fingers twitched. Warmth flowed through her veins and heated her skin as her magic surfaced.
