A Song of Ash and Smoke

Chapter Two

The tavern smelt like cheap ale and unwashed bodies, and Ember had to put her cloak over her nose to avoid collapsing from lack of fresh air. A fiddler played a boisterous tune and the room was filled with raucous laughter and singing. Groans of the inebriated punctuated the songs, like strange, foreign drums.

Lanterns burned brightly on the walls, warding away the darkness, and the pickpockets and thieves that came with it. Although if Ember looked closely, she could spot a few hands sliding stealthily into pockets, or teasing watches from wrists in a matter of seconds. It would not be long before Ember would have to start thieving again. Her money was flowing away from her as fast as the Ilan, the winding river that snaked through the city of Iskros.

But that was not what she was here for today. No, she wasn't planning on robbing the man with the sword tattoo, at least not of his money. He stood across the room from her, leaning casually on the bar, a glass of ale in his hand. Empty glasses lay discarded beside him, and his eyes had the glint of those not completely sober, which would make her job infinitely easier.

Ember threw her cloak to the man at the door, not bothering to look back at it. It was a good piece of cloth, and she didn't plan on letting him know it. Across the room, the man with the sword tattoo cradled yet another glass of ale and swayed unsteadily on his feet. Ember doubted he would be able to stand much longer. It was typical of men to think they could take more than they realistically could. He was about to regret drinking so much.

"Outside Neo," she ordered, watching her dog trot out the door dutifully followed by the wary eyes of the barkeep. She smiled; Neo was about as menacing as a sheep, unless she asked him to be. Although, she understood that with his large stature and long canines, how he could be seen as dangerous.

Taking a deep inhale of the musty tavern air and immediately regretting it, Ember strolled towards the man, one hand on her hip soaking in Reaper's strength and the other carefully playing with her hair. He saw her making her way towards him and stood up straighter, trying to feign nonchalance. She could smell the ale on his breath from ten metres away.

Axel Voterra, that was the name she heard whispered as she got closer. Soldier. Warrior. She scoffed. He certainly didn't seem like much of a warrior. An intricate tattoo of a blade snaked from the tip of his elbow and ended in a sharp point on the underside of his wrist. Ember knew it was meant to be threatening, but it was mainly just for show.

Axel hadn't bothered to remove his cloak, and the crimson ends were caked with mud. Stubble lingered on his cheeks and chin, and every now and then his hands slipped to the blade strapped to his side, evidence of how much it was worth to him. Ember had long since learnt that giving away such hints was dangerous.

Ember sashayed herself straight into Axel's arms, and he wasted no time pulling her into his lap. His hot breath stank and tickled her ear as he whispered something unintelligible to her. She let his hands wander over her figure as much as she could stomach and then stood, dragging her hand along his rough cheek as she walked away.

As she expected, she heard him saying his goodbyes and stumbling after her. Neo waited outside the door and she gave him a quick stroke as she glided past. "Conceal," she said, and he trotted away to keep himself hidden as he waited for her to call him.

She found the alley beside the tavern deserted, and leaned on the wall, pressing the cold steel of the stranger's blade for comfort. Echo, he had called it. Briefly she pondered over his strange premonition but was quickly distracted by Axel's heavy footfalls and laboured breathing. She hoped she was never so clumsy when she had been drinking. She didn't ever want to find out.