A Girl Named Calamity (Alyria 1)

A young boy ran through the room and knocked one of the men’s mugs out of his hand, pouring it all over him. The bearded man cursed and stood up, grabbing the boy by the scruff of his shirt. He lifted him off the ground and pressed him against the wall. My heart pounded as I watched him grab a knife out of the back of his pants and put it against the boy’s throat.

I jumped up with no other thoughts than to help the boy when a knife flew through the air and stuck into the wall inches from the bearded man’s head. Eyes shot to the corner of the room where a man sat in the darkened corner, and the voices took a dramatic fall.

The man dropped the boy

, who then raced off and out the back door. I let out a deep breath of relief and fell back into my chair before eyes came my way. The bearded man pulled the knife out of the wall and turned to glare at the man in the corner. The tavern was deathly quiet as we all watched him walk to the corner of the room.

My palms were sweaty, and I wiped them nervously on my pants. If a brawl broke out, I wasn’t in the best spot. Too far from the door. Who was I kidding? Too far from home.

The man stabbed the knife into the table while they both stared at each other. The darkened corner concealed the knife thrower’s face, but I could make out that he was leaning back in his chair. His relaxed posture told everyone in the room he was unconcerned with having to deal with the burly man.

The men didn’t say anything, but I believed a lot was being said with their eyes. A conversation only men could understand, but I think the gist was:

Bearded man: Don’t throw knives at me.

Knife thrower: You gonna make me?

The tavern was quiet as the bearded man walked away and sat down.

Apparently, not going to make him.

The nervous air dissipated as voices picked back up and the drinking continued. I came to the conclusion that whoever the man was in the corner, he was the one I wanted as an escort. Kind enough to save a child, and menacing enough that men didn’t want to fight him.

My stomach was in knots while I tried to work up the courage to go over there. I debated if I should just turn around and go home. But I was humoring myself—I couldn’t go home.

Just get it over with!

My boots carried me over to his table while my mind stayed behind, wanting to ask for the tallest mug of wine available. Just for a little liquid courage. Grandmother only let me have wine on special occasions. And the last time had been on Day of Selene, when I had drunk one too many cups and ended up starting the fire with kindling. It’d turned out to be Grandmother’s precious Night of the Elm branches. It had smoked us out of the cottage for the rest of the night. She hadn’t been so happy about that. Especially because I hadn’t been able to stop laughing.

I kept my head down, and as the man’s figure came into view, I almost stopped completely. But I imagined if I acted weak I would be considered prey to every man here. I felt several gazes on me as I made my way over.

This was a terrible idea, my mind screamed at me, but there wasn’t any way I could stop now.

I didn’t know the first thing about how to properly sit at a man’s table in a tavern, so I just sat down with the hope I wouldn’t become his next practice target. I relaxed as the man only sipped on his ale as if this was normal for him. I tried to work up the courage to say something, but he beat me to it.

“What brings a woman into a tavern?” His voice was deep, and like a physical presence, it slithered softly down my spine. I looked up, no longer having to conceal my face.

This disguise was a joke, anyway.

The man studied me with interest, and I studied him back. The first straight-on glance and I had the consuming urge to look away. No one could have convinced me that presence wasn’t a physical substance because it surrounded him as if he had sold his soul, and in exchange, it would ward off any man who entered it.

I felt like turning around and running back to Alger, straight through the Red Forest if I had to, but when I met his eyes, the emerald green calmed me as if they were familiar. Dark brown hair and short scruff covered his square jaw. He had strong features. Intelligent, mesmeric eyes that I could barely look away from and that I doubted missed much. My gaze lowered to his lips, which were full, yet unyielding.

When I saw the corners tip up in slight amusement, I became aware of how long I was staring, and I dropped my gaze. My eyes landed on his drink, and I felt like downing his entire cup of ale.

Then I remembered I was supposed to answer his question, and it took me a moment before I could remember what he had asked. I pulled my gaze up to his, my heartbeat picking up at the eye contact.

“I’m looking for an escort,” I said, trying not to appear as a helpless girl. And probably failing.

“What’s the destination?” he drawled as he leaned a little further back in his chair. How it could support all of his body and presence was beyond me. They didn’t make them like this in Alger, and I wondered where he was from. I felt apprehensive about telling him where I was going, but there was no way around it.

“Undaley City.”

His eyes lowered as he rolled the ale in his cup. “What purpose do you have there?”

“None of your business,” I retorted. I was tired of being a woman. If I were a man, he would have never asked me that. I might have been completely out of my element, but I wasn’t going to be pushed around. I had to have a strong front if anyone would take me seriously.

His heavy gaze flicked up to mine as if he was surprised at my brazen response.