To overthrow the cruel King who brutally slaughtered her foremothers, the last surviving water witch Elara Consuli must team up with novice warrior Juda Vikaris from the Serpent Order and realise an ancient prophecy, before the blood-thirsty ruler d...
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T/W: this chapter includes references to spousal abuse and sexual assault.
'Curses, Elara, one day I shall best you at this game, I swear by the dead gods, I will.'
Elara grinned as she swept the coins across the tabletop into her open purse, pulling the strings tight and concealing it inside her tunic. Seated opposite, her companion Anton Gordako, leant back on his stool and pursed his lips with frustration. Pouring himself a long draught of ale from the flask, he drained the measure quickly before deciding it wasn't quite enough and opting for a second tankard. His eyes were already glassy with the intoxicating effects of the strong liquor, and Elara felt a small stab of guilt knowing his increasing inebriation had aided her in her victory.
Foolish Anton, will he never learn?
Still, rather it be in her purse than in the hands of some slum scoundrel who would try to take advantage of Anton in other ways once he'd had more than his fill of ale, and at least the coins would be funnelled back into their shared lodgings and put food on the table. Left with Anton, his earnings would just line the pockets of the nefarious droukzas that lurked in the darkened corners of the tavern, searching for their next target, whether that be for coin or for supple flesh. Either way, Anton would lose. He always did.
'Then you will have to drink less, be quicker and think more with your head than with that kreeworm between your legs, Gordako,' Elara said, winking at him.
Anton pretended to look shocked at her words and slapped his palm down hard on the table, causing a few nearby patrons to look sharply at him with narrowed bloodshot eyes. Standing up abruptly, he lewdly grabbed a generous handful of his crotch. 'You would call this a kreeworm? I would wager my very last coin that half the citadel would tell you my côck rivals the legendary great serpent of the Setalah for its size and power.'
At that moment, Kelena appeared with a steaming bowl of soup in one hand, and another full flask of ale in the other. On her break from serving the Seadog Inn's customers, she seated herself at the table next to Anton, and eyed him and his crotch with a raised brow.
'You do realise the great serpent of the Setalah is an old fairy tale?' she said dryly, while pouring herself a measure. 'Which means, dearest Anton, the legend of your côck is a myth and nothing more.'
Leaning forward and placing both hands on the table edge, Anton clucked his tongue at her.
'Pah! A myth, indeed! You ask Leon Kro-Balnar if it is just a myth. That man couldn't sit down properly for a whole week after I last pleasured him. When I took off my britches, his greedy eyes grew larger than the dark moon itself and he howled my name louder than all the wolves in the Dreynian mountains.'
Elara choked on her laughter, but Kelena just stared steadily at Anton as she spooned a healthy serving of the soup into her mouth. Swallowing, she shook her head at him. 'And yet he still hasn't sponsored you a place to study at the Academy.'
