A Court of Dark and Decay

Chapter 37- Legendary

 Nesta stepped out of the tent, taking a path intentionally past the campfire toward the tavern. As she walked past, even through the white fog of the snow, she noted how the males around the campfire withdrew from her direction, shrinking away from her. 

She was high off that feeling, the idea of men cowering in her presence. 

Powerless. All her life she had been powerless- powerless to help her sister, powerless in poverty, powerless against herself. 

But now, she was the only one with true power. Now, others were powerless in her presence. 

As she walked past the fire, she dared turn her head toward the gates. Her grey cloak dissapeared into the darkness past the trees, Maria safe under the fur lined fabric. 

Fae were supposedly masters of the art of trade, and  Nesta supposed she would like to make a habit of trading a life for a life. Maria was saved, Daron was dead. The world was rid of another peice of scum. 

Before the night was over, Nesta hoped to add a few more to the trash. 

It was risky, she thought, ascending the stairs to the tavern enterance. Being out in the open, with the Witches blade glinting at her side, the satchel that smelt of death- everyone would know as soon as she opened the door. 

How far can you go? 

The ache, the curiosity inside of her would not give one inch. 

How powerful are you?

Nesta intended to find out.

The brass handle was freezing against her palm. Nesta pulled the door open, stepping into the warm tight space of the tavern. 

The snow fell in around her, the wind shutting the door behind her. As soon as she stepped into the space, every eye was on her. 

In the silence, Nesta could hear every males heartbeat. Could hear thier pulse quicken as she took a lazy step into the space. Then another. Then another. 

Nesta sauntered toward the bar, her footfalls agianst the wooden floor daring anyone to say anything. 

One year ago, she wouldn't even have been able to enter a place like this. 

Now, she met the stare of every male with fire in her eyes. 

And every single one of them looked away. Several of them took long swigs of whatever was in thier glass.

The space was cozy enough, the large fireplace to the far end near the bar providing ample heat for the entire seating area. There were booths on either wall and open table seating in the center. It was small, probably only able to accomidate twenty or thirty patrons at once.

Cowards, all of them. As soon as she passed, she could feel the venom and rage at her back. Yet, every single one whos eye she met held nothing but fear in thier heart. 

Illyrians had always been deathly afraid of witches. It was a foolish fear, no witch in thier history actually giving them reason to be so afraid. 

But Nesta intended to be the witch that made them all fear death. The witch they told stories about to thier children to keep them from misbehaving. A witch of legend. 

As she approached the bar, she noticed the only female in the entire establishment was also the only one showing no fear. The female sat behind the bar, next to the old bearded male who Nesta presumed was the bar tender. He was practically quaking. 

But the female looked to Nesta in awe. 

Nesta was the first to break the silence, and she spoke to the young woman.