TWENTY-THREE

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That night, I opened the tavern as usual, welcoming over forty people in from both our secret Witch Tunnel and the traditional tavern entrance. They filled the building with excitement, bubbling amongst themselves with wide eyes and excitement. People spoke of the stories in hushed whispers: would they tell a story about the one-eyed prince? Or would there be a new story? What about the common tale about the Forest Queen? There were so many stories, but the night was short and sacred.

I loved the way the tavern bolstered. Patrons practiced magic in the corners of the rooms, sending sparks flying, enchanting many with their talents. Yeshua, Gisela, and Ralph sat at the front of the audience, listening to each story with intent. As always, I kept to myself, serving drinks and listening as stories turned into songs and songs turned into dances. If Ryon was here with me, I’d dance with him, but I just swayed behind the counter, humming to myself.

Often, the stories took me away through flights of fancy. I would lose myself, enamored with each tale, operating the bar in a haze. For a moment, I was a warrior fighting a dragon; another, a mere princess yearning to be saved; and in one of them, I was even a mapmaker who traveled the world. Stories have that sort of danger about them: you forget who you are and fly away.

Perhaps that was why the Order feared them.

Most days, I stayed completely swept away by these tales, only for the sunrise to wake me from my reverie.

That night, my reverie broke with a bang.

The clattering of pots and pans from upstairs pulled me out of the stories. I stumbled back, dropping one glass of liquor on the ground.

The banging continued. Everyone stopped.

My heart hung in my chest, stuck between two beats. 

Another bang.

I should have listened to Elodie.

Like when Elodie discovered the tavern, I didn’t hesitate. I hopped on the counter, grabbed a pot and pan, then slammed them together.

--. ---

Go.

Chaos exploded as people pushed towards the Witch Tunnel, pushing aside tables and chairs as they tried to be the first ones to leave. I ducked behind the bar to avoid the commotion.

Pow!

A gunshot exploded. 

It wasn’t from upstairs. It was too close.

Another gunshot.

My ears buzzed as I peeked over the top of the counter. Ralph stood in the middle of the room with pistol smoking in his hand.

Two of the storytellers lay on the ground, bleeding.

More gunshots followed. I glanced around as smoke reverberated from Ralph’s barrel. Gisela and Yeshua had vanished. Did they know about Ralph? Had this been a part of an elaborate plan to take out the storytellers?

Surely not! Gisela and Yeshua told stories, too. Why would they want to see the storytellers fall?

I didn’t have time to ponder it, my heartbeat rising in my ears with each passing second.

Ralph approached the counter, shoving a few storytellers out of the way. He no longer looked so small. His face was still narrow, his glasses too big, but there was an aura of strength and confidence pulsating around him.

“Up,” he barked. His voice sounded deeper, too.

Where had I seen him?

I pulled myself up from behind the counter, meeting Ralph’s gaze.

“Why? Why’d you… Why?” I whispered.

He pressed the pistol to my chest. “My captain’s been trying to scoff out storytelling for a while. He knew you were one to cause trouble after you altered documents. Then we found that old lady on your lawn. So, he sent me undercover, had me poking and prodding. Met Gisela and Yeshua, and when I found out they had previous relations with you, I done told my boss, and we hatched a plan. Wasn’t too hard.” He poked me in the chest with his pistol. “Now get up. Come with me.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you’ll be dead.”

I glanced around the room once more, hoping to catch Gisela or Yeshua. Or anyone. But no one looked at me, continuing to thrust their way towards the exit.

I couldn’t blame them. I was just the tavern wench, after all.

With my hands raised, Ralph led me up the stairs. There, the front doors hung on their hinges, with a handful of guards sitting in my parlor led by none other than Captain Cordova himself.

“Ah, Miss Ivans. I did not think I would see you again so soon.” The captain smirked. “Thank you, Lieutenant Reynolds.”

Lieutenant Reynolds! Realization swung at me with a steel bat. I recognized that name! It was only uttered once, but enough for me to remember. Ralph was one of the lieutenants who entered my home after we found Brenda Harley dead on our doorstep. He almost kicked me in the face.

How had I been so blind?

Ralph bowed his head with a smirk. “Of course, sir.”

I glowered at him.

Until Captain Cordova dragged my attention back with the tip of his finger. He smirked at me, his eyes as lifeless as his smile. “Now what do we do with you, Miss Ivans?”

“Just send me to the Pit like you did to Ryon already,” I snapped. “You’ve already decided I’m guilty.”

“Ah, but what good does that do? We hide you away, and another wench takes your place, isn’t that right? Clearly, sending your lover to the Pit didn’t hinder your determination.” He shook his head, curling a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I think we need to make you into an example about what happens to storytellers.”

I restrained a scream as Captain Cordova shoved me forward and pulled back my hair. One of his lieutenants forced my mouth open. His fingers tasted like metal as he pulled my tongue out of my mouth.

Captain Cordova removed a knife from his belt and pressed it onto my tongue. A pain ripped through my mouth, masked only by the flavor of blood.

“Any last words, dear? You won’t be speaking again for a very long time.”

“‘Uck ‘ou!” I spat blood at him.

“Very well. If that’s the case—”

The knife slid to the center of my tongue. My head spun. Bile rose in my throat. 

Then someone else spoke. “I have something to say!” 

At first, I thought the blood was going to my head. Everything spun. I couldn’t focus.

But I knew that voice.

Captain Cordova stopped, lifting his knife away from my mouth. “And what is a little lady like you doing here?”

“Protecting my sister.”

Through tears, I met Elodie’s gaze. I wanted to run to her, envelop her in a hug, and apologize for everything I had done to wrong her. Despite everything, she came back. It didn’t matter that I didn’t listen. She was my sister.

We were family.

“And what are you going to do, little lady? Shoot me?”

I peered past Captain Cordova at Elodie. She held a hunting rifle in her arms, shaking. “I will if I have to.” 

“You’ll miss,” the captain continued.

“No, I won’t.” 

“Are you really going to risk your sister’s life?” the captain chuckled. “Besides, threatening a Guard is a punishable offense.” 

“Yes…but I’ve been reading!”

“Reading?”

“Yes! Reading! And I happen to know that what you’re doing is illegal!”

“Storytelling is illegal. You understand that, ma’am. I’ve seen you at my brother’s services.”

“Storytelling is, yes, but my sister is running an establishment! What people do here is outside her jurisdiction.” Elodie cocked the rifle once. “Under Statute 19-10-20-B, storytelling is illegal on all counts, yes. But upon further investigation, under Section 16-C of the statute, only after performing a story may an individual be arrested…but only if witnessed by the proper authority. Owners of facilities are not liable for their patron’s actions.” Elodie spoke with confidence. “Have you seen my sister tell a story?”

Captain Cordova sneered. “Reynolds! Did she tell a story in your presence?”

Ralph fidgeted. “N-No, sir. She only worked the bar.”

“Shite! Then…shite!” Captain Cordova still didn’t loosen his grip on me.

“I suggest you leave, Captain. Or I’ll be filing a formal inquiry.” Elodie kept her poise.

“I recommend that this establishment closes. Otherwise, I’ll have a guard coming every night until we have proof.”

Elodie might have smiled. Dizziness mocked my attention. I could hardly see anymore as blood continued staining my lips. “Statute 10-12-C: Guards may not occupy private residences. And before you say anything, this house is also my sister’s private residence. Yes, she is operating a tavern as a place of business. But in addendum 6-B of the statute, it says that unless a guard is there as a patron, they are considered solicitors as established in the case of Freida’s Junction v. the Rosadian Guard. My sister, as the owner of the tavern, may deny service. The Guard may only enter with proof of illegal activities.”

“We know she is running a storytelling bar!”

“You know she is operating a bar, and she has acquired the proper licenses. The only proof you have is that of a lieutenant who, if I understand correctly, had only hearsay proof in the first place.”

Ralph squirmed. “I listened to the stories.”

“To listen to stories is not proof, Lieutenant. Under addendum 6-C of the previously mentioned case, you do indeed need a warrant to search any private residence. Otherwise, all evidence has been obtained under false means.” Elodie smirked in my direction before continuing, “I understand that the Guard might be a bit unorthodox in its approach, but the law remains the law. And I am certain there are many advocates willing to take up my sister’s case.”

“We are the law!” Captain Cordova boomed.

“Then you should obey it too.” Elodie approached the captain, keeping her rifle outstretched. “Now, I recommend you leave my sister alone, Captain. I have friends in high places.” 

Snarling, the Captain dropped me on the ground. “This isn’t the end. We’ll be back.”

I hit the floor with a violent cough. Blood spilled from my mouth while my throat burned and roared.

“We’ll see,” Elodie said.

Captain Cordova called off his men, and while I couldn’t see their faces, I watched as their boots marched past me out towards the field.

As soon as they vanished from my field of vision, Elodie dropped the rifle and raced to my side. She hoisted me off the ground, cradling me close, her voice no longer unwavering.

“Nan…Nan, stay with me. Please, Nanette.”

“El…” I garbled her name as blood pooled on my lips.

“Don’t speak. Just stay awake. Please stay awake. I can’t lose you, Nan. I’m sorry. We should have never…I’m sorry, Nan.”

I wanted to tell her I forgave her. I wanted to reiterate my apology. Instead, my head roared with pain from my jaw to my temples.

Spots filled my vision.

Soon, I was drifting.