The King Trials 2: Beyond.
~The Flying Piglet~

Nightfall betides and with it a revelry in the flying piglet.

Cheery music dominates the atmosphere, an upbeat convergence of stringed instruments, the jingles of tambourines, an ethereal shrill of the flutes with a strong percussion of drums all the way through.

It is a wonder that the alehouse survived. The only remembrance of its wrath is by the crown of the one side wall blackened by streaks like the outline of a column of flames, flakes of wood peeling away like dead skin. A relentless smell of ash that lingers in the air. The alehouse swarms with rowdy masses, almost all of them holding tankards of ale, most of it spilling to the floor.

All the square shaped tables that can accompany four people are localized around the centre of the alehouse, where a blazing firepit is situated and the ensemble of tavern musicians strum their instruments, cultivating the jovial ambiance.

Solaris and I are the only ones that sit exclusively as two. Although the tables are only meant to seat four people, most of the tables are crowded with clusters, reaching maximum occupancy. Though I do not know the village nor its people, it is a pleasing sight to see them all so happy. So many diverse beings in one settlement, a multiracial vision like this is rare to come by.

Solaris and I are seated on the outer ring with a frequently obstructed view of the bar. A shelf of liquor stands on display with bottles of varied drinks, some glow radiantly, others sparkle like a cosmic nebula of colours. One of the servers behind the counter pours a draft of ale from the row of kegs behind her and slides it to one of her thirsty patrons.

A riot of amusement beckons for my attention on my other flank, just off my shoulder. A lot of them have moved sets of tables and chairs and shoved them on the side-lines to make space for a classic tavern brawl. The cheering escalates with every moment. It has even piqued my interests.

I sway my head twice, craning my neck to glimpse one of the contenders. My shoulders sag with displeasure, annoyed that I should have known. Vince is in the circle facing against a determined villager, putting on a spectacle for all.

Vince has two tankards of ale in his grasp. His opponent lashes out with a barrage of fists, but Vince deftly sidesteps from each, letting his challenger stumble past him off-balance. Laughter ripples through the crowd, his audience mainly women who try to muffle their peal of giggles behind their hands.

Vince drinks from both tankards, managing to not spill even a drop whilst he effortlessly evades his opponent’s attempts, sending him flailing into public humiliation.

“As expected,” Solaris says acidly.

I turn to face him. His look of sheer disapproval.

“He is so privy to attention,” Solaris’s eyes follows the match from off my shoulder. Bitterness festering in his tone. “I swear he feeds off the adulation of people, he sees himself as a god that needs to be worshipped.”

I scoff in disagreement. “Or he is simply putting on a show, it is just who he is.” I fling my gaze to the corner of the alehouse, past the narrow wrought staircase that spirals to the ceiling. Perhaps a rooftop access. I spot Anthia and Aries whispering covertly to each other with their hoods drawn.

“There it is again,” Solaris points out, beating his hand on the table like a gavel. “Vince’s keeper,” he says it like it were a curse. He slumps back into his seat and folds his arms across his leather jerkin, almost challengingly, like he anticipates a reaction.

I feel his words do not merit an answer.

Solaris thinks at me for a while before he shoots up a hand and flags someone over from behind me. Promptly, a Tuaten appears on the flank of the table. A Tuaten is a bald-headed, two-tailed being with glossy yellow skin that looks slippery, almost wet, decorated with speckles of blue dots.

He expertly balances four trays of huge, rusted silver tankards on his arms, two on each.

“If you do not mind, I require another,” Solaris says politely and flashes a Herem’s smile, charmingly insincere even though I know he is a genuine being at heart.

“Anything for our champion purebloods,” he says with a roar-like voice. His one tail unfurls behind him, thick at the base, but it narrows until the point. The tip of his tail rises and it coils around the handle of a tankard to lift it up and settle it down before him, brimming with a fresh fill. The tail scoops up an empty tankard from Solaris’s side and places it on the tray.

“You have my thanks,” Solaris says and picks it up to salute it at him.

He nods and recedes into the masses.

I look back at Solaris who takes a heavy swig of the ale. I can smell it everywhere: wheaty, rich and tempting.

“Careful, you need your wits about you for midnight,” I caution, and I cross my arms over my newly gifted top garment, one suited to a female mercenary. A sleeveless, dark leather corsage that’s like a full leather corset with stylistic finishes and elaborate handwork that wraps around my neck like a collar, with a black Sorcian scarf that sits loosely round my shoulders.

The fitted, black leather pants and boots are my own.

“I drink because of tonight,” he says, then drinks again deeply.

I cock a brow at him. “Helping others?”

Solaris nearly chokes on his ale, placing it down with tears of mirth in his eyes. “Is that what we are calling it now?”

Irritation makes its ascent within me. “Then what are you calling it?”

“What it is,” he replies firmly, without a trace of humour. He reaches out to hold the tankard with both hands, nursing his drink. “I am still processing what I endured in the Blood Games. Graduating from phase one of the King Trials, we levelled up to killing. Now to expand my treacherous acts, I can add thievery to the list.”

Empathy smothers my irritation; I nod my head understandingly. “I know, Solaris. Trust me, I know. But we gave Bumlot the chance to be a decent being with a heart. But he did not cave. This is the only way we can help Umtera, I would not be able to move on knowing that I forsook a chance to help them. I am not endorsing that we steal all of it, only what we need.”

Solaris groans wearily and settles his elbows on the table, washing his face with his hands. Then he drops them flat on the table. “So two wrongs make a right? The good outweighs the bad?”

I grope for words, but I cannot seem to find any.

Solaris looks at me like how my father does when he won a dispute against me.

“That is what I thought.” He snatches the tankard and takes another swig but abruptly cuts himself off, droplets of ale dribbles down his chin. “You know, you are the last one I would have deemed to try to justify a misdeed with a good reason. I thought you would have known that.”

The atmosphere sullied by the heat of too many bodies and the sweat that they perspire. All the music, booming guffaws and the clamour are suddenly too much for me. Now it is all, overwhelming.

I tap a flattened hand on the table and conjure a smile. “I need some air, if you will excuse me.”

I rise from my seat and Solaris deflates from a burdensome sigh, sending me a remorseful look.

“Aurora, I meant no offense.”

I nod tightly before I turn and make my way out of the alehouse. Solaris says something else to my back, but his words are lost in the fray of noise. In the centre a bard strums her lute, tuning each string in turn, then launches into an epic, fast-paced ballad that rouses the already riled populace.

The dramatic sage cascades over me. Many others begin forming pairs and it grows to larger dancing circles as their bodies submit to the moving melody. I notice a lanky figure forcing his way through the masses. Duce Merian. Poor sop.

Surprisingly, I do not need to make an effort to navigate myself through the thick clumps of people. They all seem to part for me, even if they have to stumble out of my way, without even me having to ask. I thank them with nods where I can, to whoever is cognitive enough to recognise them.

A few of the Avangard soldiers are scattered inside. Rigid and stony faced, their eyes trained on the dispersed Herems, their armour gleaming red under the firelight of candle chandeliers.

I re-emerge outside, on the porch-like entrance of the flying piglet. Groups of people lounge outside, some leaning their backs against the railing, engaged in more calm discussions than the raucous on the inside.

I move to stand on top of the short staircase of splintered wood. Right across from the alehouse, Primus Kelan sits on a crate with Reinsbure and another soldier standing at his sides. Both of them in full armour except Kelan. A bucket of water between his feet and his sword in his lap. He cleanses the metal of all that taints it with a damp cloth in his grasp, gliding it along the spine.

A flurry of emotions roils in my stomach, my heart outracing the ballad of epic song, sounding louder in my ears than all the clamour inside of the tavern combined.

I look to the starry skies on my right, to the moon, a waning gibbous.

The moonlight pours into the dirt pathway like a shimmering stream that livens the darkened surroundings. I inhale a breath, gathering my courage. I make my descent down the staircase and I make the brief journey across to him. I distract myself in aim to mute my frenzied nerves by focusing on below, watching my boots make shallow imprints into the ground.

Goodness, now I know how Wren felt every time he approached me.

I sneak a look at him. His eyes rapt on his current task, attentive to his sword. From this angle, the pools of black that immerse in his eyes make it appear like a band of shadows that reaches from temple to temple.

I stop once I’m several steps from him.

Reinsbure and the other one stare at me amusedly, a certain spasm at the edge of their lips.

A lump forms in my throat. I clear it out loudly.

Kelan finally acknowledges me by glancing up. He gives me a once over and returns his attention back to his sword cleaning, nonchalantly.

A weight drops in my chest. I glimpse Reinsbure—almost beseechingly—and he reassures me with a wink.

“Primus, I need to a take a piss,” he says forthrightly.

Kelan falters in his movements like he was taken off guard. A muscle strains in his jaw and he nods his consent.

Reinsbure looks over to the other solider and signals him over. “Luper, come with me.”

A horrified frown strikes his face. “Why—”

“Luper,” he says aggressively. He makes pointed looks in my direction, exaggeratedly jerking his chin at me. “The others are likely returning from their perimeter sweep, and it will be our shift soon.”

Luper’s face lights up with comprehension, silently mouthing. “Oh.” With a rounded mouth before he makes a start towards Reinsbure.

A sly smirk shapes on Reinsbure’s face. “Before we abscond, Primus. Will you require anything? Perhaps a few lit candles or a bottle of wine. Uh, I know, how about—”

“Your tongue,” Kelan interjects with a life-threatening tone that resounds in his voice. “If you keep using it to aggravate me.”

Reinsbure restrains a laugh and his hands fly up in mock surrender. “Apologies, my Primus. My tongue and I shall abscond.”

He nods Luper over, and they retreat in the opposite direction.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Kelan asks to his sword, the blade glinting under moonlight.

“Yes, yes there is actually,” I say too quickly causing my words to shake.

Get a grip, Aurora.

“Then ask.” His voice is devastatingly monotone. I can practically sense the palpable walls erected around him, shutting me out completely. His face chiselled in a stoic reserve.

“Are you angry with me?” I ask bluntly.

“No.” Still denying me eye contact.

My irritation returns tenfold. “You are,” I say with a spike of ire in my voice.

“I told you that it is a dangerous thing to assume.” His blade polished to a shine but still he continues to cleanse it like it is still stained, busying himself.

“I am not assuming, you are angry with me,” I state. My emotions threaten havoc. I begin to pace the short span in front of him restlessly. “You think I have not noticed the change in your behaviour? You are more reticent and guarded, which is saying something.”

“Change in my behaviour?” he repeats scathingly, as if what I said was hypocritical.

I observe the mostly vacant streets of the village, viewing darkness’s reign.

An explosive breath erupts from me. “Is it not…exhausting, keeping all that troubles you, anything and everything all caged up inside of you. Refusing to share your sentiments…to…express your feelings.”

Kelan frees a scornful chuckle, low and deep. “Feelings?” He takes up his sword and launches up it to plunge the blade into the ground beside him, the sword slants on its side but remains rooted in the ground.

“You speak of feelings?” His tone lathered with repulsion like the mere thought of it is inconceivable. “If you expect me to bare my soul, you will be woefully disappointed.”

The weight in my chest drops to my stomach.

“And.” I take a moment to steady my voice, hardening my resolve. “And why is that?”

He tilts himself forward and looks sharply back at me, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Because I am not the type to speak idle words or coax anyone with valueless flattery. If you expect such things, I suggest you seek out Herem Vince. I am certain he will gladly please you with what you expect.”

Just like night air in the wind, the burden in my gut evaporates into nothing. I burst into a fit of wholehearted hysterics, laughing long and hard more than I have ever done.

Kelan stares at me broodingly. He shakes his head before he heaves himself into an upright position.

I place a quick finger on my mouth, trying to slay the laughs as they come. “Wait.” I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. “You mean to tell me; you have discarded me. Regarded me coldly before and even when you returned to Sorcia, and even up to this very point. Because you are jealous?”

Kelan’s upper lip twitches into a rapid snarl. “I am not jealous.”

“This whole time, your truth, your feelings,” I say with added emphasis. “You hid them behind your impenetrable walls that only you can defeat.”

“I hid nothing. For there is nothing to hide.”

I loath how he can say that with such compelling sincerity, whatever truth he bears masked by that stoic-engraved expression.

“Is that so?”

He looks back at me wordlessly, as if wandering why am I wasting his time further.

I nod stiffly. “Alright, then there is no reason for me to be here. But perhaps I will heed to your suggestion and find Vince. You are right, he is always eager to please me. And for that, he shall be rewarded.”

I swivel around to march back to the alehouse. But I do not get far. Five fingers latch on my wrist, forcing me to a sudden halt. I ignore the swell of sensations that fill my entire body in one heartbeat. I look back and up at Kelan who seems to loom taller.

“Stay,” he says, but it comes out as a plea.

I shrug coyly. “Why?”

Kelan looks away momentarily, a strong muscle pokes through his jaw. “You know why.”

I bop my head in accord. “I do, but I want to hear you say it.”

He inhales deeply. “I am a territorial being. And I do not like it when people touch what belongs to me. Especially a proud, bombastic Herem.”

Eeep! What belongs to him.

An uncontainable grin flourishes on my face. “So…to clarify. You are jealous?”

Kelan huffs and releases me, making his way back to his sword.

A small, girlish giggle escapes me. I rotate back around to the alehouse, then my gaze ascends to the flat ceiling. Excitement flares inside of me as I nibble on the corner of my bottom lip.

“Come with me,” I say.

I hear Kelan sheathe his sword from behind me. “To where?”

I glance back at him with a fledgling smile. “To the stars.”

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