Chapter 77: Behind the Bar
Chapter 76: Behind the Bar
Lyria’s POV
I shook my head.
"I-I c-cannot," I whispered, my voice almost drowned beneath the quiet bustle of the room.
Helen pushed it further into my hands.
"Ye’ll take it," she said. "And ye’ll use it."
"Helen—"
"I can’t take ye away from yer family." Her voice was flat and final. "Ye won’t let me. So I’ll do what I can do. And what I can do is make sure ye use this."
I stared down at the ointment, my fingers brushing the smooth metal of the tin. No amount of refusal had ever worked with Helen. She always got what she wanted, and it was not worth trying to resist.
I swallowed and finally nodded, taking it from her. "T-thank you."
Her eyes flicked to the shelves behind the bar, narrowing. "There’s more patrons than usual tonight," she said. "Especially with all this talk o’ suitor candidates. Makes people fret, ye know. Makes ’em think on things that ain’t proper."
I nodded again, gripping the tin carefully. "I-I understand."
She studied me for a moment before shaking her head.
"Are you not interested?" I asked her cautiously.
Her laugh was dry, almost bitter. "Interest? Me? Lyria, the royal family? They ain’t done naught to help folks like us with our troubles. People get poorer every day. Food’s stolen. Kidnappings on the rise. All this, right here in the capital, while the royals and nobles sit comfortable in their palaces, not far off but far enough to ignore." She tapped the side of her nose. "If I weren’t already settled, got this shop, I’d be gone back home, and quick."
I swallowed and nodded again. Helen had lived by her wits, her hands, and her stubbornness—far from the palace, far from the gilded corridors where the royal family walked as though the world revolved solely for them.
It pained me, though, that most of the commoners were at the mercy of the nobles. I wondered if other territories were like this, too.
Helen led me down the narrow stairs, her boots thumping against the worn wood. At the bottom, she turned toward the back storage room and I followed, and between us we lifted a barrel that needed moving to behind the bar. It was heavier than it looked—most things in the Tallow and Tide were heavier than they looked, honestly.
We made our way to the main room of the tavern. It opened up with the familiar scent of malt, warm wood, and smoke. The noise hit me immediately—voices overlapping, glasses clinking, the occasional burst of laughter from men enjoying the evening’s escape.
I ducked behind the bar, tied my apron, and ensured my mask was in place. For a moment, the chatter became a dull roar against my ears. The regulars were here, as they always were. One older man, his hair streaked with silver and his face lined with the maps of years spent smiling, frowned at first but then grinned when he saw me.
"Ah, me angel," he said.
I rolled my eyes.
"H-Have you... ordered anything?" I asked carefully, trying to keep my voice steady despite the stammer.
"I’ve ordered ye," he said simply, leaning back in his chair. "Been waitin’ for ye to show up all night. Even sent me wish to the goddess."
I could not help but laugh.
The man was older than my father, certainly, and yet he loved these nights at the Tallow and Tide, content to hold just a single cup of ale and nurse it while talking to anyone who would indulge him—especially me. He did not know my real name; only Helen knew that. To everyone else, I was Iria, or ’angel,’ or some nickname they had made up to fit their comfort.
I smiled softly at him. "Perhaps... the goddess took pity on you, then, and granted you your wish."
He laughed, a warm, throaty sound, and nodded solemnly. "I am very certain of it," he said.
Another regular approached then, a man a little younger than the first. He slid onto the stool beside him with a familiar ease, leaning close to the bar.
"Iria," he said, tilting his head, "where’ve ye been?"
I shrugged, letting the movement seem casual. "Here... and there," I said, careful to keep my stammer from tripping over the words. "And what will you have?"
He shook his head sharply. "Ye can’t do what I want, lass."
"And what exactly is that?" I asked him with a smile.
"Money, angel. That’s what I want," he told me.
"We can’t have all we want, Olly," Jacob, the first man, said in reply. "And besides, me angel can’t steal for ye. She’s too good for that."
I chuckled at that. It was funny how these men, who didn’t even know me very well, were far kinder than my family.
Olly leaned closer, his voice dropping, beckoning me to come nearer with a curl of his finger.
I obliged him. "Is something the matter?" I asked curiously.
"Iria, where’ve you been living? Have ye seen what the royal family’s been up to?" he asked me.
I frowned. The royal family? Could it be there was something I wasn’t aware of?
I shook my head. "N-n-no. What... what have they done?"
Even Jacob leaned in to hear the gossip. He sipped his ale slowly, eyes crinkling at the corners.
"It’s very serious, Iria," Olly said. "A very serious case. The royal family be playing games with us."
"What did they do?" I asked Olly, but he did not reply. He just took Jacob’s glass and drank from it.
"Olly, ye messing with my girl?" Helen asked him.
"I can’t mess with me angel. I’m serious," Olly said. "I swear in the goddess’ bad teeth."
"The goddess has no bad teeth," Jacob said.
"Are you messing with me, Olly?" I asked as I straightened. "That’s not very impressive."
Olly shook his head, then leaned closer and lowered his voice. "I’m talking about the competition, Iria. The one the royal family be broadcasting for us lots."
