Brea skirted two more interruptions before she made it to the tent. She frowned at the horse that had come six feet away from trampling her, and the guard who had tackled her to the ground in a valiant effort to…get her dress dirty?

  She tilted her head back against the ground and closed her eyes. Begged any god that might be listening for patience. And maybe a little bit of good luck.

  With a loud crash, the sky opened.

  “Milady, are you injured?” The guard’s face hovered over hers. The heavy patter of rain against the dusty path nearly drowned out his words. Water droplets fell around his face in a halo. His golden hair fell in sweaty waves around his head, his soft eyes scanning her face.

  If she were any other woman, she might have swooned. Then tugged his face down to hers and-

  Brea heaved him off her with all her might.

  He fell into a puddle with a splat and a surprised oof.

  A small trickle of regret pricked the back of Brea’s neck — or maybe that was just the rain dribbling down her braid.

  “‘Scuse me.” And she rushed for the nearest tent.

  That was how she ended up in the glass merchant’s tent, pressed against a support pole next to a dirt-covered boy, staring at the rivers of water tumbling down from the roof of the tent.

  The boy stuck a hand out into the deluge. Water dribbled down his delicate palm. He shifted. “This blows,” came an annoyed grumble.

  Brea’s brows shot up. An annoyed feminine grumble.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she appraised her companion. At first glance, the dusty tunic and dirt-smeared face revealed a malnourished-looking teenage boy. At second glance, however, Brea realized the dirt smeared across his cheeks was too purposeful, the point of his chin was too defined, linen wrappings peeked out from the neckline of his tunic, and his shoes were far too purple to be anything but drungel leather.

  Very expensive drungel leather.

  “Your disguise sucks.”

  The boy started at her voice.

  Brea started at her voice. Usually, when it came to strange things that appeared in her path, her philosophy was simple: ignore and avoid.

  The stranger straightened. At their full height, they towered a few inches over Brea’s slight form. Bright teeth flashed at Brea. “Well done, I suppose.” They shook their head in bemusement. Curious eyes ran over her, assessing. A flash of — heat? cold? both? — trailed over Brea’s spine.

  She stiffened. A strange adult disguised as a dirty street urchin? This had Fate written all over it.

  Another cruel trick to draw her into another unwanted adventure.

  A hand dangled in front of Brea’s nose. “I’m Princess-”

  “DRAGON!”

  The blood-curdling cream tore through the streets. The last thing Brea saw was the panicked gaze of the stranger, and their outstretched hand.

  ·??·

  Golton was no stranger to dangerous creatures — especially when the inky blackness of the night bled over the streets, summoning shadows and beasts alike.

  But a full-grown dragon? During the day?

  It was unheard of.

  This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.

  The mantra — chanting over and over and over again, twisting through her skull with piercing insanity — was the only thing that kept Brea from screaming as her feet dangled helplessly in the air.

  The city fell away beneath her, the Market Crowds shrinking into teeming anthills…and then nothing more than specks of dust. Trees sped past at a stomach-emptying speed, and the rain whipped at her cheeks.

  Okay, maybe she screamed.

  Just a little.

  “Shiiiiiiiit!!”

  Searing pain tore through her shoulder as they — ‘they’ being her and the bloody dragon — swerved along some invisible path.

  And then she saw it.

  Just the top of a tower, looming out of the swirling clouds. We’re above the clouds, Brea realized with a jolt.

  And then they were plummeting.

  The wind tore her scream from her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut. This is how I die. The thought pierced through her panic with frightening surety. Maybe Fate had finally grown sick of throwing adventure after adventure in her path, and had decided her time was up.

  You can’t run forever, the old fortune-teller had shouted at her.

  Fool that she was, she’d laughed.

  Her eyes screwed tighter as they fell. If you get me out of this alive, she promised Fate, I will never laugh at you again. And next time someone tries to pay for their drink with a magical amulet, I’ll take it. And next time a beautiful stranger saves my life, I’ll kiss them. And-

  Her knees landed against something cold and wet. Stone.

  She’d been so busy making promises that she’d failed to notice their slowed descent. The claws tore from her shoulder with a ripping sound and a pained sound scraped from her chest.

  The hot trail of blood trickled down her back.

  Focus on the stone. You’re alive. You’re okay.

  Fresh pain rippled through her.

  You’re sort of okay. Focus on that. Think, Brea. Think.

  And then the voice — as deep as thunder and as ancient as a mountain — curled through her brain. “Princesssssss.”

  It sounded viciously satisfied.

  Brea forced one eye to crack open, then another.

  And found herself staring straight at the largest thing she had ever seen.

  Its maw alone could easily swallow six of her in one bite. Large, molten teeth glinted as lightning flashed high overhead. Two strange, cat-like eyes, each one easily the size of horse, narrowed down at her. Four legs clutched the balustrade of the tower, rain and blood — her blood — pooling towards the edge.

  Brea tried to wrangle her thoughts into some semblance of order. She cataloged her limbs. All present. And her clothes. Tattered and wet, but there. So was her dagger, tucked into her waistband, but she highly doubted she could take on a dragon with a tomato knife.

  “Princesssssss,” the voice rumbled again. The dragon’s throat warbled as it spoke, though its jaw remained (thankfully) closed.

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  Princess…did it think she was…that she…

  Hot air blasted her hair away from her face. “Smell….royal…” Teeth the length of her thigh flashed. “Princesssssss…”

  Smell…Brea subtly turned her nose into her shoulder and sniffed. She smelled like sweat and grime and fear.

  “Eeeaaatttt…”

  The dragon seemed to draw in a breath. Something warbled at the back of its throat. The smell of burned sulfur suffocated Brea’s senses.

  She threw out a desperate hand. “I’m not a princess!” she cried.

  The warbling sound paused. “Nnnnot…princessssssss?” A sniff. “Youuuuu lieeee…”

  It could understand her. The relief that flooded Brea nearly sent her to her knees. If it could understand her, she could reason with it, right?

  A singular red eye loomed closer, nearly engulfing Brea’s entire line of sight. Only false bravado and years of dodging life-or-death scenarios kept her upright. “I’m…not a princess,” she said, trying — and failing — to keep her voice from trembling. “I-I’m Brenwan Caldwell. I’m a barkeep at Loreweaver’s Alehouse. I’m no one. Just…just an ordinary girl.” If only.

  The large pupil narrowed. “Smell…”

  Brea huffed out a shaky laugh. “That’s…that’s just my perfume. Jasmine. Mint. Princess…things.” That sounded plausible, right?

  Except, she’d run out of that particular perfume over a week ago and had been meaning to buy some more. But the dragon didn’t need to know that. She rambled on. “And, really, what does a princess smell like? I mean, olfactory senses aren’t exactly a reliable way to determine royalty. I-” She broke off as the dragon drew in a looooooong breath.

  She held her own breath. Please don’t blast me with fire. Please don’t blast me with fire. Please don’t-

  “Princess smell….gone.” Was that bemusement coloring the rumble? And then the warble started again in his throat. The eye blinked, once, twice, then pulled away.

  “Right. Because… because I’m not a princess.” Brea let out her breath. Took a single, cautious step towards the wooden door at the edge of the stone balcony. A door which hopefully led to stairs. Stairs which hopefully led to the ground. “And…since we’ve decided I’m not a princess…” A step. “…and you don’t need to eat me…” Another step. Nearly there. “I’m just going to…” Her hand fumbled behind her back for the door handle. It creeeaaaked slowly open. “…go.”

  And, with one last look at the fearsome dragon, leathery wings silhouetted against the flashing sky, rain sizzling off its scales, red eyes piercing through the storm, Brea slipped through the dark doorway.

  And she ran.

  ·??·

  The stairs took her all the way to the bottom of the tower. Finally, Brea panted, her breath coming in short gasps. Some good luck.

  Her footsteps pounded against the stone, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears. So far, she had yet to hear any sign of pursuit — not that the massive creature could have followed her into the tight stairwell. Probably.

  She didn’t want to risk it.

  She had to practically shove her entire weight against the heavy double doors just to get them to crack open enough for her slip out-

  -and crash into a solid metal object.

  A hand came to her shoulder to steady her.

  Blinking rain and panic from her eyes, Brea stared up at the figure in the gleaming set of armor. The knight from the market, she realized. Then she glanced past him. Several more knights stood, feet askance, weapons drawn.

  She blinked at the swords pointed towards her chest. “What are you doing?”

  “M-milady,” the knight holding her snapped to attention. “We’re…rescuing you?” It came out as a question.

  Brea looked at the glinting blades trained on her chest, then at the knight. She raised an eyebrow.

  The knights shifted and lowered their weapons. One of them cleared his throat. “We came to slay the ghastly beast and save you from its clutches.” His voice was muffled beneath the ridiculous-looking metal helmet.

  In fact, they all looked rather ridiculous — with their polished armor and the plumes of limp feathers sprouting out of their heads like some tropical bird. They waited for her to say something. Anything.

  Brea just rolled her eyes. “My heroes,” she drawled.

  And then she hoisted her soggy, blood-stained skirts and strode down the dusty path towards home.

  Curse you, Fate.

  ·??·

  “You see?” Brea punctuated the end of her story with a fierce wipe of her rag across the particularly grimy glass. “No daring sword fights. No heroic rescues. It’s really not that interesting of a story.” She peeked a glance up through her lashes.

  On the other side of the bar, the rest of the tavern just stared. For once, even Ronan had nothing to say. The new girl’s mouth hung ajar. “You just…walked away?” And the dragon let you? was the unfinished part of that sentence.

  Brea lifted one shoulder and dropped it, as if to say, sure, who hasn’t been abducted by a dragon in their day?

  In all honesty, for someone who unwillingly accrued adventures like a gambler did debt, this was the first time she’d ever come face to face with a dragon. Fate, she’d decided, was getting a bit desperate.

  And she was getting tired. Tired of fighting her curse. Tired of being afraid to step out of her own tavern, for fear of stumbling into an apocalypse or a handsome knight or an evil necromancer.

  Tired of the eyes piercing into her from every direction. She stifled a growl and opened her mouth to snap at the crowd-

  -when the warm presence of the Loreweaver washed over her. A calming hand fell to her shoulder. “If you would all stop distracting my bartender…” she said, amusement and something firmer twisting through her voice. The proprietor needn’t even finish her sentence – the crowd drifted slowly away from the counter. Before long, the volume had returned to its usual din.

  “You’ll have to teach me how you do that,” Brea murmured as she turned to top off another stein.

  “Centuries of practice, my dear.” Lore exchanged her full mug for an empty one.

  Brea nearly sloshed ale over the rim of the mug. Centuries? How old was the Loreweaver? She peered at her employer, but the other woman had already turned away to take another order, her lips curled up in a quiet, secret smile. She murmured something to Wiz, placing a large bowl of stew beneath his crooked nose.

  Brea refocused on her job – taking orders, making drinks, serving plates and bowls of steaming food. The repetition grounded her, centered her thoughts, made her feel more like herself. Eventually, the smile worked its way back onto her face.

  She’d just leaned in to refill Wiz’s drink – for the fifth time. She’d have to cut him off soon. – when Lore looked up sharply, her clear gaze alighting on something past Brea’s shoulder.

  Brea followed her gaze to the closed door. “What-”

  The wooden door swung open and a young woman strode inside, followed by three large, hulking figures. She was tall – a few inches taller than Brea – with a deep brown complexion, straight nose, sharp chin, and short mahogany locks cropped to fall in messy waves above her ears. She scanned the room with the confidence of someone who knew everyone was looking at her – because they were – and didn’t care.

  Her gaze fell on Brea…and stayed there.

  The closer she moved, the stronger the feeling of aching familiarity pulsed in Brea’s chest. She narrowed her eyes.

  The strange woman had made it to the bar. There were no empty seats.

  She cleared her throat and someone quickly evacuated their spot.

  Indignation flared in Brea’s chest. She slammed a tankard down on the countertop with enough strength to rattle the plates and bowls. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t just-”

  A flourishing bow cut her off short. “Princess Citra Ke’anu of Ala Kai.”

  Brea stared at the hand. Then at the smirking princess. Then back at the hand. Recognition burned a flaming path through her. “You’re the boy from the market.”

  The smirk widened into a full-blown grin – and damn if Brea’s heart didn’t jump a little at the sight. “That’s right!” She slid into the now-empty stool and, with a quick wave, her bodyguards melted back into the crowd. “I’m impressed you saw through my disguise.”

  Brea snorted. “It was a shit disguise.”

  Someone drew in a breath. Someone else snorted a laugh.

  Princess Citra’s smile didn’t falter. “Maybe.” A soft accent lilted through her words, one Brea couldn’t place. “But you were the first to see through it. In fact-”

  “Can I get you something to drink, Your Highness?” Brea was quickly reaching her limit for the day.

  “An ale,” the princess supplied easily. “If you will.”

  She watched with that strange gaze – a mix of piercing curiosity, amusement, and openness – as Brea went about pouring her a tankard. When Brea slid it across the table with a quick “that’s two crowns,” her head cocked to the side. She turned to gaze at the room, mug in hand. “This isn’t like other Alehouses. I rather enjoy it.” That sharp gaze returned to Brea. “You’re not like other barkeeps.”

  “I am exactly like other barkeeps.” Brea kept her voice cold and professional. “Completely ordinary. Normal. Unremarkable. Regular and-”

  The door slammed open and a man appeared, hanging onto the door jam with trembling fingers. Blood spurted from his head – rather dramatically, Brea noted — and he glutched something in his hand.

  Stumbled to the bar.

  Shoved past the other patrons.

  His hand landed heavy on the countertop, right in front of Brea. “Dangerous…” he heaved, “...assassins…important…” his glassy gaze pierced Brea’s. “Keep it safe,” he pleaded, shoving the glowing pendant across the counter. “Only you…”

  And then he collapsed to the ground with a crash.

  Brea stared at the body. Everyone stared at the body.

  He was dead.

  That’s it. Brea pushed away from the counter and the luminescent pendant. With sharp movements, she yanked her rag from her waist and slammed it onto the counter.

  “Lore,” she growled, “I’m taking my break.”

  The door to the kitchen slammed behind her.

  Hey there! Thank you for joining us for part 2 of Inciting Incidents (Tales of the Fractured Fate, 03).

  The latest installment will release in 2-3 parts in the second week of each month. Don't feel like waiting? You can read 'advance stories' up to 3 months ahead of time on Patreon

  Join Brea, The Loreweaver, and all the other misfit members of The Fractured Fate in this exciting collection of short dark fantasy adventures.