Chapter 297: In the Tavern

Grisha’s gaze when it met mine was predatory in ways that set every survival instinct I possessed on high alert, amber eyes tracking over me with the focus of a hunter evaluating prey and finding it acceptable for purposes I probably didn’t want to contemplate.

“Was just about to go looking for you,” she rumbled, her voice carrying that gravel-over-steel quality that made even casual statements sound vaguely threatening. “We have something to discuss. Something important.”

I blinked, thrown off balance by this unexpected development. “That’s… interesting timing, actually. I was coming to find you because I have something to ask of you as well.”

Her expression shifted into something that might’ve been pleasure, satisfaction, or possibly just bloodlust—honestly with Grisha it was hard to tell the difference.

“Perfect,” she said, beaming in a way that showed entirely too many teeth. “Two birds, one conversation. I like efficiency.” She walked past me with thunderous steps that made the floorboards creak in protest, each footfall suggesting the building’s structural integrity was more of a suggestion than a guarantee when she moved through it.

She paused at the top of the stairs, glancing back over her shoulder. “I know a good tavern. We drink, we talk, we figure shit out. Come on.”

The words were delivered as a command rather than an invitation, and I found myself following without conscious decision to do so, pulled along in her wake like a leaf caught in strong current.

I gave one last glance back at Willow, who still stood in the hallway looking nervous and slightly embarrassed in ways that suggested something had happened between her and Grisha that I probably didn’t want details about.

But before I could ask, Grisha was already descending the stairs with the kind of momentum that suggested stopping would require intervention from physics itself, and I had to scramble to keep up or risk losing sight of her completely.

About an hour later, after navigating through the slums via routes I’d never taken before, we arrived at the tavern Grisha had brought us to.

The building sat in what might generously be called a neighborhood if you were willing to overlook the structural damage, refuse piled in corners, and general atmosphere of barely controlled decay that characterized this particular section of the slums.

The exterior was constructed from what looked to be salvaged materials held together through determination and prayer—wooden planks that didn’t quite match, metal sheets showing rust in patterns that spoke to how they’d been there longer than the building itself, windows covered with hide instead of glass because glass was apparently too expensive or fragile for this location.

But what really caught my attention was the theming. Someone had deliberately decorated the exterior to evoke a jungle and beast aesthetics, hanging dried bones from the eaves, painting the walls with crude murals depicting predators mid-hunt, growing thick vines around the doorframe that were either real plants or incredibly convincing fakes.

The whole structure looked beaten down and dangerous, like it might collapse at any moment or possibly eat you depending on its mood.

Loud music poured from inside—drums primarily, beaten in rhythms that bypassed conscious thought and went straight to something primal in the brainstem—along with the sounds of cheering, laughing, shouting, and the constant clinking of glasses being raised and smashed and raised again. It sounded like controlled chaos had decided to throw a party and invited every bad decision in the slums.

Grisha entered without hesitation, still completely naked and apparently unconcerned about this fact, while I followed close behind trying to prepare myself for whatever fresh insanity awaited inside.

The interior hit me like a physical assault of sensory information compressed into architectural form. The jungle and beast theme from outside had been amplified to levels that bordered on fever dream, with every available surface decorated to evoke predatory wilderness rendered through the lens of people who’d probably never seen actual jungle but had very strong opinions about what one should look like.

Thick vines—definitely real this time—hung from the ceiling and wrapped around support beams, their leaves creating canopy effect that made the already dim lighting even more shadowed and mysterious.

Animal skulls were mounted on walls in dense clusters, some from creatures I recognized and others that were either creative taxidermy or species that really shouldn’t exist.

The floor was covered in what appeared to be actual earth and grass, though how they maintained that underground I had no idea and probably didn’t want to know.

But more than the decorations, what made the space feel alive was the people and their activities, the sheer density of chaos happening simultaneously in ways that should’ve been overwhelming but somehow achieved some kind of manic harmony.

Patrons packed every available space—mostly beastfolk of various species, their animal features on full display as they drank, fought, and fucked with the casual enthusiasm of people who’d decided inhibitions were for people with better life prospects.

A fighting pit dominated the center of the room, circular and ringed with torches, where two massive figures were currently beating each other bloody while the crowd roared encouragement and exchanged coins over bets.

In one corner a group was engaged in what looked like competitive drinking except the glasses were the size of small buckets and the liquid inside was glowing faintly. Near the back someone was playing an instrument I couldn’t identify, sounding like screaming mixed with the noises of dying animals.

People reached out to touch Grisha as we passed, their hands trailing across her skin with reverence. She accepted the attention with casual indifference which meant this was somehow normal for her.

Several patrons openly stroked themselves while staring at her naked form, their arousal blatant and unashamed as they took in the powerful orc woman moving through their space.

Grisha’s face split into a satisfied expression, genuinely enjoying being objectified in this particular context, probably because she knew she could break any of these people in half if they tried anything she didn’t explicitly permit.

She snaked around the fighting pit with practiced ease, dodging a spray of blood from one of the combatants without breaking stride, then arrived at the bar that dominated the far wall.

She settled onto a stool that groaned in protest under her weight, the wood actually bending slightly before finding some equilibrium that prevented total collapse, and I took the seat beside her while trying not to stare too obviously at everything happening around us.

The bartender was a beastfolk bull-man, his features bovine in ways that should’ve been comical but instead came across as intensely masculine and vaguely threatening.

Scars covered his visible skin in patterns, hinting at a violent past he’d survived through stubbornness and physical superiority, and bone decorations had been worked into his flesh—actual bones piercing through his ears, hanging from chains around his neck, forming patterns across his massive chest that were visible through the open front of his red and black outfit.

His horns had been carved with intricate patterns and tipped with metal caps that caught the firelight and gleamed like weapons.

He smiled when he saw Grisha, the expression transforming his face from intimidating to genuinely welcoming.

“Well, well,” he rumbled, his voice deeper than Grisha’s and carrying undertones that vibrated in my chest. “Look what wandered in. Haven’t seen you in weeks, thought maybe you’d found better company or gotten yourself killed.”

His eyes tracked down her body with obvious appreciation. “Looking good, Grisha. Real good. That body of yours could make a bull forget his manners and remember his instincts, you know what I’m saying?”

Grisha leaned forward across the bar, pressing her chest against the wood in a way that made her breasts flatten slightly and draw even more attention. “Missed you too, Thorn. Been busy building an empire and breaking people. The usual.” She gestured vaguely at me. “Brought company tonight. Need drinks and conversation, in that order.”

I cleared my throat, drawing both their attention, because watching them flirt while I sat there feeling like an awkward third wheel wasn’t why we’d come here. “Grisha. You said we had things to discuss?”

She laughed, the sound booming across the immediate area and making several nearby patrons turn to look. “Right. Business first, pleasure later.” She turned back to Thorn then. “Two of whatever’s strong. And keep them coming until we say stop or pass out, whichever happens first.”

Thorn moved to prepare our drinks with efficient familiarity. I took the opportunity to press the issue before we got too deep into alcohol and lost the thread completely. “What did you want to discuss with me? You made it sound urgent.”

Grisha’s expression shifted then, the playful satisfaction draining away to be replaced with something more serious, more focused. Her amber eyes locked onto mine with uncomfortable intensity.

“I know about the ruby,” she said simply.

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