Zander finally asked Alfread what he had been curious about all afternoon. “What did you think of her?”

Alfread let out a low whistle. “Kavova knows how to grow them.”

“How did you know she was one of the coffee people?”

Alfread sighed, shaking his head but refraining from a lecture on the appropriateness of declaring an entire continent ‘coffee people.’ “While her tan could be explained by coming from Meridian or Oshion like her southern father, her eye color and shifting hair are extremely rare but prized features among Kavovans.” Alfread inhaled. “She’s a breathtaking blend of Leverian and Kavovan, and now a cognitive-affectomancer on top of that, with considerable power too I’d venture.”

“Careful, Alfread,” Zander teased. “That’s my life’s mate.”

Alfread chuckled. “You know me, the kingdom’s most notorious lecher.” He sang, “Another man’s lass, each day o’ the span. Sweet love in the grass, I am the other man.”

Zander laughed, the sound rumbling deep from his belly. “I shan’t leave you alone with my Sunrise then.”

Alfread winked. “Don’t worry. She’s yours, just as much as you’re hers. She’ll never look at another man the way she looked at you today.”

Zander smiled, already certain of Alexia’s feelings but glad to hear the affirmation from someone else. Straightening in his saddle, he declared, “I belong to her. I vow before Meladon and the Divine Scions—no one else will ever feel my embrace. Alexia is my Sunrise.”

Alfread smirked. “What will the maids of Leveria do without you?”

“They still have you,” Zander shot back. “It seems tribute works so well that one can turn their life’s mate into a fountain of Leverith’s spirit just by kissing them.”

Alfread’s expression soured. “I have no interest in breaking hearts for the sake of tribute,” he said, holding up a hand before Zander could argue. “Despite what the priestesses say, I guarantee men and women are heartbroken by being used as tribute and not being deemed worthy of love.”

“How would you know if you’ve never done it?” Zander challenged.

Alfread leaned in. “Zander, Lorelai asked me endlessly if you were going to bond her when she and Lucille attended my lessons. And Joyce? She’d kill to be your life’s mate. What was just one of thirteen tributes a span to you was a deep yearning to be your life’s mate to them. You did what you thought was best, and maybe it was, but I have no intention of paying for my happiness with the broken hearts I leave behind.”

Zander felt like a lance had unhorsed him and sank deep into his gut. “It wasn’t always thirteen in a span,” he muttered, trying to downplay the pain he may have caused.

“How many this span?” Alfread asked.

Zander thought back, counting on his fingers. “Melissa. Jayne. Joyce. Dinah. Lorelei. Joyce. Jem’s daughter. Cortney. Joyce. Lorelei. That northern girl from the riverboat. The new priestess. Joyce…” He trailed off, realizing with a grunt he’d reached thirteen tributes long before he’d reached thirteen days. “They knew I was only looking to make tribute.”

Alfread shook his head, his voice heavy with judgment. “One of them an orphan you just saved that sees you as her hero. Another’s the shyest, most vulnerable soul in Bear’s Crossing. Three whose names you can’t recall, but I guarantee they remember yours. Another who became a widow not even a moon ago. One who makes it known that she wants you to choose her, but who you only went to after she promised to bring Dinah in on it. Then one that’s turned down knights and merchant’s sons for you.”

Zander’s stomach churned. Alfread had taken all his joy and thrown it in the mud. Still, Zander defended himself. “Jem’s daughter never told me her name, but I was kind to her. Jayne’s able to make her own decisions, and she felt better afterward. Cortney’s allowed to have fun again, especially since Cobb died. And Melissa insisted, even though I told her I was leaving. As for Lorelei and Joyce—they’re tavern maids, Alfread. They’ve taken more men to bed than I’ve made tributes. How was I supposed to know they wanted more?”

Alfread’s gaze softened, but his words remained steady. “I know you never meant to hurt anyone. Your loving heart is one of the reasons I love you. But I wish Leveria would see that Leverith probably doesn’t care how many we sleep with, but how well we love others. You got Leverith’s answer today, Zander, despite your tributes. I’d say the way you rescued Melissa and Marigold from Otis, or the toast you made for my family, meant infinitely more to Leverith than all those lusty nights ever could.”

Zander stared down at the road, slumping in his saddle. Alfread had to be wrong. But his words were hard to shake.

Alfread broke the silence. “Being kind and loving to others is how I hope to pay tribute. That’s why I worked so hard in the clinic, why I offered reading lessons, why I try my best to make people feel cared for. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think so.” Alfread inhaled, then sang, “There is one I most desire, one shining with radiant light, one who fuels my fire. She is queen of my dreams each night.”

“Did you see her again?” Zander asked, familiar with the rhyme he’d been hearing for years now.

“Last night,” Alfread said. “I can see her face, but it is cloudy, like there is a fog between us. She casts a radiant light that shines bright in the darkness and restores hope to the hopeless. Her radiance is brighter than the stars. I saw us together, dancing beneath the stars, both of us glowing.” He smiled ever briefly, before sorrow painted his handsome face. “The dreams always end the same. We are separated by a wall of fire, lightning crashes, and she calls my name. But when I shout for her, nothing escapes my throat. Her radiance fades and I am left in the darkness without a light.”

Zander would've comforted him, but Alfread’s earlier words still stung. So, they continued south along the River Road, their spirits heavy as they encroached upon Urzport.

*************

They reached Urzport just before the dinner bells rang, with the sun sinking toward the horizon. Zander half-listened as Alfread lectured on the city’s history. Lacking stone or the funds to procure it from the Tandande, the ancient Bearbreakers built walls from riverbed clay. The wall, a mere fifteen feet tall with visible cracks, had nonetheless withstood multiple sieges from the Sapphire Kingdom without ever yielding.

Passing through the gate after a quick inspection by the Peacewatch, Alfread led Zander to the stables outside The Wrestling Bear. Alfread droned on about the tavern’s history, but Zander’s attention wandered to the bustling riverside. Thousands of people unloaded boats and carts, working like ants around tall houses, factories, smelters, bazaars, and temples. Compared to Urzport, Bear’s Crossing felt like a backwater village.

Noticing Zander’s awe, Alfread explained that Urzport was the hub of commerce in Eastern Ruby, sending and receiving goods via the Bear River, which stretched north to the Sea of Qoryxa and south to the Owl River, one of the Spider’s Legs. When Alfread mentioned Mirrevar, Zander daydreamed of taking Alexia to his birthplace atop Goddess Hill to watch the sun rise over two great rivers.

The Wrestling Bear impressed Zander with its size and décor. The centerpiece was a life-sized, chained bear on stage, apparently hibernating. The innkeeper, an ostentatious man wearing a multicolored doublet and floral perfume, greeted them at the bar with exaggerated flair.

“You must try our Wrestling Bear tonic! Surely a pair of young studs like you could challenge the bear! Winners get a golden Leverian and every maid on shift will dance on you until you pop your cork.”

Zander stared at the bear on stage, now seeing the rise and fall of its breathing. “Your patrons wrestle a flogging bear?”

Alfread, likely having explained this already, sighed. The innkeeper confirmed it was a Bearbreaker tradition. Alfread dismissed the innkeeper, denying the fancy mead but ordering the ‘world famous’ bear stew.

Seated, Zander asked, “How many dunderheads actually wrestle the bear?”

“More than you’d think,” Alfread began, slipping into his storytelling mode. “During the early days of the Leverian Dynasty, Urzport was home to highly territorial river bears. Because of them, no settlements persisted. Then, about twelve-hundred years ago, a commoner from Mirrevar was dying, and the Love Queen—"

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“What was he dying from?”

Alfread bristled. “It matters not.”

Zander, grinning, shook his head. “Tell the story proper or don’t tell it at all.”

Alfread rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “Wayn was a blacksmith, poisoned by forge fumes from a bad batch of metal.”

Zander nodded appreciatively as a glaring Alfread dared him to challenge his story. “Go on,” Zander said, leaning in, genuinely interested. For once.

“The Love Queen healed him—"

“Remind me,” Zander interrupted, “what was the Love Queen’s name?”

Alfread chuckled. “You can be a real bastard sometimes. Queen Alexia Leveria, the Love Queen, was a powerful cognitive-affecto—”

“A witch,” Zander interrupted. “Must’ve been kissed by a fine gentleman who paid his tributes to Leverith.”

“Can I tell this story or do you want to take over?”

Zander spread his arms wide and tipped his head. “My ears are yours, O’ Great Storyteller.”

“Queen Alexia healed Wayn with her unmatched prowess with Leverith’s spirit,” Alfread said, pausing to see if Zander would interrupt. Zander leaned on the table, chin resting on his entwined hands.

“Wayn asked her what she would have from him and she told him all he needed to do was embrace peace and love.”

“Like in the Peacewatch oath?”

“Exactly,” Alfread said. “Wayn decided that to show his gratitude, he would seek battle with Urz, an undying, two-ton bear that ruled the land beneath our feet.”

Zander slammed his hand on the table. “An undying, two-ton bear? You’ve got to be shitting me!” He roared with laughter.

The tavern maid arrived with their food and mead. She might as well have been invisible to Zander until she gasped when Alfread smiled at her and gave her his name with usual flowery courtesy.

“Penelope,” she said, big doe eyes fluttering at Alfread. “Ye can call me Penny,” she added, her cheeks in full bloom.

Alfread took her hand and closed her fingers around a bronze bit. “A token of my appreciation for the quick service rendered, Penny.”

The girl giggled, her eyes lingering on Alfread before she blushed her way back toward the bar.

“You really did fall hard for Alexia,” Alfread said.

“You had it under control.” Grinning, Zander mimed his friend. “‘A token of my appreciation for the quick service rendered, Penny.’”

Alfread coughed. “It figures.”

Zander waited for an explanation, but Alfread dug into his meal. “What figures?”

“We’re dealing with an exceptionally sly innkeeper, my brother.”

“Never trust a man decked out like a pricey tavern maid,” Zander interjected, stew juices dripping down his four-day grizzle.

“It has nothing to do with his clothes,” Alfread said. “He thinks we gave him the short coin by not buying his special manly-man mead, which is likely supplemented with a small dose of courage tonic. So, what does he do?”

“Spits on our food and pisses in our flagons?” Zander said, gulping down half of his flagon in one pass.

Alfread’s grin became devious. “He sends out his prettiest barmaid and has her act like she’s smitten with us. He wants us to feel like we need to impress Penny. That is the natural way of men. We must strut for the women, fan our colored plumes and the rest of that show. He puts a bear on stage and asks his patrons to fight, he sends his best-looking barmaids to the men he thinks will put on a show.”

“Or,” Zander began in an argumentative tone, “he wants us to pay up to bed down with said maid.”

Alfread nodded. “That is always on a good innkeeper’s mind. However, when he gets people on that stage,” Alfread pointed to the bear, “the crowd gets excited. Excited men buy overpriced mead and start trying to impress the maids. One man goes to wrestle the bear and then more men must follow to prove their manhood. The silver flows like an avalanche into our innkeeper’s purse and he can buy the finest Rubinian doublets and rose perfumes to offend manly men like you into fighting the bear.”

Zander grunted and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “I know I’m manly. I don’t need to beat the stuffing out of this dandy’s pet bear to prove it.”

Penny returned, her eyes glazing as she stared at Alfread. “I—I,” she stammered, “I cannot help but notice how strong and brave ye look. I’s wonderin’ if ye’d be interested in the Wrestling Bear mead.”

Alfread shot Zander a quiet I-told-you-so grin. “Not tonight, Penny. I know I’m manly. I don’t need to beat the stuffing out of some poor bear to prove it.”

Zander tossed his hands up in the air, feigning outrage that Alfread had stolen his line from him.

Penny didn’t lose a fraction of her smile. Instead, she leaned over the table and put her hand on Alfread’s arm, her bust pushing into his face. “I can already see how handsome ye are, Alfread. But you’d be the king of my world if ye proved to me how tough ye are.” She ran her hand up his arm and pinched his cheek. Penny winked at Alfread before sashaying away from them.

“Speaking of beating bears,” Alfread said, regaining his storyteller voice. “Like any good Leverian legend, this story has two endings. In the first, Wayn succeeded by killing Urz with his bare hands.”

Alfread stopped for the pun or the expected disbelief, but Zander gave him an intentionally blank stare. Alfread sighed. “The rest of the bears vacated the land and Wayn returned to Mirrevar to tell the Love Queen what he had done for her.”

“Wait,” Zander interrupted. This time he saw a flash of irritation on Alfread’s face. “He killed a two-ton bear ... barehanded?”

Alfread chuckled and called Zander an arse. Nodding, Alfread said, “Yes. That’s the first version. Believe me, it’s the more believable of the two.”

Zander raised an eyebrow. Alfread had his attention now.

Alfread inhaled a deep breath and then let it go. “Both your mother and my mom always told me the other version of events was established and perpetuated by rival archlords mocking the meager Bearbreaker beginnings. It claims that Wayn was Urz. He was able to shift between bear and human form and he tricked the Love Queen into giving him dominion over the Southern Bear.”

Finally, Alfread got the reaction he craved. “Balbaraq’s balls!” Zander exclaimed, slamming his fist against the table. “Was Wayn a—a wolf thing?”

Alfread shook his head. “No, he wasn’t Celegan. Your mother told me that people in Vesarra called the Atmana could turn into animals at will and they could even take on massive sizes. Melody insisted that the story was just slander, that Wayn was a blacksmith with a good heart. The other archlords concocted the rumor to belittle the Bearbreakers’ stocky, hairy appearances and to imply that they’re barbaric beasts incapable of wiping their arses without the benefit of a stream.”

“Divinedamned lordlings,” Zander spat. “How’d the story end?”

“Queen Alexia gave Wayn the title of ‘Bearbreaker’ and appointed him and his progeny to be archlords of the Southern Bear for time eternal. Wayn declared that the Bearbreaker heir must wrestle a bear before being named archlord. If he fails, he serves as castellan and the next Bearbreaker in line can claim lordship by breaking a bear.”

Zander glanced at the bear on stage, imagining the countless drunken fools who’d dreamt of being lords.

“Urzport is the fourth largest city in the Ruby Kingdom behind Rubinia, Meridian, and Gaelrich,” Alfread continued. “Emboldened by this guy’s spiked mead and the sight of luscious maidens, it isn’t too hard to imagine many dreaming of having what it takes to be a Bearbreaker.”

Rising from their seats, Penny accosted them one more time. “Can I git ye anything else, Alfread?”

Alfread rubbed his stomach. “I’m content.”

“Ye know nothin’ of contentedness,” she said, pointing toward a nearby stairwell. “I offer that upstairs. Sometimes,” she leaned in, “I give it away for free.”

“Then I’m afraid I must content myself with my lack of contentedness,” Alfread said, turning to leave.

Chuckling, Zander followed him toward the exit. Penny gripped his arm. “I bet ye could take that bear one-handed.” She leaned close. “Bear beaters are archlords upstairs.”

Zander gently removed her hand. “Never wanted to be an archlord,” he said. “Fare thee well, Penelope.”

Zander had been so engrossed in Alfread’s story that he hadn’t noticed the dinner bells had drawn a thick, rowdy crowd. The tavern was packed, the air alive with laughter, shouting, and the strumming of a harpist playing “The Good Queen’s Promise,” a ballad about Queen Camellia Ruby.

He and Alfread pushed their way through the mass, the clamor growing so loud it resembled the chaos of an invasion. Standing head and shoulders above the crowd, Zander spotted a stocky man stumble onto the stage, puffing out his chest and shouting as if he were twice Zander’s size. The man rolled up his sweat-soaked sleeves, throwing exaggerated punches into the air, taunting the bear. The crowd was split—some cheering for the man, others for the bear, while wagers were shouted from all corners of the room.

The bear sat calmly on its haunches, watching the fool dance about. The noise surged as the whole tavern waited for the inevitable clash. The innkeeper, grinning with gleeful malice, pulled a lever, and the bear charged, a blur of muscle and fury.

It was over in an instant. The bear tackled the man, pinning him beneath its weight, hammering him with its massive paws. Blood splattered across the stage as the man’s face took blow after brutal blow. The crowd roared in delight.

“It has no claws!” Alfread shouted over the din, pointing at the bear. He was right. The bear’s claws had been removed, but the sheer force of its paws still turned the man’s face into a bloody pulp.

Zander’s gut churned with rage. The innkeeper made no move to stop the slaughter, his attention fixed instead on Zander, offering him a knowing wink.

The challenger’s bloodied form lay still, unconscious, or worse, but the bear kept swinging. The crowd cheered louder. Zander’s pulse pounded in his ears. He wasn’t going to let the man die like this.

Without thinking, he leapt onto the stage.