Chapter 44 Mav
MAV
The smell hit first: rosemary, butter, something rich and seared. If this was a cruel trick, it was a very convincing one.
The guard dropped the heavy trays right inside the cell door. “Final request. You’re lucky the cook was feeling sentimental.”
Trailing behind him, another guard was cradling something long and wooden in his arms. He placed the lute against the wall and jumped back with the same caution one might use when leaving a weapon with a madman.
I chuckled to myself. He might be the smartest of the bunch.
“For your devotions,” the first guard muttered. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
They locked the door behind them and disappeared back down the corridor.
“Well,” Branrir said, rubbing his hands together, “Let’s eat before we die.”
Vesper made a face. “Ah, yes, the usual dinner conversation.”
The food was better than it had any right to be.
Maybe that was the point; give us one perfect thing before our imminent demise.
For a moment, a strange peace settled over me.
I watched the flicker of torchlight on Thistle’s curls, the way Branrir tapped his fork twice before every bite, how Vesper hummed tunelessly as he lapped cream into his mouth.
I let the warmth of the food seep into me.
I let myself imagine we were at some tavern instead of a cell.
Even if we failed to escape, having a final meal with the truest family I’d ever known was a damn good sendoff.
I moved to the lute. Ran my fingers across the strings and tightened the pegs until the sound came through clean and bright. She wasn’t in great shape, but she’d do.
“Ready to stop an asshole from marrying Quinn?”
Vesper grinned. “I was born for this.”
Thistle smirked. “Let’s hope you don’t die for it.”
Branrir stabbed the last potato. “Let’s not tempt fate more than we already have.”
“Eat up.” I strummed a low chord. “We’ve got a wedding to crash.”