Chapter Twenty-One
The party was indoors, though a tall ceiling gave the room the feeling of being open and spacious.
Long tables lined the outer edges of the room, and kits danced together in the middle.
It wasn’t like the dancing at Vi’s party with orderly, practised steps, but instead something wilder, manic.
A group of musicians played against one of the walls, firing out a lively jive, dancing along to their own tunes.
A dozen children raced by Nick, chanting, “Lua, Lua, Lua,” before breaking out into cackling laughter as if they’d made the funniest joke anyone in the world had ever heard. All Nick could think was rebel army. Civil war. Rebellion.
A young teenager with shining blond hair caught Nick’s eye.
He danced alone in the hall, moving freely, with enthusiasm, and—if the smile on his face was anything to go by—delight.
Watching him had Nick’s own lips quirking up in a smile.
Laurence would have taken to the floor in an instant; he would have been badgering Jasper to show him how to do this dance, though Nick wasn’t sure if there even were set steps.
It seemed more like the chaos of a gifted race of dancers enjoying the music together rather than anything rehearsed.
Nick dragged his gaze from the dancers and scanned the hall, searching.
“Kit’s at the main table,” a voice said.
Nick turned to find Ios had crept up to his side. The young man’s tail hooked in a friendly gesture, though his brows rose when his eyes slid to Nick’s shirt. “I delivered something fine, did I not?” he asked, his tone not censuring but querying.
“Too fine for me.” Nick had lucked upon a different shirt in the next room over from his own. “Thanks, though.” His attention lingered on Ios’s slightly swollen nose and the bruising that had spread beneath each eye. It looked sore. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”
“I forgive you for it,” Ios said. “As I hope you will forgive the pain I caused you in return. Come, this way. There is food and wine. Kit said you enjoy Lua?”
Nick followed closely after Ios. “I’ve only had it once, and I liked it.”
Ios hummed. “He also says that you are growing a plant that produces a very bitter tea.”
“Coffee. Should have asked you to grab it while you were kidnapping us.”
Ios’s tail brushed playfully against the back of Nick’s leg. “You should have,” he agreed with mirth. “Kit also said that you are brave and clever –”
“Has Kit talked about anything except me?” Nick interrupted, feeling himself redden.
“No.” Ios peered sideways at Nick, a cheeky smile in place. “He wishes to show off. He has netted himself a prize and wants all of us to see.”
“Literally netted me,” Nick muttered, still feeling embarrassed. Kit wasn’t really going around saying all that, was he?
Ios stopped walking, his smile fading as his eyes darkened. “That is not Kit’s fault. Lady Desre –”
“I know,” Nick said. But there was a wariness in Ios’s eyes now as he regarded Nick, a worry, like perhaps it had suddenly occurred to him that Nick might not have Kit’s best intentions at heart. “Ios, if I blamed Kit in any way, I’d have broken his nose when he tried to scent-mark me.”
“Kit is too skilled for you to manage that, though I understand your point.” Ios relaxed.
Nick thought about that remark and decided on how best to phrase his question. ‘Kit is stronger than you’ seemed a tad loaded. “Kit’s a skilled fighter?”
“He is the best among us,” Ios confirmed, a distinct note of pride in his voice.
It didn’t seem to bother Ios to admit that Kit was stronger than him.
“That is why we sent so many to capture him; he is difficult to overpower.” Ios lowered his voice, leaning in close enough to Nick that their shoulders brushed together.
“I believe he is even stronger than General Valor. If they were to fight, I think Kit would best him. Do not tell anyone I said that.”
They stepped around a group of kits, and a crowded table with Kit at the centre came into view.
Kit’s gaze was already fixed on Nick, and he suspected Kit had been watching him through gaps in the crowds as Ios showed him the way.
Kit stared at Nick’s shoulder. Then his leg. Discontent flashed in his eyes.
Without looking away from Kit’s unhappy expression, Nick tapped Ios’s elbow. “Move your tail off me.”
Ios swished it away, looking towards Kit in time to meet his very unhappy gaze. Ios only held Kit’s gaze for a second before turning to Nick again, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “He is still annoyed that I offered to assist in the bath.”
“I think he’s annoyed about your tail touching me, actually.”
“And he thinks that I purposefully gave you a shirt that was too small,” Ios added. “So I might see your body.”
“It’s only slightly tight.” Nick glanced at himself. The seams strained around his biceps, and they fought for their life midway down his forearms where the shirt ended. His shoulders were somewhat constrained too. And his waist, now that he thought about it.
“Slightly. Yes.” Ios’s mirth returned. “Let us join Kit. He grows more agitated by the second.”
“Because your tail is touching me again.” It was brushing against Nick’s leg once more and stayed there until they reached the table, only leaving to hook at Kit.
Kit’s lashed in response. Seche was sitting opposite Kit, and the rest of the kits were unfamiliar.
Most were children or lanky teenagers, all crowding Kit, speaking over one another.
Nick parted from Ios and scooted two kids out of his way to take the empty seat next to Kit.
Kit inclined his head towards Nick as his tail swished towards him, sending the young kits near him away with a squeal.
Nobody got hurt; Nick was sure that Kit’s wide arc had been purposefully slow to give them time to dodge.
“Ios,” Kit said his name in censure as his gaze slid down Nick’s body.
Nick, in turn, looked at Kit. His clothes were always fine on the ship, so it wasn’t too great a change to see him wearing embroidered clothing.
It was, however, oddly satisfying to see him dressed so finely and take in the numerous admiring looks he was catching.
His finely boned, aristocratic face suited the clothes so perfectly that Nick suspected the tailor had made them with Kit in mind.
The collar was perfectly shaped to frame his lean neck and tapered jaw, the dark-blue velvet making his skin glow and eyes shine.
Even the blue stitching matched the precise shade of Kit’s eyes—an uncanny, deliberate touch.
Nick, in his skin-tight shirt of dark grey, grinned at their mismatch. “I’m more comfortable in plain clothes,” he explained. “Though, I do feel like a frog sitting next to a prince.”
Frog made his wrist tingle.
Kit’s eyebrows shot up as the children crowding him dissolved at once into fits of giggles, tails swinging wildly around. Several repeated, “frog,” sounding half delirious.
“Frog?” Kit questioned, and Nick’s wrist tickled again.
“I think that didn’t translate quite right,” Nick said. “What does ‘frog’ mean to you?”
“ ‘I feel like a frog…what’s a frog?’ ” one of the children joked, and the laughter was an uproar.
They were loud. Literally doubling over and clutching their stomachs and struggling to breathe.
The joy was such a refreshing sight that even though Nick was the butt of the joke, he couldn’t help but delight in the open display of happiness.
Kit donned a half smile. “A frog is a type of fish. It is round and green and slimy,” he explained.
The children were close to asphyxiating at Kit’s patient explanation.
“That’s not far off, actually,” Nick admitted.
Kit’s tail swished towards the young kits. “See who can fetch one fastest,” he said. They tore off in a race, taking with them the majority of the noise from the table.
“Alive,” Nick belatedly called after them.
“Here.” Kit slid a plate in front of Nick. And Nick, having grown bored of fish, was gratified to see meat on the plate.
“Thanks.” He plucked up the cutlery and dug in, his appetite surprising him.
“Do you want more painkillers?” Kit asked, studying Nick’s face carefully.
Nick shook his head, his mouth full. Whatever balm Kit had rubbed into his back worked far better than what Anna had in stock on the ship.
“They’ll want you to be the one to taste it first,” Ios directed at Kit as he sat down, casting Seche a grateful look when the captain slid a plate of food in front of him.
“I would be honoured to do so.” Kit looked to the corner of the room. Casks were piled high, and if all of those were filled with wine, Nick imagined everyone at the party was going to be either comatose come morning or wake up very, very hung-over.
“This is all wine made from the grapes stolen from Vi?” Nick asked.
Ios’s grin was devilish. “Upset that we’ve taken from your mentor?”
“Kit explained you take the bitter grapes they don’t use,” Nick said back. “And she’s not my mentor.”
Ios’s gaze flicked over Nick’s tattoos. He debated trying to explain at least part of his situation, but before he could, Kit spoke instead.
“Nick was a guest at Vi’s estate, not a student,” Kit explained.
Nick turned to Kit, surprised. Only a few days ago, he was telling Nick in a desperate hiss to keep that to himself for his own sake.
Kit might have warned Nick that the rebels would likely try to use him to trade for something, but he clearly didn’t think that Nick’s safety here was linked to his ability to cast that spell on his arm.
“Didn’t you go there to get a witch’s student?” Seche raised a brow.
Kit’s tail twitched. He cleared his throat, eyes sliding towards Nick. “There was a misunderstanding.”
“I told you I wasn’t,” Nick said dryly.
“If you had not stolen another’s shirt, I would have believed you.”
“Borrowed.”
Kit regarded his too-tight shirt. “A habit of yours.”
Their eyes met, and Nick marvelled that he could feel amusement about it all. Perhaps it was the jovial atmosphere, or perhaps it was seeing Kit at ease, that put him at ease in turn.
Ios looked at Nick with newfound intrigue. “If you’re not a student, who are you?”