19. Reznyk
Chapter 19
Reznyk
NOT GOOD AT COMPLIMENTS
I spend the rest of the day cleaning the cabin and fixing dinner. Somewhere between going back to the keep and finding Kira asleep on the ground next to her pack, nailing down the loose floorboard so it looks like every other floorboard in the cabin, and making the most elaborate dinner I’ve made in months, I come up with a plan. It’s not a good plan, exactly, but it worked once already, right?
Yes. Questions. We’ll play Questions again, Kira and I.
The sun is sinking toward the valley as I walk back to the old keep. The wind has died, and birds call to each other from the forest just below the ridge. It’s been a singularly beautiful day. I hesitate before the arched entryway, wishing I could hold on to this moment before I plunge ahead with my stupid plan to get rid of this woman as quickly as possible.
Gods, if only I could pretend we were back in the hunting lodge and nothing had changed. Or, hells, maybe I could pretend I’ve lived a different sort of life, become a different sort of man. Maybe then Kira and I could be something other than enemies.
“Hey,” Kira calls from the shadows inside the keep.
I step in and find she’s sitting against the far wall with her leg propped on a piece of wood.
“Good afternoon,” I say, and then I immediately feel like an idiot.
She smiles. Something inside my chest clenches like a fist. Gods above, I wish she didn’t have such a lovely smile.
“Thank you,” Kira says. “Whatever magic thing you did this morning, it— It helped.”
“It didn’t help much,” I say, glancing at her ankle on the piece of wood.
Kira grins. “You’re not very good at taking compliments, are you?”
I blink. She waves her hand in the air.
“It’s fine,” she says. “You’re here to do what? Send me on my way?”
“Not at all,” I reply as I cross the room. “I’m here to invite you to dinner.”
I hold my arm out to her and try to ignore the rush of heat when she wraps her hand around my bicep.
“You’re going to feed me?” she says. There’s a twist in her voice that sounds like she’s teasing me, but I don’t know her well enough to be sure.
“What kind of monster do you think I am?” I ask.
Kira doesn’t answer that particular question. She’s hardly limping as I lead her around the crumbling far side of the keep and into the shadows that pool beneath the mountains I’ve named for the other Elites, the men I once called my brothers.
“Oh!” Kira cries. “That’s where you live!”
In the gathering evening shadows, the twin windows of my little cabin glow with the light of the fire. I pulled back the curtains and left the door propped open, and the spiced aroma of the stew I made for dinner hangs in the air.
I have to admit, it does look pretty cozy. I smile at her.
“What, you didn’t think I lived in the old tower?” I ask. “Not even the owls want to live in that thing. It’s cold as the hells.”
I let go of her arm, then step into the tiny cabin and sweep my hand past the entrance, like I’m beckoning her into a grand ballroom. She grins as she steps over the threshold.
“You have a cat,” she exclaims, with a level of glee that’s almost certainly not warranted.
“I don’t have Xavier,” I reply as Kira heads toward the bed and the scruffy tomcat curled at the edge. “He just tolerates my presence.”
Kira smiles at me, then sinks down next to Xavier and his death claws.
“Careful,” I say. “He can be a little touchy.”
But he’s already rubbing his head against Kira’s hand and making me look like a liar. I shake my head at the furry little asshole as I fill two bowls from the stewpot and set them on the table. I only have one chair, so Kira will have to make do sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Dinner is served,” I announce as I pour wine into two wooden mugs.
“Damn,” Kira says as she scoots across the edge of the bed to my table. Like everything else in the cabin, the table was made with only one person in mind; two bowls and two mugs only barely fit on it.
I sit down and try not to notice the way Kira looks at the stew, biscuits, and wine. I wasn’t trying to impress her, exactly, but this is the most elaborate meal I’ve cooked in months. Sometimes I can’t even be bothered to boil potatoes, and I just eat them raw and disgusting.
Tonight, though? I took my time. I used some of the dwindling spice supply I bought in Cairncliff and the last of my flour. I cooked beans from the garden with new potatoes and the few tomatoes that survived the last frost. I only realize how nervous I am when Kira tries the stew, looks at me, and smiles.
“It’s delicious,” she declares.
I shrug, like it’s nothing. Like I didn’t have to teach myself how to cook by failing and burning things over and over. Kira looks down at the meal, then back up at me.
“You don’t eat meat, do you?” she asks.
I nod. Something inside of my throat pulls tight.
“You didn’t eat anything at the lodge,” she continues. “I wondered why.”
“I don’t,” I answer. “Eat meat, that is.”
My heart thuds dully, and my mouth feels dry. It’s such a stupid, simple thing for her to notice. With all the birds and fish and deer in these woods, I should eat meat. I should have an entire cellar full of salted deer haunches and smoked trout.
I just can’t bring myself to kill anything. I haven’t been able to spill blood since the old god died in my arms.
Kira makes a little humming noise, then continues to eat her stew. Next to her, Xavier comes to his feet with a great show of effort, stretches, and then flops down again.
She didn’t ask why. She doesn’t even seem to think it’s odd, my preference for vegetables. I swallow hard, then shove a spoonful of stew into my mouth. My cheeks feel hot. I’m starting to regret the slug of wine I had before I walked over to the keep.
Fuck, I need to focus. I need to remember who I used to be, back when seducing someone for money or information was one of the easiest things I did with my hands. I need to know exactly what Kira wants and how I can make her leave, and I know the easiest way to do just that.
Kira’s spoon scrapes the bottom of her bowl. I push mine to the side, my appetite evaporated, and then reach toward the sideboard and the second of the four bottles of wine I stole from the Golden Peaks Hunting Lodge.
“Here’s an idea,” I say as I dig the cork out with my knife. “What about a second round of Questions?”