Chapter 7 #2
Blood rushes to my cheeks. The audacity of him commanding and dismissing me in the same breath. . . Of course he’s used to being obeyed without question. He’s royalty. Fae royalty.
I lean back in my chair. “Five questions? You’re kidding me.”
“You’re down to four.” He turns to the next page.
My hands ball into fists underneath the table. “You can’t be serious.”
Glass shatters at a raucous table, and I tense. I’m so exhausted that the sound spooked me as much as the boom of a cannon would. The fae doesn’t flinch or reply.
Ignored again. “I suppose I shouldn’t keep you from the cozy hearth and bottomless ale,” I snipe.
Gods, I can already tell he won’t be easy to work with.
My patience is as thin as fishing wire, but I take a deep breath and slump into my chair.
Why should I be in any hurry? I don’t have a bed to flop into once he retires to his own.
No, I might as well stall and make him suffer this uproar with me.
I absently twirl the end of my braid around my fingers as I listen to the minstrel launch into another tone-deaf ballad. If he weren’t so off-key, it would put me to sleep.
My chin dips. I jerk my head up. Stay awake, Cynthia.
After a few minutes, Desmond looks up. Our gazes meet. His expression is calm, perhaps even bored. The corners of his mouth dip in a slight frown, like he’s comfortable in the silence.
“I haven’t chosen my other questions yet.” I purse my lips in mock disappointment. “There’s too many options. Maybe you should treat yourself to some of the bottomless ale while you wait.”
“Self-induced ignominy isn’t my cup of tea.” He hands a small flask to me. “Try it. It’s peppermint.”
My chest feels tight as I inspect the flask.
There isn’t a trace of deceit in his expression, and I haven’t drunk anything since I left Nettlerock.
I uncap it, hesitating only for a moment before sniffing it.
It’s definitely peppermint tea, earthy and warm, as if it were recently brewed.
“You don’t drink? I thought fae loved to imbibe themselves silly.
” I take a sip and pass it back to him. Not bad.
He stares at the flask as if caught in a memory. “It’s been a long time.” Then he clips it to his belt and raises a brow at me. “Don’t humans often drink themselves to death? Yet I don’t see one in your hands.”
“And give you an opportunity to trick me? Not a chance.”
He glances down at his book. “At this rate, I’ll finish the chapter.”
I almost laugh. Almost. “I’m still thinking.
” I turn away and watch a poker game erupt into a fit of thrown cards, laughter, and swearing.
A scantily dressed mistress pickpockets one of the players before throwing her arms around him.
Fatigue pulls at me like bags of sand, and I struggle to keep my eyes open.
When I look back at the fae prince, he’s staring at me. His gaze travels from my disheveled hair to my dirty clothes, then settles on my face. The firelight accentuates the hard planes of his cheekbones with dancing shadows as his slight smile makes a dimple.
It’s odd seeing a dimple when he’s otherwise chiseled angles. No artisan would dare to carve them into the statues of Avedoran royalty. Dimples are too soft, too human to attribute to those with godly Elite power.
“You look five minutes from passing out against the hearth.” He’s still smiling, clearly amused by my sorry state. “Should we save your questions for tomorrow?”
Five minutes? That’s a bit insulting. “I haven’t said I’m still interested in the job, only that I wanted the details.”
“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t interested,” he argues, looking down at his book again.
I flick my thumb, and the next page turns itself. Then the next.
He glances up at me, his brows furrowed and a small frown twisting his lips.
“If you want me to stay interested, you’ll put the book away,” I tell him.
Desmond sighs and shuts it like it’s the most burdensome thing he’s had to do in his life. “Fine. I’m listening.”
Lacing my hands together on the tabletop, I begin. “I have some demands, first.”
He nods at me to continue.
“I want insurance in the event of my death. If I die in this barrow, but you survive, I want my share sent to my family. Enough to get them by for a few years,” I tell him.
Discussing even the possibility of my death makes me nauseous. I’ve always felt like if I tell myself nothing will kill me, then nothing will. Yet, my greatest duty tugs with doubt on the back of my mind: Evie. Because of her, I have to be cautious. Because of her, I need a contingency plan.
“Deal,” he says, opening the book again.
That’s it? No arguments about the survival of the fittest? I raise a brow at him, and then close his book with my magic. You think a man would learn. “I’m serious.”
He sighs. “I am too. Anything else?”
“Where is this tomb, anyway?”
“Southeast of Mordrak,” he answers. “You’re down to three. Consider yourself lucky that I didn’t count the question about my drinking habits.”
I ignore his count, instead settling into my chair as a yawn escapes me. “That seems like a strange place for a human king’s tomb.” It’s goblin territory, and the steppes and rifts there lack settlements.
His fingers impatiently drum on the book as he frowns. “Yes, almost like they didn’t want anyone to find it,” he intones with sarcasm.
I scoff. “Someone’s ill-tempered.”
He glares at me, confirming my jab. “As soon as you’re safe in your room, I’m retiring to mine. Then I can read in peace. So ask your remaining questions. Let’s get it over with.”
Our conversation is growing harder to focus on as fatigue clouds my head. “There’s no available rooms. So until you go to bed, I guess you’re stuck with me.” I unshoulder my weapons, preparing for a long and miserable night.
Desmond stills. He watches me stretch my aching shoulders.
Our eyes meet before he fixates on the dark circles underneath mine.
Maybe he’s evaluating my chance of survival if I’m left alone in the tavern.
I tossed and turned in bed last night, even before Desmond threw rocks at our house.
Beula and the priest may have saved Evie’s life, but my guilt made it impossible to relax.
I won’t sleep any better tonight when I’m worrying about pickpockets.