29. Friends, Old & New #2
However, she had to grit her teeth in annoyance when she read the entire name card.
Cypress Ilirona
Duchess of Eobbaara,
The Soul Reach.
Instead of ripping the leaf to shreds like her fist impulse demanded, Cypress merely placed her wine on top of the leaf and sat at the table.
Only then did she notice that Torren was already seated at the ornate chair with antlers growing from behind his head. He grinned at her with the sort of smirk that she now knew to mean only mischief.
“Duchess,” He greeted, fingers laced under his chin.
“Thief,” Cypress retorted and leaned back in her chair as if she didn’t have a single care in the world.
Torren’s storm-grey eyes sparkled with delight.
“You know, you don’t have to get your own wine here, Lass.”
“I’d rather not repeat my previous experience with your hospitality,” Cypress said and took a long draught of her wine. There was no unusual heat, no prickle of desire in her skin.
Then, someone else arrived at their table. Torren’s gaze snapped to just above her chair.
Laughter, again. An unprovoked, uproarious noise that Cypress immediately recognized. The man at the bar.
Apparently, she pulled enough of a face that Torren noticed, and the smirk on his face only grew. “I would introduce you, but it seems you’ve already met.”
“Aye, well, I can’t say her name, I’ve met the lassie.”
“Cypress, this is Rhene, my second in command,” Torren said. “Rhene, this is Cypress, Duchess of Eobbaara, or perhaps you’ve heard of Captain Cy, Knight of Grethnah?”
Rhene took a step back, hand pressed to his chest. “Nay, don’t trick me now.”
“Not a trick. She’s the real deal, here. Caelith wants her dead now.”
Rhene laughed again and then pulled his chair out to sit. “Anyone who’s anything worthy always ends up being on Caelith’s list. Well done, lassie. What did you do?”
“Followed this asshole to the tomb of the Winged Hounds,” Cypress drawled with her thumb pointed at Torren.
“That’s not very nice of you,” Torren grumbled and leaned back in the ornate chair.
“A Duchess after me own heart,” Rhene proclaimed and held his hand out for hers.
Cypress snorted, then placed her hand in Rhene’s much larger, rough palm. “Maybe to cut it out.”
Rhene dropped a kiss to her knuckles, then said, “No need, I’d offer it to ye. Rhene Hawkroot, Commander General, at your service.”
“Cypress Ilirona, formerly Captain Cy of the Prince Guard. And, I guess the Duchess of Eobbaara.”
“Are ye not sure you’re Duchess?” Rhene asked, laughter sparkling in his eyes.
“It’s a recent development,” Cypress said and gave Torren a glare for good measure.
In her mind, everything still came down to his inadequate explanations of Pixie wine and what it would do to those bearing the blood of Pixies. Perhaps if she realized what he had truly meant by aphrodisiac, then maybe Cypress wouldn’t have drunk any.
And they wouldn’t have needed to visit Jinemelle or to discover her heritage.
Yes. Torren was definitely to blame.
Rhene hummed and nodded his head in understanding. “And what do you think of Faerie?”
Cypress shrugged. “It’s gorgeous. Everything, I mean. The land, the trees, the houses, the villages, the people. All of it is gorgeous.”
“I knew you thought I was pretty, Lass,” Torren said, his chin now cradled in his palm, elbow propped on the table.
Cypress rolled her eyes at him.
“And now that Caelith wants you dead, what are you going to do?” Rhene asked. His intense green eyes bored into her skull.
She recognized the question for what it was. An interrogation of where her loyalty lay.
“I am not loyal to a people who burn the villages of another based only on the fact that they are different,” Cypress responded and returned the intense gaze of Rhene.
She meant every word. If she were being honest with herself, loyalty to Caelith and Cade had begun evaporating the instant she left the Keep, and she began to learn how differently the crown was received outside the capital seat.
Rhene nodded after a moment, then lifted his cup. “A toast to you. Caelith’s loss will be our gain. To Cypress, even if you should be drinking Pixie wine with us,” He winked, then took a sip of his wine.
Torren said, “Here, here,” and raised his cup to his lips. Torren’s grey eyes devoured Cypress as he swallowed a gulp of wine.
Despite the heat blooming between her thighs that was entirely unprovoked by wine, Cypress said, “I think I’ve had enough Pixie wine for an entire lifetime, thank you.”
“Oh, come now, Lassie. You cannot swear off the beverage entirely because one man failed to satisfy ye,” Rhene chided.
Cypress laughed. Head thrown back and hand clutched over her stomach, she laughed heartily until she felt as if she couldn’t breathe, and her middle ached.
“Why are ye laughing, Lassie?” Rhene asked, a mildly confused look on his face.
She wiped the corner of her eye with a napkin, trying to control herself. “That uh,” she began, and cleared her throat. “That’s not the reason I have sworn off Pixie wine.”
“No? Then tell us, why don’t you want Pixie wine?” Torren asked and leaned forward. Again, those mercurial grey eyes were locked on her face, tracking every movement.
Cypress’s face felt flushed as she said, “I just think I’ve had all that I can handle.”
“You think once was enough?” Torren asked.
Cypress shifted in her seat under his gaze.
“Once!” Rhene laughed, “Oh, just the once, Lassie? Nay, you have to try it again.”
Cypress looked away from Torren to say, “Now, Rhene, I do believe you’re trying to seduce me.”
“Is it working?” Rhene asked and shot her a large, open grin.
She laughed. “No, not particularly.”
Rhene mimed being stabbed in the chest and twisting the knife.
Again, Cypress laughed. Maybe some people were allowed to laugh so freely. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like this, so free and open.
Their table was served by Athima and a small group of Small Folk, only their hands visible above the line of the tables, plates placed on tabletops before they swiftly disappeared. Athima refilled goblets of wine.
“Wine?” Athima asked when she reached Cypress’s side, and two jugs of wine were offered toward her.
One had a small image of a Paradise Plum, while the other had Faerie wings painted onto the dark, nearly translucent glass.
Something very nearly came over Cypress to request the Pixie wine, but she swallowed the impulse, replying with “The Paradise Plum, please.”
Athima refilled her cup with a nod of her head, then she disappeared, refilling other cups along her way out of the room.
“You’re missing out, Lassie,” Rhene said, taking a draught of his cup.
Torren’s storm grey eyes once more found hers across the table when she said, “I’ll be the judge of that."