Page 17

A disturbed laugh burst from his lips, like he surprised even himself with the sound. “Gods help anyone who makes you more angry than that, then.”

Jessella pushed into our quiet conversation from the other side. “Oh, who’s this Haron? A suitor?” she asked in a teasing sing-song voice. “Does this mean I get a break tonight?”

“Not likely, wench.” I leaned in close enough to playfully nip at her full, painted lips. “Will you come find me later tonight? Maybe bring Lota along?”

A visible shudder rocked through her delicate shoulders, even as a coy smile graced her face. She reached a manicured hand to my face—her nails were filed sharper than normal and painted a bloody red—and pinched my cheek lightly. “We’ll be in my room. Don’t make us wait too long.”

With that, Jessella slipped off her stool and turned to weave her way through the crowded tavern. My cheek pressed firmly against my shoulder as I watched her mingle with some of the regulars, laying her dainty hands on their shoulders and leaning close to their ears when she spoke. It was hard to take my eyesfrom her, admiring the deep blue dress she wore cinched in at the waist to reveal every curve it tried to cover with her dark brown curls hiding just enough of her shoulders to tease.

“Is she…a lover?”

Irin’s question pulled me from my salacious daydreaming of all the things I wanted to do to her later. I turned my attention back to him, my lip firmly pinned between my teeth around a hungry smile. Only his eyes and a sliver of his face were visible, but there was definitely a spark of interest in his hazel gaze.

“When she allows it,” I finally answered. “But we’re not here to talk about my sex life, are we? I was under the impression you were looking to hire me for my skills in necromancy.”

From what I could see of the tops of his cheeks, Irin blushed a pretty pink beneath that honeyed tan skin. “Of course, yes, I meant that—”

He was obviously flustered. And watching him squirm on the hook he’d set himself was fulfilling in its own way. I braced my elbow on the bar to prop my head in as he bumbled and blustered through several attempted apologies. “Can we… can we find a private place to discuss our own arrangement?”

My smirk grew salacious again. His eyes drifted down to lock on my lips. “Of course, whatever you would like. Gaion!” I called down the bar to its grouchy tavern master. “Put my guest’s drink on my tab, would you?”

Gaion scoffed. “Like I ever make you pay for drinks, girl.” His response was almost a growl. “Get outta here. I’ll send up some dinner later.”

I threw a joking salute and smacked my hands on the worn bar to push myself up off the stool. “Thank you, father! Come along. My room is upstairs.” I gestured for Irin to follow me in skirting the main area toward the staircase.

“Of course.”

He took a moment to make sure his coat covered as much of his defining features as it could, slipping the last couple of buttons through their holes to the chin and adjusting the collar again before rising to join me. His hands remained firmly in his pockets and his elbows tucked close to his body, as if trying to look as small and unassuming as possible. It wasn’t until we both cleared the door, and I shut it behind us with the lock thrown, that he finally seemed to relax a bit.

I gestured to the coat rack. “Feel free to strip some layers. Make yourself at home.”

Irin took in the simple, unadorned room for a few moments, taking a slow spin in the center until he faced me again. “Not that I’m trying to pry, but is he truly your father?”

“Gaion? Gods, no! If he were, he’d likely chew my ear off daily instead of weekly for all the things I make him put up with. But I’ve known him since I began visiting Gilamorst regularly a little over five years ago, and he hasn’t been able to weed me out of his life yet.”

A small smile teased the corners of Irin’s mouth. “I see. You are fortunate to have people like him who care so deeply about you.”

There was something behind his words, a tinge of sadness and longing, that made my heart twist painfully in my chest. I knew the kind of loneliness he likely felt. It may have been many lives ago, but it still stung sometimes to think of being held at arm's length by those who should hug tightly. I didn’t like to dwell on it too much, and I wouldn’t let him either.

With a snicker, I reached over to snatch the hat from his head and toss it on the rack. He blinked a few times, obviously shocked that part of his cover was removed.

“Is this how you treat all your clients?”

He got a toothy grin in response, drawing his eyes back down to my lips, where they lingered just a bit too long. “Only the oneswho lurk around in disguise. If you can’t trust me to keep your identity a secret in the privacy of my own room, it will be hard to establish a working relationship for anything. Right?”

“I suppose,” he answered, and pulled his hands from their pockets to undo the buttons on his coat. “I guess I was a little shocked at how… sparse your room is.”

“Why? Because I make a lot of money?” It was oddly entertaining to throw Irin off balance and watch him try to maintain that stiff composure Gilamorst nobles seemed obsessed with. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but most of my profit goes to helping Gaion run The Hanging Cat or to the Gilamorst Orphanage. Which, I’m sure you’re aware, the ratio of girls to boys adopted is one to four. In case you want to add that to your list of issues to clear up after your coronation.”

Irin was shaken by the unexpected information. “I… um, that… that is concerning. And also very noble of you. Gilamorst is certainly grateful for—”

“Let’s cut the pleasantries, shall we? Your payment of whatever services you want from me will benefit the people of Gilamorst more than the regime has thus far, so don’t waste my time. Respectfully,” I added snidely. “Please, take a seat and tell me what your need my services for.”

The available seat in question was a well-worn couch beneath the room’s only window, where I usually sat to read the latest news pamphlet or a rare tome on necromancy that caught my eye in a bookshop. He continued to stare dumbly as I walked to the chair belonging to the nearby writing desk and pulled it out for myself, further indicating where he should sit. It wasn’t until I found a blank piece of paper and a pen to write ‘terms of service’ neatly across the top that he finally moved, taking a seat on the couch stiffly.

“Loosen up, Your Highness,” I teased. “I’m done chastising you about the deficiencies of your crown city. Now, how can I help you?”

He still looked a bit like startled prey but collected his senses enough to clear his throat and cross his right leg over the left. His hands clutched the knee lightly, the pose of casual sophistication. I noticed his thumb worry at something beneath the glove of his right pointer finger absently.