“I—” Reeve sat back, head tipped down. “I can just ask her?”
“Yes! And then you can kiss, and then you’ll be married.” Willow had all the enthusiasm of Plum spying an unguarded piece of fruit.
“That’s not how getting married works,” Charlie said with the kind of sigh an all-knowing child has, and Eliot nodded at her side in silent agreement.
Reeve shook his head as if breaking out of some trance. “Yes, see, listen to her, she knows. It’s more complicated than that…isn’t it?”
“You actually have to kissa lotbefore getting married,” Charlie went on, “and hold hands, and have a couple arguments too, and before all that, you have to at least tell the other person you’re in love with them. And that’s really scary.” She turned her eyes on Reeve, and even from a story up Celeste could see the challenge in the girl’s face.
Willow let out a huge, wistful sigh and draped herself over the table. “Gaspard always sings about being in love with Auntie Frida! ‘Specially when he drinks lots of ale.”
“Uh huh, but that’s because he’s not afraid. Not likeSir Reeve.” The older girl delivered the honorific with none of the respect it should have held.
“Afraid?” Reeve’s nostrils flared, and he leaned toward her over his stein of finished milk. “I am a holy knight in service to the God of the Dawn, I have fought infernals on a veil-shredded battlefield, stalked the Charred Caverns of Malifort, suffered a dagger to the gut and the spilling of my innards to save my fellow knights, and for over six years I’ve been the temple’s designated spider-catcher.”
Willow gasped. “You squash spiders with your bare hands?”
“Valcord’s Radiance, no, I use a copper cup and put them outside, but the point is, I am afraid ofnothing.”
Charlie, however, did not flinch, just as fearless in the face of all that Reeve had proposed to be, and the two glared at one another.
Before the children could bully him anymore, Celeste finally got a hold of herself and stomped down the stairs, the racket impossible to ignore.
Reeve stood the moment he saw her, knocking his chair back, eyes wide. “I, uh, have to…” He turned swiftly and went for the bar.
Willow’s little mouth opened much wider than it should have been able to, but Charlie clamped her hand over it and hauled her off the table. “Come on, let’s go dance with Baylen.” Eliot followed, and Celeste found herself alone.
CHAPTER 17
INEVITABLE INEBRIATION
Celeste sank into her seat and gazed out at the Dew Drop Inn. Many of the families had left, their little ones in tow, but there were still plenty of Briarwyke’s villagers filling up the tavern. Most were gathered around Gaspard who was standing atop a table and singing about those ex-corsairs again, half the imaginary group replaced with other fictional figures as they quested in the name of the realm’s king.
Baylen had Willow up on his shoulders, and she held onto his unbroken horn as he swayed to the music. Eliot and Charlie were laughing at some of the very drunken hunters who had taken to dancing in pairs, but were fighting to lead one another. A few younger women were at a table close by, calling out pointers. The hunters quickly gave up on each other and pulled the women to their feet.
Celeste shrank deeper into the shadow of the stairwell. She swept her hair forward to curtain her face and tucked her too-long and too-pale legs under the chair. The urge to disappear hemmed in, and her locket thumped against her chest.
Why hadn’t Reeve just kept it simple? He could have appeased the children with one lie and moved on,Yes, I think Celeste is pretty—now, do you want to hear about the river monsters in Bendcrest?Of course they would, who wouldn’t want to listen to him? Celeste herself loved all of his stories and the enthusiasm with which he told them. But, no, he had to keep going, had to yammer on falsehood after falsehood. Why did he have to be so specific with his lies? Why couldn’t he just—
But Reevedidn’tlie, did he?
“I fear we’ve not been properly introduced.”
Celeste sat up straight at the voice suddenly so close. While she’d been wallowing in her thoughts, the blond leader of the hunters, Fitz, had taken the seat beside her. She stuttered out her name when asked, mind jumbled and heart racing. She’d been terrified in the forest that one of the men had seen her leach the arcana out of the infernal boar, but Fitz said nothing about that, instead mentioning only that he was impressed she had been the one to take it down.
“Dangerous work, boar hunting.”
“It was all luck.” Celeste shrugged uncomfortably, wanting to change the subject. “Halfrida’s the one with all the skill.”
Fitz laughed and agreed, a pleasant, casual sound as he flashed her a smile. He was handsome with a slender but strong build, hair he kept cropped short, and a trimmed beard. By all rights, he really should have been carrying on across the tavern with the young women, dancing along to Gaspard’s music and not slouching in the shadows beside her.
“You have…strikingeyes,” he said, leaning close with a furrowed brow as he agonized over the right word. He only smelled a little of ale, but it was enough to give him the confidence to speak without thinking yet not enough restraint to hide his curiosity. Bringing himself so close, he had no doubt caught the awkward, liquidy movement in her eerily colored irises.
She mumbled an odd thank you and dropped her gaze to her lap.
“Are you settling down in Briarwyke or just passing through?”
That was a good question. “I don’t, um…I’m not sure.”
