He raises his hands, and the lanterns on the walls around us are doused, sending us into darkness. Sol’s muttered curse has me reaching into my cloak, my hand wrapping around the handle of the blade I slipped inside before we leftVolatus.
All of us wait, none of us breathing, but there’s no trap. Only part of the show. A build-up to the main event, and a chill skitters across my back.
Frowning, I twist to look around. My eyes search the darkness around us.
One single, flickering flame bursts to life at the back of the room. Another, then another, creating a slow route that amps up the enthusiasm around us as the stage slowly illuminates with warmth. The master reappears in shadowed light, his smile spreading as he moves to the side and silently extends an arm.
As the slow, haunting notes of a vielle ring out, the hair on the back of my neck prickles. A silhouette, unusually shaped, slips onto the stage, and my body tenses as I lean forward, blade forgotten in sudden urgency.
Maybe—
The tension releases from my body in a rush of air as I sit back. Around me, murmurs of displeasure ring out. It seems that the crowd around us has been duped as much as we have.
Not a faeyte, then.
Just a performer. Heavily made up. A badly stitched white wig to mimic the legendary hair, wings cobbled together with a mixture of bird feathers and silk as she spins and whirls. The moon phases dabbed across her skin are a little too rough-looking. One is smeared, as if she ran out of time before needing to go on stage.
Graceful enough, but notreal.
Rio sighs as he drains the last of his beer. “Consider me shocked. That’s that, then. Another?”
“Wine,” Sol mutters. “I’m not drinking any more of that piss, and you shouldn’t either. I’m not hauling your ass back to the ship.”
Riordan’s response is lofty as he flows upright with a fluidity that might surprise the men around us, gathering the cups in one hand. “I may not have your bulk to ease my way, Solomon, but I’m perfectly capable of holding my liquor. Also, Es will carry me. Won’t you, Smee?”
“Like fuck I will.” Her response is tart as she pokes at the food, her face morose. “If we’re not absconding with a faeyte, can we at least go somewhere where the damned food is edible? I’m sure I saw this pigeon on the dock earlier. It has the same eyes.”
***
Esme’s swearing drowns out the sound of our footsteps against the cobbled stone as she hauls a beer-riddled Rio down the street, deftly avoiding the puddles from those who came before without an irritated female to hold them upright. “I swear to Caelum, walk straight or I’ll leave you in a puddle. Not one of your own, either. You didn’t have to drink enough for all of us, you eejit.”
Sol’s small snicker is drowned beneath Riordan’s indignant words. “I can—hic—walk, Smee.”
“Fine.” Sol’s snicker turns to full-blown laughter as Esme promptly drops him. “Prove it. Your ass is heavy.”
Rio staggers, throwing his hands out to brace against the sand-brick wall of the low building that runs alongside us. But he pushes himself upright, his expression somewhere between righteousness and illness as he turns. “See?”
The three of us pause. Sol’s words are tinged with his amusement. “Not found your sea-legs?”
“Pfftt.” Rio waves him off. “’m fine. See? In fact, I think I’ll have another before we turn in.”
Esme raises her eyes to the sky. “Riordan.”
“Es-mer-ay.”
His drawling response has her scowling. “Don’t call me that.”
“Gods, you’re no fun.” He spins away from her, missing the flash of hurt that ripples across her face. “Callan? Another? Maybe we’ll find your faeyte amongst the taverns. Or the market.”
Shaking my head, I wave him off. Sol does the same, sidestepping when Rio tries to throw an arm over his shoulder. “The only place you should be heading for is bed.”
Rio points, but it’s somewhere to the left of Sol’s head as he squints. “That’sexactlywhat I intend to do. Eventually.”
Esme turns without another word, stalking back in the direction of the ship with tense shoulders and leaving silence behind her.
Rio glances over his shoulder for a moment, his smile wavering before he turns. His words are more subdued. “I’ll be back before we cast off.”
“You’ll be back for dawn.” My response is curt. “If I have to hunt through the pleasure rooms of Terrosa for you, Esme will be the least of your worries.”
