“Wendlyn would also have joined us,” Petyr says, settling back in his chair. “But she has overexerted herself, so she’s resting. She informed me that she might call on you tomorrow, to introduce herself properly.”
“Of course.” I glance at the male again. “Forgive me. I don’t believe we have been introduced.”
“This is the Metallurgist.” Petyr takes a sip of his beer. “He has a truly phenomenal talent for metalwork, as well as fulfilling his role as my royal advisor.”
From the way the male stares, I would wonder if he was intentionally trying to make me uncomfortable. As it is, I’m certain my smile is perfectly bland. I spent many years holding discussions with men who looked at me too closely. Although he doesn’t put me on my guard the exact same way, my skin still crawls. “I was very appreciative of the pipework in my bathroom. Your work, I understand?”
His head tilts to the side. Brown hair, I realize. Only to frown, when it seems to shift to blond and darken once more. “Yes,” is all he says.
I’ve never seen anything quite like him. Discomfited, I raise my glass in a silent toast. “Then you have my thanks.”
“How is work on the Never?” Petyr sounds mildly irritated, and I turn back to him. He lounges back in the chair, his fingers tapping haphazardly on his arm as he looks between us. “Have you made any progress?”
I take a breath. “It has been barely a day. I’ll need some time to try to understand where I might even begin such a vast task.”
“But we do not have time.” Petyr smiles to soften the sting, and I would prefer he hadn’t. “My people are starving, Selene.”
My eyes slip back to the table. I think of the pots, bubbling away over the hearth in the town square. So small, in comparison to what sits in front of us to feed just three mouths. “So I see.”
A noise that might be amusement comes from the Metallurgist. My eyes find him, only to slip away again, as if he is utterly unforgettable. But he leans forward, making it easier to focus. I find it better if I look just to the right, keeping him in the corner of my gaze. “I have some questions about your maegis.”
Petyr interrupts. “No more business tonight. Let us talk about other things. How are you finding my brother, Selene?” His glass hovers in front of his lips as he waits for an answer.
The abrupt shift, as well as his chosen topic, has me frowning. “Fine.”
“Just fine?” His lips twist. “Come now. My brother is not without his charms.”
My shoulders tighten. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand the question.”
From under my lowered eyes, I catch the two of them exchanging a look. Petyr sniffs. “Of course. This curse of Hala’s. I’ve heard about it, but I’ll admit that I’ve never placed much stock in the old tales.”
Spine stiffening, I grip my glass tightly as Petyr reaches for a platter. He begins filling my plate without asking. “Surely you jest? You do not believe in the gods?”
His tongue clicks. The amused smirk he gives me holds an echo of his older brother, and my stomach twists uncomfortably at the idea of making any comparison between them. “I must, for our situation does not lie. But I do not see the gods as you do.”
“And how is that?”
“Infallible,” he murmurs. His knuckles rap against the table. “All things are fallible, Selene.”
I glance down at the table. The cutlery catches my eye, the bluish-white tint unusual. Picking it up at Petyr’s gesture, I wait for them to begin eating before I follow their lead. I was hungry before I came, but the salted meat turns to ash in my mouth under the stare of the peristi male across from me. He examines me as if I’m an insect on the floor. His eyes rake over my body, and yet when I look up he’s toying with his food.
I swallow, forcing the food down. “That is a bold statement, considering your current situation.”
He barks a laugh. “You don’t flower your words.”
“I see little point in masking them. As you said, our time is short.”
“I can respect that.” He chews on a piece of meat, swallowing before he responds. His hand gestures at the opulence around us, and I follow his finger to a portrait against the wall behind the Metallurgist, who pays us no attention at all as he continues eating. A broad, bulky male with similar features to Petyr sits in a throne far larger than the one Petyr has adapted here, brown eyes boring into me as if the painting might come to life at any moment.
“My father was a strong Caelumnai,” Petyr muses. “Had we had the tier system back then, I expect he would have been at least a level eight gerent, possibly a nine. Callan follows him. Ironic, really, considering his parentage. He was always far more my father’s son than I could ever hope to be.”
The touch of bitterness in his words does not surprise me. My body only stiffens further at the mention of his father, and my response comes out edged in anger. “In maegis,perhaps.”
Something glints in Petyr’s eyes. Amusement, perhaps. Almost delight. “Perhaps you are right. But my father taught me well. Hetaught me that all things have a breaking point. We just have to find it.”
Any appetite I had has vanished. Setting down my cutlery, I reach for my glass. My palms prickle, and I glance down, turning my palm upwards.
The deep red mark across my hand matches the knife and fork I’ve just laid down, and sensation returns in a burning rush as I try to close my hand.
