“What brings you here? This is a long way from Italy.” I lifted my mug and took another swallow.
Marcellious leaned back in his chair, exuding boredom, though I knew better. He was tracking Costa’s every move, ready to strike if necessary.
Costa studied us. “I heard rumors of gold in these caves,” he said. “Thought I’d see if I could increase my wealth. Restoration of my villa cost me a small fortune.”
“I can only imagine,” I said, feigning camaraderie. My fingers twisted idly around my mug on the worn wooden table. “Haven’t heard a thing about gold. Perhaps we should explore together.”
And once you’re deep enough in the cave, I’ll kill you.The thought echoed coldly in my mind—a silent promise I didn’t dare speak aloud.
You’re here for the dagger—just like me.
I kept my gaze pinned to the table, pretending only mild interest in the conversation.
Costa didn’t reply.
Marcellious drained his ale, sighed, satisfied, and stretched lazily.
Costa’s eyes shifted toward him. “Who’s your companion?”
Marcellious straightened, drawing himself up, meeting Costa’s gaze with a glare. “The name’s Marcellious Demarrias,” he said, a low rumble that carried through the tavern.
His fingers drummed against the table—like a death march.
Costa curled his lips in disdain, his eyes lazily assessing Marcellious. “You look like you’ve just been dragged out of the jungle,” he drawled.
Marcellious fluttered his thick lashes. “Why, thank you.”
Costa’s expression darkened.
“And you,” Marcellious continued, voice syrupy sweet, “look like a?—”
“Marcellious,” I warned, cutting him off.
Costa’s smile was all teeth—sharp, glinting, predatory. “No, no. Let him speak. I’m quite curious—what do I look like?”
Marcellious tilted his head, smirking. “Like an Italian prick. Even your accent reeks of pretense.”
The air between them crackled with unspoken threats, thick as a brewing storm.
I clenched my jaw, exhaling. Marcellious had no idea who he was provoking.
Or maybe he did.
During our travels, I had told him about the Timehunters—about Costa.
I glanced across the table at him.
A flicker of a secretive smile played at the corners of his lips.
He knew. He was toying with him.
I flexed my fingers before curling them into fists. “I’m afraid I know very little about you, Raul. I told you all about my passion for exploring and finding artifacts. Might you share something interesting about yourself?”
Costa sighed deeply and slumped into Osman’s vacant chair. “There’s not much to tell. I’m a wealthy Italian businessman.”
He grabbed Osman’s half-finished ale and downed it in a single gulp. Then, lifting his empty stein, he waved it in the air. The barmaid, ever attentive, scurried over.
“Get us all another. I’ll buy,” Costa said.
