Shaking my head, I finally managed to write on the tablet.“Not killing anyone. Drugging Duke Augustine of Demagret.”
I feared the evidence that written text would create, so I hastily smeared the wax back into an even layer.
Quinn nodded. He examined the amount; it was only a small jar, but there was enough inside that if there was any flavor, it would probably be noted in a glass of wine. He hummed thoughtfully, then put the vial into his coat pocket. “All right. I’ll see it done for you.”
Relief overcame me. I squeezed his hand in gratitude; he might have terrified me initially, but it was good to know a man who wasn’t afraid of the occasional act of subterfuge.
Quinn’s fingers tightened around mine in response, then loosened…but didn’t let go, not immediately. His thumb brushed over my knuckles in one light movement, gentle enough to be denied if I mentioned it. When he finally released me and stepped back, I considered the meaning of the gesture, staring at the back of my hand as if he’d wiped something onto my skin.
He moved to the exit but lingered as he came to the threshold. When he turned back to me, a peculiar darkness lurked beneath his features. I’d seen it before on him, as if he was possessed by a being crueler and more punishing than the man I knew him to be.
Then he departed, not as a friend but as an operative, and his shadow might well have been horned and cloven.
Chapter 26
“Allow me to…tell you all a s-story.”
Duke Augustine ejected from his seat, four glasses down in the Hadrian vintage Quinn had insisted he bring out. It was good—lightly sweet, with notes of chocolate and cherry (or so the sommeliers lauded), and it left the tongue wanting without any unpleasant effect on the gut. I was two cups down and couldn’t seem to lift my head from the prince’s shoulder.
Nicolas stiffened at first, alarmed by the public display and still wary of Taran Banewight, but we were camouflaged by the general air of debauchery, as safe here as anywhere. He relaxed, his hand finding mine beneath the table. After a moment’s hesitation, his thumb traced circles around my palm, a private tenderness hidden from the eyes of the raucous crowd.
“You feel like a furnace,” he murmured against my hair. “Pace yourself, my love.”
I rubbed my head against him, humming in response. It was probably the wine talking, but lately, Nicolas was surprisingly comfortable to be around. Right now he compared to a soft bed, a heavy blanket, and a good book.
“Oh, here we go,” Queen Adelaide sighed under her breath, perhaps the only person in the room with enough self-control to only have a single glass. Still, she let the show go on, watching as the Hadrian went stumbling out to the center of the room.
“So, there we were on the deck, every one of us sick as a dog on those first days of choppy seas, hoping to catch a breath of fresh air. I speak of myself, the Banewights, and a few of my men.” He gave an acknowledging nod to Taran, who was several glasses down himself, and yet exhibited no tells of drunkenness. “Those of us who could hold ourselves together well enough to look ata deck of cards decided we might pass the time with a round of Noble Fools. It’s a simple game, not too difficult, where the winner must secure all four members of the same royal suitwithoutthe joker. If a joker makes it into the hand, then their cards all go back into the pile.”
“Awful game,” Sahra Doonle commented dryly. “Takes ages to get through.”
“Hence the perfect game for passing time.” The Duke of Demagret nodded, then went on. “Well, typically, when one receives a joker, they’re understandably frustrated. It adds time to the game everyone wishes to end. This time, however, as Asli was on the cusp of victory…” Asli’s eyes widened, perhaps from the memory of what was to come. “…thishideouscreature sits down at the table with us. The daughter of the captain, and I mean she was the ugliest woman I have ever laid eyes upon in all my years of life, and I have seen all manner of them.”
This earned a few laughs. I pursed my lips in amusement, even if I did feel a little sorry for the lady in his story, as the duke paused to belch. He held up his index finger, then turned straight toward Florence, who ignored the crass display while she made herself look intrigued.
“Good gods, woman,” Duke Augustine said to her, “you must have taken every blessing meant for the poor girl.”
Florence expertly giggled, covering her perfect smile in coquettish display. The court ladies tittered behind their hands, some genuinely scandalized while most were merely being performative. Winnie rolled her eyes from her position, clearly unimpressed with the man.
The duke winked, and carried on. “I nearly threw myself overboard for fear some loathsome monster had gotten on board with us. Fortunately, I maintained my tact! And the woman opened her snaggle-toothed, half-scurvied maw, and she said…” He paused, lowering his face to grow another set of chins and altering his voice to a slow, unflattering feminine register. “‘The winner gets to take me to their bed tonight.’ Just like that! I tell you, I have never been so glad to see a joker in my hand! What should have been groans of frustration became ululation and ceremony, and we paused the game for nightfall, picked it up again in the morning, and that game lasted five days because every one of us was cheating!”
“Who lost?” Florence asked, her voice carried away by the fits of laughter from the surrounding nobles.
Duke Augustine blinked, tripping over his own feet and catching himself against the table in front of her. He leaned in, unperturbed by the near-fall. “Come again?”
“Who lost the game?” she repeated.
A terrible smirk pulled at his lips. “Taran Banewight. Why else do you think he looks so damned dour over there?”
Taran glared from his seat, ignoring the riot of laughter and applause. Florence bounced with laughter, allowing it to rock throughout her body as she braced herself atop the duke’s arm for stability. That poor man didn’t stand a chance, placing his hand on hers and succumbing to a spell the Banewights could never hope to interfere with.
Duke Augustine returned to his seat, reaching for the goblet.
The queen stood. “Perhaps you should seek repose for the evening. I would hate for you to embarrass yourself.”
“Oh, pish-posh,” said the duke, turning around to find that one of the courtiers had seized his cup. He blinked. “Well, I’ll be damned. What sorcery is this? My cup has vanished.”
“Go on to bed,” Taran ordered, rolling his eyes as he lifted the duke’s missing cup. Their maritime activity had given them time to know one another, but he did not appear especially fond of the Hadrian. “Or shall I recount the tale of what happened when you mistook a slug for an olive?”
