“Go home,” Vaskel told her from behind the bar. “The kitchen is fine. I’ll check it for you if you want, but you should get some rest.”
Lira gave him a grateful smile. “What would I do without you?”
“You’d have a less charming bartender,” he said lightly, though something twisted in his chest at her trust.
“So true. Durn wasn’t exactly drawing crowds.” Lira crinkled her nose at the memory of the old, grumpy tavernkeep before a yawn split her face. She crossed to the door and pulled her cloak off the hook. “Night, Vask. Night, Iris.” She smiled at the apothecary. “You sure you’ll be safe from Vaskel’s charm?”
Iris laughed. “Oh, I think I can resist the blue-eyed hellkin’s wiles.”
Vaskel attempted to ignore the warmth seeping up his neck at Iris’s teasing tone and the fact that the same words by anyone else wouldn’t make his pulse nearly as jumpy.
Korl gathered the still-sleeping Crumpet in his arms and headed into the kitchen, presumably tucking the creature into his nest of dishtowels. Then he emerged through the half-doors, took Lira’s hand, and led her out. That left Vaskel and Iris alone in the great room, the fire crackling softly.
Vaskel continued polishing the bar, aware of Iris watching him from her chair by the hearth. After a moment, she rose and made her way to one of the bar stools.
“You know,” she said, “I’ve lived long enough to recognize when someone’s carrying a burden they’re afraid to share.”
Vaskel’s hand stilled on the cloth he was using to polish the wood. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course not,” Iris said. “Just like I don’t know why you keep tugging at your left sleeve or why you’ve been avoiding looking at your wrist all evening.”
He looked up sharply to find her green eyes studying him with a mixture of concern and understanding. There was no judgment there, only patient waiting.
“It’s nothing,” he said automatically.
“‘Nothing’ doesn’t make a hellkin’s brow pinch.”
Vaskel dropped the cloth and braced both hands on the bar. He’d faced down dragons, angry mages, and more bar fights than he could count, but somehow the apothecary’s quiet concern undid him.
“You can’t tell Lira,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
“That depends entirely on what you’re about to show me, but I’ve seen many strange things in my years, and very little shocks me anymore.”
Vaskel hesitated for another long moment, then slowly pushed up his sleeve. The marks were darker now than they’d been earlier and they curved fully around his wrist.
Iris went still. Then, without asking permission, she reached across the bar and took his wrist in her hands. Her touch was warm and surprisingly steady, and Vaskel’s heart seized.
“How long?” she asked quietly, her fingers tracing just above the marks without quite touching them.
“I noticed them tonight, but I think they might have started earlier. When I returned the ring to you, I slipped it on. It was only for a moment, but it prickled my skin.”
“The ring only warns of danger,” Iris murmured, her gaze locked on the marks. “It couldn’t have made these.”
“Could it be from dark magic? The last time I saw marks like these, they were on Malek.”
Iris was silent, her fingers still ghosting over the marks. She knew who Malek was, who he’d been to Vaskel and Lira. She also knew how dangerous he’d been. Then she carefully released his wrist and met his eyes.
“Come to the apothecary tomorrow.”
“Can you help?” He hated how desperate he sounded, especially since Iris wasn’t a mage.
Even in her crewing days, she’d been a rogue. She’d opened an apothecary shop as a cover when she and Lira’s gran had settled in Wayside. Her shop peddled herbs for healing, not magical cures.
“I need to consult some of my books.” She stood, sliding her glasses to the tip of her nose. “Tomorrow, Vaskel. And try not to worry too much tonight.”
“Easy for you to say,” he muttered, dragging his sleeve back down.
She paused at the door, glancing back at him. “You’re not Malek. Whatever these marks are, wherever they came from, you’re not him. Remember that.”
