Derby left Crow and headed across the room toward Dunn and the door he and Ikârd were guarding.
As Derby approached Cole’s table, Cole nodded toward Crow and asked, “Running a charity ward?”
“Those aren’t from me. Lady Viola sent them.” Derby’s gaze flicked to the stage. “You’re playing here? Why?”
Cole shrugged, forcing a casualness he didn’t feel. “The pay’s good.”
Derby’s frown deepened. “I kept quiet on the journey home because you were always with Kurtz, but…what are you doing here? You were squire to the king. Don’t you care what happens to him?”
Cole set down his mug harder than intended. “Of course I care.”
“You have a funny way of showing it,” Derby said. “Why abandon him his first month in Armonguard to play bard in a place like this?”
Cole shifted, wishing he could say the king had sent him. Movement near the kitchen caught his eye. Mistel and Zanna emerged from the hallway, laughing softly. Good. Mistel was smiling.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I’m just not a killer, I guess.”
Derby’s brows pinched. “None of us would call ourselves killers. But sometimes that’s what it takes to keep people safe.”
“I meant no offense,” Cole said. “But I have to be who I am, and Arman made me a musician.”
The tavern door swung open, letting in a gust of snow as Nash and Drustan entered. Nash scanned the room, quickly spotting Mistel as she moved toward the stage.
Cole’s jaw tightened. Drustan took a seat at a table, but Nash continued on. Cole tracked his movement, pulse quickening as the man headed straight for Mistel.
“I think you’d fight for what you care about,” Derby said.
Cole blinked, taking in Derby’s words. The challenge behind them.
Then it clicked. Yes, he would. And he cared about Mistel. More than he wanted to admit.
He pushed back his chair and stood. “Excuse me a moment, Derby.”
He strode toward Nash, cutting him off before he could reach Mistel.
“Question for you,” Cole said softly. “Did you put Crow up to controlling Mistel with his magic?”
Nash hesitated, and his face flushed. “Just having a bit of fun.”
“She was terrified, and using bloodvoicing like that is unethical. Just…stay away from Mistel.”
Nash raised his hands. “Sorry! Didn’t mean any harm. I’ll back off.”
Really? Just like that? Maybe Cole didn’t need to be a strapping warrior. Maybe he just needed to speak up—fight for what mattered.
“Cole!” Mistel waved him over to the stage.
“Thank you,” Cole told Nash, then turned to go.
But Nash called after him, voice just loud enough to carry. “Bit protective of your cousin, aren’t you?”
Cole froze.
A few nearby patrons turned their heads. Mistel tilted hers, brows knitting as she watched him.
“Shut it, Erlichman,” Cole said through gritted teeth, but his gut twisted.
Had anyone heard?
