He picks up his saddlebags and places them on one of his massive shoulders.
“My desire will never be assuaged, Lady Ryle. No one will harm you while I am alive.”
“I don’t need any protection.” My words come out with a growl as my hand goes to the sword hilt.
If Warden sees the movement, he doesn’t react. Instead he looks over my head towards the kitchen.
“I doubt your warlocks could protect you from the Lambton Wyrm,” he says.
“The Lambton Wyrm is not a threat. Everyone knows that,” Millie interjects.
Warden stares at her for a second before his face cracks into a dazzling smile. “You are correct. The Lambton Wyrm is a good friend of mine and no threat to anyone except the faerie.”
“Cuthbert and Edgar are not the only protection I have, Brag. I am well served for it. Try not to cause any more damage on your way out.”
I walk past the Tiki bar with a huff and through to the small scullery behind the main bar to begin the day’s tasks. I hear the low rumble of Warden’s voice and do my best to close my ears to it. I already felt my resolve weakening at the sight of his smile, and I cannot afford to be weak.
The Brag must be gone, and that’s all there is to it.
Hilda joins me in the scullery as I begin rinsing out the tankards and putting them on the racks to dry.
“He’s gone.” She sighs like a schoolgirl.
“Good riddance,” I say, and I’m instantly annoyed at the way my heart does a skip in my chest and causes my stomach to flutter in direct contradiction at the sentiment I expressed.
“He’ll have to sleep in a ditch,” Hilda says.
“I have had worst hardships,” I growl in the best approximation of Warden’s voice. “He’ll live, Hilda, and you’ll have to find someone else to simper over.”
She huffs at me, clattering the tankards like they’ve wronged her. “He was nice. Nicer than most of our patrons. For a start, he didn’t smell like shit,” she grumbles.
“He did smell like a horse though,” I respond, even though it isn’t strictly true. “And he turned into one at inopportune moments,” I add. “Which reminds me, I’m going to have to do something about the bloody Tiki bar.”
I leave Hilda to banging around the tankards as I go back through the bar to look again at Warden’s work.
Millie is still standing staring at it.
“I wonder where the Duegar got the idea,” she says, cocking her head on one side.
“It’s going to have to go. Can you imagine what the Reivers will think?” I gaze at the thing before leaning into the bar itself and picking up a small card propped against one of the fluted glasses. “I doubt very much they’re going to want atequila sunrise, whatever one of those is.”
Millie reaches in too, picking up the glass and taking a sip.
“It’s good,” she says, smacking her lips. “Try it.”
“Millie…” I try to duck away, but she has the glass at my mouth, and I have no option but to take a gulp.
The sweet-sour liquid goes down my throat, and despite myself, I have to admit it’s good. Certainly better than most of the ales we serve.
“See,” Millie says triumphantly.
“Still can’t imagine the Reivers going for it,” I respond, tugging at the foliage and finding it tougher than I imagined. “Get Cuthbert and Edgar to take it down, will you? I’ve got to go do the lists.”
Millie shrugs her little shoulders, and I notice the glass has been drained with a pang of regret.
“I’d keep it,” she says. “But you’re the Lady Ryle,” she adds with a sideways glance at me. “And what you say goes.”
Like Millie has ever done anything I’ve asked her to do.
