Her eyebrows gather. “You look a lot like someone I used to know.”
“I get that all the time. I have a very unoriginal face.”
She shakes her head, and her hair doesn’t even shift. “Enjoy the mead, Marseille.”
I might be imagining it, but as she leaves, her frown deepens. It strikes me that she must’ve known my parents. I wonder if she has stories. She looks like the type to have stories. Busybody running the town’s watering hole.
Maybe I should ask her. Maybe—
“Marseille, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever met a person with so many different identities.”
I smile even though I don’t look over my shoulder at the person who’s just spoken. Don’t have to. I know that scent, and I’d recognize that sultry voice anywhere.
“Thought you weren’t coming back out, Mademoiselle de Morel.”
14
Cadence
“Icouldn’t sleep.Surprisingly,I have too much on my mind.”
Slate spins around on his stool, smiling smugly. “Would a curly-haired Adonis be to blame?”
“Could you be more arrogant?” Technically, he’s right, though. Heison my mind, but not because of his mussed hair or chiseled face, neither of which arethatattractive. “What happened to your forehead?”
He touches the yellowing bruise. “A ceiling beam. I’m taller than your average elf.”
Okay. . . “I’m going to go sit at a table.”
“Is that an invitation?”
I unzip my puffer coat, the heat of his gaze combined with the heat of the hissing radiators making my body uncomfortably warm. I almost wish I’d changed out of my turtleneck. “Did it sound like an invitation?”
One of his black eyebrows juts up, vanishing behind a springy curl. “Guess not.” He turns back toward the bar.
I stand frozen in place for a second. Here I was, certain he’d leap off his stool and trail me to a table. I’m usually good at reading people, but Slate’s confusing. Even though I was joking about his multiple identities, I realize I might’ve not been so far off the mark after all.
I swallow my pride and say, “If you get bored drinking alone, come find me,” then head over to an unoccupied table in the corner.
I should’ve stayed at home. Why did I think coming out to the tavern was a good idea?
“Bonsoir, chérie.” Nolwenn drops by my table as I’m sitting. “Is Alma coming?”
“No. It’s just me. We missed you at the party last night.”
“Wish we could’ve made it, but we closed up so late. Or rather, so early. Did Sylvie behave, or was that old bat all over Rainier?”
I smile because Sylvie is Nolwenn’s age. “She was, but I don’t think Papa’s interested.”
She smirks. “So, what can I get you?”
“The cheese plate and chamomile tea with honey.”
“Good choices. Found Juda asleep over the stove earlier, so I sent him upstairs to rest and I’m not quite the cook he is.”
“I hope he didn’t burn himself.”
She flaps her hand. “The old man’s sturdy as a witch’s cauldron.”
