He sucks his oil-smeared fingers, then wipes them on his napkin. “Baby’s smaller than this here fingerling potato, Syb.”
“How do you expect him to grow if you steal his food?” When she drags her plate farther from him, propping her elbow on the table for good measure, I laugh.
Phoebustsks. “And they call me the dramatic one . . .”
Sybille tips him a toothy grin that elicits more laughter, this time from both Pheebs and me.
How wondrous this evening is. I glance aroundMurgadh’Thábhainand sigh deeply, sated both by the delicious feast and the tangible happiness circulating around this cavern in the sky. Sitting here, in the torchlit darkness, one can almost imagine Luce is at peace and all is well with the world. But the world is far from well.
A bowl full of glistening fingerling potatoes is lowered in front of Phoebus. Both my friend and I crane our necks, tracking the large black hand that held the bowl to a certain rugged tavern owner.
Connor’s Adam’s apple jostles in his thick throat. “I served myself too manybántata.”
Phoebus stares and stares, clearly at a loss for words, so I thank Connor in his stead.
As he retreats, I murmur around a smile, “Your future lover is such an attentive man.”
A blush steals across Phoebus’s jaw. “He runs a tavern. He’s attentive to everyone’s stomachs, Picolina. Besides, he’s not interested.”
I nudge his knee with mine. “Sweetheart, he’s interested. I think you should go thank him.”
“I agwee weef Fallom.” Sybille’s cheeks are so full of food that her words are garbled.
Phoebus bites his lip. “You really think—”
“Yes!” Syb and I say at the same time, the volume of our answer launching our friend’s ass off his seat.
He runs both his hands up the sides of his face and through his hair, inhaling and exhaling in rapid successions. “What if—”
“Go,” I say.
“Okay.” He takes a step in the direction Connor went, but then boomerangs right back. “No.” He shakes his head. “He said he wasn’t in the right headspace. He’s probably still not in the right headspace.”
“Do you know how many times I said no to Lore?”
“Too many,” someone answers softly.
I tip my head back to get a glimpse of the person who’s apparently well versed in my dating history.
Have you already forgotten the sound of my voice?
It’s noisy.
Lore smiles gently, fatigue crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Shall we retire? I’m shattered.”
I take his extended hand and stand. “Absolutely.”
Sybille’s gray eyes begin to sparkle, and a smile kinks up the side of her mouth. She angles herself away from her plate and opens her arms. As I deliver her awaited hug, she murmurs, “Someone else is going to be shattered come morning. Or at least, some body parts belonging to that someone.”
I laugh, then pinch her arm. “You’re terrible, Syb.”
In spite of my heels, I push up on my toes to drop a kiss onto Phoebus’s puffing cheek and a murmur into his ear. “He brought you potatoes.”
And then I twirl back toward Lore, who tucks me under his arm and says, “Do you know how one wins a war, Acolti?”
I doubt my friend can focus on much else than Connor at the moment, but he surprises me by saying, “By gathering the strongest and smartest army?”
“No. Wars are won by those who refuse to surrender, no matter how many battles are lost on the way.”
