They grunt in preoccupied satisfaction of their own choices.
I pick up the bottle of prosecco by the neck, wipe off the top with a napkin, and take a swig before setting it down again. I’m not sure if it’s the bubbles or the fermented grapes, but prosecco always goes straight to my head.
I’d love to disappear into those bubbles for a little while after what happened with Ansaldo.
Unable to stall any longer, I narrow my eyes at the risotto. “What is this?”
Cec gawks with an open mouth full of it. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen risotto before. And you call yourself Italian.”
“Don’t talk to me about seeing things, Cecilio.”
He clutches at his heart. “A low blow.”
I pick up my full plate, eyeballing it with trepidation. “Why is it yellow?”
“It’s the saffron,” Bes says.
“But—”
Bes huffs. “For the gods’ sakes, Miss Hawkins, try some. You might actually like it.”
I blow an errant hair out of my face. “Fine.”
Bringing the spoon up to my mouth, I take a tentative bite.
Any uncertainties I had about the color of the dish disappear, and I’m once again punched in the mouth by glorious flavor.I was wrong to question food—so wrong.It’s a cornucopia of sweet, floral, and earthy flavors, with a hint of dry white wine at the end. Beside it on the plate, I find a square of focaccia bread, equally as delicious. I take turns between them, eating it far too quickly and wishing I had more.
I finish my meal much faster than them—it’s either eat quick or go hungry in my house—and feel the need to fill the silence. I’ve managed to avoid it until this moment, given how hungry I turned out to be, but I can’t wait any longer to get some answers.
“Since the blood oaths are, in fact, real, I suppose that means magic is real as well.”
A part of me expects Bes to defer to Ansaldo again, but, after what happened, perhaps he no longer feels that’s necessary.
Bes considers this. “In a sense. Though nothing like you’ve read about in fiction books. It’s a more… natural magic.”
Nothing about what happened in the great hall was natural.
“Do they truly tattoo dried-up leaves somewhere on your body so that you can possess whatever powers the gods have chosen to grant you with?” I grasp the half-empty bottle of prosecco and take another swig of it. “You can’t honestly expect me to believe that.”
“Believe it?” Bes wipes his mouth with his napkin. “You saw with your own eyes that the blood oaths are real. How is this any different?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “The blood oaths may have been proven true, but I’m having trouble wrapping my head around tattoos allowing a person to gain actual powers.”
Bes scratches at his jaw, where the beginnings of new stubble has already appeared. “I suppose it is a bit fantastical.”
“A bit?”
Cec comes to my aide. “Have some perspective, Bes: we’ve been around the order for most of our lives, and we’ve witnessed firsthand the gods bestowing their powers on its initiates, including ourselves. Hawkins has never seen the ceremony. For bloody’s sake, a week ago, she didn’t even know we existed.”
I almost laugh. “Christ, I’ve known you two idiots for less than a week? Time truly is meaningless.”
“Aye.” Cec holds up a hand, and grips the neck of the prosecco with the other, taking a long pull. “That’s lovable idiots to you.”
I pause before I speak again. “At least tell me you both know you’ve pledged yourself to a glorified religion, right? With a long, bloody, sordid history?”
“We do,” Bes confirms.
“Did you know everything about thembeforetaking your oaths?”
