Exhaustion? That was fine; he loved to sleep. Hunger? He’d gone most of his childhood hungry; he could manage. Injuries? Healers were talented; an injury almost always came with a good story.
But boredom? Gods save him, he couldn’t stand it.
He twirled his knife on the sitting room table, sinking further into his chair with a sigh. Make no mistake, he was beyond thankful for the relative safety they’d found here in Desva. There was the drama with the Elders, but at least Mariah wasn’t under constant threat of assassination.
Not yet, anyway.
There was just nothing todo. He, Mariah, Trefor, and Matheo trained every day, then ate, then the Armature took turns on guard shift. Drystan would join occasionally, but he still spent most of his time with Feran.
Quentin had watched Mariah and Matheo slip from the house that morning while Trefor tittered about with the two housekeepers who’d arrived shortly after. The blond-haired Armature had filled Quentin in on Mariah’s rough morning, onlyadding to the layer of tension that settled over the house. With Sebastian and Ciana escorting the Onitan refugees, Feran still recovering, and Kiira and Rylla visiting their family, that left only him and Delaynie at theserekah.
Quentin tossed the knife in the air and caught it without looking. The sharp-tongued lady had been acting a bit off since they’d arrived in Kreah. She wasn’t normally bubbly, but she’d been more withdrawn than usual. As much as he enjoyed antagonizing her, doing so right now, with everything going on, felt wrong.
She’d likely spend the day with her mother and the other survivors from Ryenne’s court, anyway. That’s what she tended to do when the house was quiet and empty.
He exhaled heavily, pushing an errant lock of red hair from his eyes and sheathing his dagger into the baldric across his chest. Enough of the boredom. It was about damn time he got out of this house and did something.
Mariah had left; why couldn’t he?
He stood abruptly, chair screeching across the tile floor, nearly jogging his way to the stairwell and descending a flight to the cooler lower level of theserekah.He turned left, padding to the well-insulated room at the end of the hall.Quentin couldn’t deny his jealousy that Drystan and Feran got to stay down here. He’d been injured in that battle at Khento, too—not to the same extent as Feran, but enough to feel like he’d earned a day in this haven, hidden from the burning desert sun.
Maybe that was something he could ask Mariah when she returned?—
“Quentin? Everything all right?” Drystan lounged in an armchair, an open book perched on his lap, golden eyes peering at Quentin with curiosity and a tinge of worry. With both Mariah and Sebastian gone, he had been left in charge.
Quentin rocked back on his heels, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I…yes, everything’s fine.”
Drystan lifted a golden brow. “Did you need something, then?”
“I was thinking about heading into the city. Just to get a feel for the surroundings. Wanted to let you know before I left; Matheo is out with Mariah and Trefor is bustling around like a mother hen over some issue with the housekeepers.”
Drystan closed his book. “And the girls? The twins and Delaynie?”
“The twins are spending time with their family.” Quentin swallowed, palms growing clammy. “I’m not sure where Delaynie is. With her mother, most likely. I haven’t seen her today.”
Why was he nervous? It was just a question. He’d answered it honestly.
Feran shifted on the cot—Quentin honestly hadn’t noticed him there and jumped a bit when the warrior let loose a low groan—and Drystan shot him a concerned glance. A tense beat of silence followed before it became clear that sleep had found Feran once again. Drystan raked a hand through his unbound shoulder-length hair.
“Fine,” he said. “Go do your exploring.” He pushed onto his feet. “I’ll tell Delaynie, since it seems you’re too scared to do so yourself.”
Heat flooded Quentin’s cheeks. “I’m not scared.”
Drystan chuckled. “Save your breath, brother. Whatever is going on between the two of you, it’s none of my business.”
Desva’ssmooth sandstone streets gleamed in the risen sun. The sky sparkled, a stark tribute to the goddess the people of this country claimed as their own.
Quentin stalked slowly amongst the crowds, hood pulled low to hide his features, scanning the trading bazaars and vendor stalls lining the market square.
Whatever is going on between the two of you, it’s none of my business.
Quentin scoffed at Drystan’s lingering words. The golden-haired warrior was far too nosy for his own good. Besides, he had no idea what he was talking about.
There wasnothinggoing on between Quentin and Delaynie. He loved annoying her, that was all. Loved the way her icy eyes sparked, the way her hidden bite rose each time he called her “little wolf.” Loved the way her façade would fall and her fangs would slip free every time he pushed her just far enough.
No; there was definitely nothing going on. She was constantly irked by him. It was probably even a stretch to say they were friends.
A hard shoulder slammed into Quentin’s side. He staggered a step, wincing.
