The rebel himself swaggered across the terrace. As he approached, the spiked jewelry lining his ear flashed like a torture device.
Nicu glanced toward Lyrik with open inquiry, while the squatter did no such thing. Ignoring my dubious glower, he slumped on the bench and stuffed tobacco into a roll of paper. Leaning toward the flames, he lit the butt and sucked on its contents, which released a charred scent.
With the cigarette propped between his lips, Lyrik reclined and slapped his seat, beckoning his visitors. As we convened around the fire, Aspen chose the banquette next to mine, wood creaking under her shapely ass.
I shifted and threw my gaze elsewhere. In an effort to remain productive, I scrutinized Lyrik instead. Aside from questionable grooming habits, he exceeded Nicu’s age by three years. Beyond those trivial details, something about this man rang familiar. Although I could not place him and never came across his likeness during my mission, recognition crawled across my flesh like a scorpion.
Casually, Lyrik puffed on the cigarette and stared at the heavens, all while extracting the rondel dagger and absently executing a series of deft maneuvers. His weapon flipped and spun from one hand to the next, the dexterous motions capable of impressing the world’s most famous juggler, in addition to every army on the continent.
I squinted. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“Prison,” Lyrik deadpanned.
Fucking impertinent thug. Aspen rolled her eyes, and Nicu folded in his lips to keep from chuckling, while I did nothing of the sort. Lyrik’s lack of reformed qualities proved this hoodlum had never spent a disciplinary hour behind bars. Two reasons came to mind. Either he’d never been caught, or the maximum security wing of the nearest correctional fortress had been full, and the authorities released him out of blatant laziness or overwhelming stupidity.
Lyrik provided dinner consisting of hearty rye bread and roasted corn. With a flap of his hand, he waved off my offer to compensate for our portion. “Think I can’t afford to feed you fuckers? Just help with the upkeep, and we’re even.”
“No, we are not.” I flung a bag of coins, the sack hitting his athletic chest. “We shall do our part to maintain this enclave. And we’ll pay for our meals.”
Aspen and Nicu agreed, not buying the man’s hospitality. The refusal to accept our money had less to do with pride and more with precaution. Since he couldn’t get rid of our company,the opportunist hoped to keep us indebted in case it benefited him later.
Lyrik grunted but pocketed the coil sack without much care. Judging from the tight weave of his leathers and the dark green velvet lining his collar, this deviant had found himself an unlicensed yet prosperous trade.
Plucking a jug from the ground, Lyrik swirled the contents, took a deep draught, and held out the vessel. “Elderberry nectar. Good stuff.”
Aspen wavered. For all his social eagerness, Nicu hesitated as well. Having lived with a grandmother who practiced the healing arts, then witnessing his mother’s poisoning upon her return from exile, then spending years observing Jeryn’s medical genius, and being a member of the heavily guarded Royal family, this young man was hardly naive.
Without taking my eyes off Lyrik, I swiped the bottle and inhaled its contents, then tipped back the fluid. The bold flavor seeped into my palate, dark and rich with a hint of bitterness that added complexity. While I would not call myself an expert taste tester, nothing unusual stood out.
Lyrik slouched back, his expression mild. “I’m flattered.”
“Fuck your flattery.” I nodded to Aspen and Nicu. “It is safe.”
“Damn right, it’s safe.” The alchemist withdrew a pouch of black powder from his pocket and sprinkled them into the flames, then leaned forward and folded his arms over both thighs. “The particles keep the fire going longer. Care to analyze that too?”
Whatever. Given his vocation, he could not blame us for our vigilance. Nor did I give a damn what he thought.
We feasted. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten how animated an eater Aspen was, her tongue lapping buttery juice from her lips, the exhibition loosening my grip on the pint I’d beenholding. If I had to endure another moment of this, I would surely go mad.
Irritation spiced my tongue. “Napkins were invented for the purpose of cleaning one’s hands.”
The woman made a show of mopping excess fluid from her pinky. “Huh. I must have missed that lesson in finishing school.”
“You don’t need to be a noble to practice table manners.”
“Point me to a napkin, then. And I’ll be sure to slap it across your condescending face.”
“I would not make such a threat with confidence.”
“Of course, not. You’re too busy patting yourself on the back for being flawless.”
Aspen and I exchanged withering looks that spiked my cock with heat. In the background, Lyrik stretched an arm across the bench and observed our feud, the sizzling cigarette poised between his fingers.
Presumably growing bored within two seconds of the exchange, this convict-in-training blew plumes of smoke through his nostrils. “So to recap. I’m here as a solitary creature.” He pointed the glowing cigarette at Aspen. “Adventure.” Then he pointed at me. “Protection.”
Slower than necessary, he took another drag and swerved toward Nicu, vaporous tendrils slithering around his face like pythons. “And you? What’s this I hear about you feeling rebellious?”
Nicu had stopped watching the rogue, opting instead to study the constellations that glinted through the netting of leaves. “I’m hunting for my stars.”
