Hella snickered. “Not so big as Cael’s.”
Tristan roared with laughter, and Cassandra nearly spit out her wine. “Wh-what?” she sputtered, chuckling. “Have you done a side-by-side comparison, Hella?”
Tristan tucked his wings, tearing off a piece of flatbread and savoring the warm, chewy texture. “Showers at the barracks are co-ed. Vestians are not shy nor ashamed of their bodies. Cael is somewhat of a legend among the ranks.”
Cassandra’s face went slack, her eyes glazed and her cheeks reddening. Tristan was certainly no slouch in the endowment department, which Cassandra already well knew, so he could only imagine what she was picturing.
“I’m sure he’d be happy to show it to you,” Tristan said around a mouthful of rice. The food stuck in his throat at the casual mention of his friend.
He knew better than to worry, knew Cael had been in similarly dangerous situations before, and had always gotten himself out. Tristan had utter faith in his friend’s abilities to survive, no matter how dire the circumstances. Not to mention he had a cadre of Brachian warriors on their way to fetch him.
But Maksym was a new brand of crazy that neither Tristan nor Cael had yet dealt with. The Windrider’s zealotry for the Fallen Goddess was unhinged and dangerous. Unpredictable. Tristan knew far too little about the Goddess’s long-repressed dogma, a blindspot that would need to be remedied as soon as possible.
And Tristan had received no windwhispers from Cael at all, which suggested two possibilities. One, Cael’s magic was being suppressed. Or two… Tristan didn’t even want to consider it.
Cassandra’s husky voice brought him out of his anxious thoughts. “So, Hella, what made you decide to come to the colonies and join the Vestians?”
Something flared in his chest at Cassandra’s curiosity about his colleague. Maybe she was just making polite conversation, but he wanted her to get to know his world. Wanted her to be a much bigger part of it.
“Where I come, is honor to protect weak,” Hella said before taking a precise bite of her chicken. She moved gracefully, economically for someone so large. It was what made her such a formidable foe—many enemies had fallen by underestimating her agility. “Every hundred years, is contest in my home, Syvalle. All warriors compete to serve as Vestian. I win first contest back four hundred years, after war. Bring great pride to family. Only females win contest since.”
Tristan had very fond memories of his visits to Syvalle as a teenager. And of the territory’s stunning warrior women who’d played a pivotal role in his pubescent dreams.
“By far the stronger sex.” Tristan winked at Cassandra, and her answering smile stirred his feathers.
“And you?” Hella asked. “Why you leave order?”
Cassandra blew out a long exhale and laid her utensils down. Tristan refilled her wine glass, and she took a bolstering sip.
“I didn’t want to be weak anymore.” She echoed Hella’s words, though Tristan suspected it wasn’t to shame the female Vestian’s assessment of her species.
“It take courage to make big change,” Hella said, cradling Cassandra’s hand. “You very strong, tiny human.”
“Did Tristan tell you to call me that?”
Hella’s broad, pink lips curved into a wry smile, her golden eyes twinkling. “Maybe so. But is true. You strong. You win contest in Syvalle.”
“Against full-blooded Fae warriors? I know we just met, Hella, but you don’t need to blow smoke up my ass.”
Hella glanced down at her massive backside. “Smoke up ass? Is new sex game?”
All three burst into shrieking laughter, earning annoyed glances from the other diners in the crowded room.
As their hilarity subsided, Hella downed the rest of her wine and then rose from the table, a mountain of muscled flesh and sanguine wings. “Time to bed, friends. I see you in morning in Meridon, yes?”
Tristan nodded. “Goodnight, Hella. Thanks for the laughs.” He tipped his wine glass at her.
“Goodnight,” Cassandra echoed. “Sleep well.”
“I not sleep well on boats,” Hella groaned. “Too many rocking.” She clutched her stomach.
“I have something that might help!” Cassandra chirped, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a tea sachet. “Ginger tea. It helps with nausea and motion sickness.”
“Thank you, Cassandra. I will try.” Hella took the sachet before striding through the room, angling her enormous body and wings through the crowded tables.
“Ginger tea, huh?” Tristan leaned across the table. “Who taught you about that?”
“Some smarmy, arrogant male who once helped me through a hangover.”
