“You agreed to any questions.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Aegir let out a long breath before replying. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to be relieved from me. If you wanted me to ask for your replacement.”
“Oh…why didn’t you ask me then?”
“I’m afraid that’s three questions, Cordelia.”
“I should have bargained better,” I mumbled.
“No, I’m the one who should have bargained better. I should have limited your questions to the waitress.”
“If you had, I wouldn’t have agreed to bargain.”
“How come? Aren’t you at least a little bit curious about her whispers?”
“Not really. Joel had already told me what I needed to know,” I replied, simpering.
With an annoyed tone, Aegir grumbled, “I swear to Boreas, someday, I’m going to have to freeze that blabbermouth’s tongue.” But then he smiled—wickedly—and purred, looking my way, “Wait…you said youneededto know.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I almost snapped, my voice a note or two higher than I would have liked. “The betting stands will close once the show begins. We should hurry.”
Aegir’s nostrils flared as he looked around us. He then snatched my cup and tossed the water onto the ground, as if—as if there wasn’t a water shortage crisis around us! Then he filled my cup to its brim with his ale, and with a wink, said, “Here, don’t forget your water.” My lip caught between my teeth, and my eyes batted as I reached for the cup.
Aegir returned with a betting sheet in hand. We sat on a side bench, sipping on our ale. I explained how the races worked—the four championships, which included the flat race, the long distance harness race, the steeplechase, and for the mares, the short distance flat race.
“Well, I don’t know who any of these horses are. You should be the one filling this.”
“Me?”
“Yes, of course you. I did say I needed your assistance, did I not?” I thought he meant to serve him drinks and refill his plates.
“I cannot be seen placing bets, especially with Mounir’s eyes lurking around.”
His lips pursed. “I wish you’d chosen differently for him. He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you. If you ever change your mind, I’ll—”
“I made my decision. Let’s just focus on the horses.”
I remembered the horses’ names. I knew which ones excelled in what. I knew who had the most stamina, the most power, the most agility. I was also certain that most would bet on MockRay—last year’s winner with a record time, the most powerful stallion and the one with unending endurance. But earlier, when Ismail came close, I scented something I was quite familiar with. Ismail was always the one in charge of the king’s competing horses.
“Are you sure with that one?” Aegir asked. “I’m hearing the name MockRay quite a lot.”
“I’m sure. Well, I’m almost sure. I think MockRay may be sore or stiff. They probably overworked him.”
“And how do you know all that?”
“Ismail—the stableman, he carried the scent of arnica and peppermint.”
Aegir gave me a wicked half smile. “Look at you, acting all Fae.” I was certain my cheeks heated at that comment. Then he asked, “What’s this?” pointing at the bottom two boxes.
“Oh, that’s for you to tick whether you would want to keep the prize for yourself or donate it.”
“I see. All right, wait here. I’ll go hand this over, then we’ll join the others.”
“Oh, hey! There she is—our axe thrower! Delia’s here, guys,” Joel announced to everyone in Sharlam. And although I wasn’t looking at the king’s stall, I could vividly imagine Mounir looking at me in disgust at the enthusiastic bellowing of my name. Aegir must have seen my facial scrunch as he leaned in and said, “Relax, I’ve set a sound barrier. All he can hear is distant mumbling.”
My lips curled.
“Hey, Delia!” Darius called. I even received a small nod from Alarik, who stood with his back against the sandstone wall next to his brother.
