A palpable grumpy aura prickles around Bell; his headaches tend to tank his mood, and he never wants to be bothered. So, Rakos takes one for the team and continues the conversation with the others. “Will you all be working at the bloodmasque?”
“Not me,” Petunia says. “Too many mages who might interfere with my art.”
Merry raises his bottle. “I’ll be working my ass off. Or my mouth. You know, they say—”
“That you have the loudest mouth in Draskora, yes,” Teodor says.
Merry shoves him. “That isnotwhat they say about my mouth.” His grin to Rakos cuts off after a glance at Bell. “Bloodmasques are perfect for bed work. Plenty of wealthy mages and nobles want to blow off steam, plus they don’t want to cuddle after. If I’m lucky, there’ll even be a dragonrider or seven.”
Rakos sips from his port, trying to conceal his sudden interest by asking a question he doesn’t care about. “Do you know which Houses will be attending?”
“Let me think…”
“He has no idea,” Teodor says.
“What about dragonriders?” Rakos’s voice is normal, he’s sure. Unaffected by the mention of dragons, and unaffected by Bell’s thigh pressed against his.
“Who cares, as long as they’re drunk and wealthy.” Merry sighs, dreamy and unhelpful. “Though, they don’t need to be wealthy, as long as they make up for it… elsewhere. Hey, maybe Rakos Tem will be there. You fucked him once, right, Teo?”
Rakos chokes on his next sip of port, and Bell goes rigid next to him.
“Wrong dragonrider, that was Kamil Ivo. Andfuckis a strong word.” Teodor stretches, cracks his neck, and a smug smile crosses his face. “He cried while I watched him jerk off, then paid triple. Anyway, didn’t you hear Tem deserted? It’s everywhere.”
Okay, first, Rakos didn’t need to know that about Kamil. And second—
“Is Rakos a common name in Draskora?” Bell asks.
Rakos tenses. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if anyone answers wrong. If Bellthinkstoo hard about this.
But Merry saves the day. “Stupid common. My real name is Rakos, actually.” He cocks a thumb towards Petunia. “Her second husband was—”
“We don’t talk about my husbands,” Petunia says serenely.
“Right. Definitely. Don’t visit me later if you want gossip about Petunia’s husbands, because I’m circumspect and won’t say anything.” Merry winks broadly, then jumps up. “Right, I forgot something! Be right back.”
As he climbs into the wagon, Teodor snags the bottle of port for himself. Rakos tries to relax against the wagon wheel in case Bell senses his tension where they lean together. He doesn’t dare meet Bell’s eyes.
Merry returns moments later carrying a long wooden case. He kneels beside Teodor and flips open the latches, revealing a glossy, pale-wood instrument. With a wink, he offers it to Bell.
“I just remembered a client gave this to me a few years ago. Or forgot it in her dazed ecstasy. Play us a song?”
“Oh.” Bell takes the lute. “I don’t want to interrupt the conversation.”
Rakos squeezes his thigh, the touch tingling through his muscle. “I still haven’t heard you play.”
“Right.” Bell runs his fingers along the mouth of the lute, not quite touching the strings. A musician’s graceful fingers, Rakos thinks. “Well, the thing is, I only know how to play the Pathan lute.”
“Thatisa Pathan lute,” Teodor says.
Merry nudges him. “Really? How do you know that? You hate music.”
“I hateyourmusic.”
“Right,” Bell says again, with a sunny grin. “I was just testing you. Of course, it’s a Pathan lute. Now, let me, uh. Tune this beautiful Pathan lute…”
Quiet, disjointed notes rise as he plays with the strings.
Rakos leans back. When Bell’s thin fingers move in the lantern light, Rakos wants to cover Bell’s hands in his. When Bell bite his lip, Rakos wants to be the one biting instead.
