“It’s interesting that the Guard has secondary uniforms,” Arken was saying as I made my way back to the table, several flagons of ale in hand for my lieutenants and Laurel. The Little Conduit had politely declined any alcohol on an empty stomach, which pleased me more than I cared to admit.
“Secondarywhat now?” Jeremiah was asking with a raised brow, before glancing back at me. “Oh.”
“That’s his secondary uniform, alright,” Hans snickered. “Or, as I like to call it,bait.”
“I heard that,” I said, dropping off the ale.
“Is he wrong, though?” Laurel challenged, seeming amused. “Seems to me like that tunic of yours is awfully low-cut. Ill-fitting, or intentional, Vistarii?”
I grinned wolfishly, resisting the urge to catch Arken’s eye even though I could feel her gaze traversing over me with newfound intrigue.
“Now, now,” I purred. “I can’t exposeallmy methods of acquiring delicate information.”
Hans wasn’t wrong, though. Not in the slightest. My attire today, like most days, was crafted and donned with intention. Unless I was doing more routine work such as guarding the gates, or babysitting a lecture, it was rare to catch me in the official uniform of the Elder Guard. I was recognizable enough as is, what with the massive facial scar, a pretty face, and a mild degree of notoriety—so anything that might help me keep even aslightlylower profile was conducive to my work.
And as far as the “low-cut” tunic was concerned, well, that was intentional too. When it came to the acquisition of information, it was all too easy for me to rely on baser human instincts. I wasn’t afraid to use every tool in my arsenal to get things done. It was a simple truth: lips were loosened by attraction—and I was perfectly content to let myself be ogled when it lent me such advantages in the field.
As Laurel and Hans returned to slinging pointed barbs back and forth, I took notice of a small group of guardsmen who had just entered the room. Jeremiah appeared to notice them with interest, as well.
“I’ll be right back,” he murmured to us as he placed his napkin on the table. “I want to check in with Kraiggson.”
“That’s one way to phrase it,” Hans snorted, his expression knowing as he took a large quaff of ale. It didn’t slip my notice that he was strategically avoiding my sharpened gaze.
The fuck was he talking about?
Laurel tilted her head in curiosity as well, to which Hans only shrugged as my other lieutenant took his leave and waltzed up to the bar. I continued to chew on the warm hunk of sourdough bread that had accompanied my lunch of rabbit stew, beginning to piece certain implications together.
I tuned in and out of the conversation at the table, mostly watching Jeremiah now.
As he was conversing with Grant, one of the younger guardsmen in our scouting unit, the man was smiling—laughing. At ease. I continued to observe in careful silence, noting the way he leaned into the other man, the tips of his pale ears tinged with a deepening pink.
Ah. Cradle robber indeed.
Jeremiah had a godsdamned crush on a freshling. And under any other circumstances, I might have been happy for the man, but—
Arken yawned, stretching herself out while seated on the bench beside me. All it took was one brush of her ample thigh against mine, and suddenly my train of thought was entirely derailed. A small groan of relief escaped her mouth as she worked out whatever kink in her posture had been bothering her.
Good gods,that sound.
I took a needlessly large sip of my water and returned my focus to the conversation at hand… to the best of my ability.
“So, as I was saying. I really don’t know what’s got the Zephirin’s all worked up over this. I mean,ifthey’re as worked up as people say,” Hans was saying to Laurel.
“Oh, trust me.They are,” Laurel confirmed.
Ugh.
“I cannot believe you’re still talking about this shit,” I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Arken’s quiet snort was the only validation I needed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Arken
I, for one, found it endlessly amusing that Hans Deering, a highly respected lieutenant in the Elder Guard of Sophrosyne, was so very invested in the latest romantic scandal between the Houses. Apparently, Penelope Zephirin, second heir to the House of Gales, had recently run off with Johan Ymir—the son of Lord Gabriel Ymir of Samhaven. This was apparently a big deal. Kieran, however, did not seem to agree.
“Listen here, Captain. You might have grown up in the peace of Pyrhhas, but some of us come from the messier Houses. Let us bask in the hometown drama,” Hans shot back, rolling his eyes at his captain.