Page 68 of A Reign of Storm and Madness

“Morning,” he says, beaming brightly. “What can I get you, folks?”

“Two coffees,” Ruen says, holding up two fingers and nodding to an empty table towards the back of the sitting area. “We’ll be sitting over there. Please have someone bring it to us.” He drops a dozen denza onto the countertop, adding two denza as a tip on top of the price of the two coffees. Then without waiting for the man’s response, he reaches back and snags me by the waist and steers me around the various tables towards the one he’d indicated.

Steam lifts off the cups the men drink, making the smell permeate the entire room. A soft green couch backs the wall at the table Ruen stops aside. He pulls out the chair across from the couch and I frown, slipping around him and the chair to take a seat on the couch with my back to the wall. His mouth twitches before he frowns deeply.

“This chair is for you,” he states, gripping the back of it as he glares at me from beneath the hood of his cloak.

“I like having my back to the wall.”

“So do I,” he says.

I shrug. “Too slow then. You can have this seat when I leave.”

Instead of answering me, however, or commenting on the ‘when I leave’ bit, Ruen grits his teeth and shoves the chair back in before rounding the table. My eyes widen and I scramble out of the way as his ass sinks onto the couch next to me.

“What are you doing?” I hiss at him, irritation clear in my tone.

He ignores me. Bastard.

The man from the countertop stops by our table a moment later, dropping off the two cups of the black liquid. If he finds it odd for two people to be sitting on the same side of a damn table, it doesn’t show on his face. He sets down a small matching porcelain plate with a little pitcher of what looks like milk, a handleless cup that has cubes of sugar, and tongs onto the surface of our table. Once he’s gone, flitting back to another table, I grab one of the cups and drag it towards me. The outside of the porcelain is warm to the touch, not surprising considering the steam lifting away from the rim.

After the icy wind outside, I cup the mug in my hands for a minute, letting it warm my palms. Ruen immediately reaches forward and lifts his to his lips to take a sip. I watch him for a beat before lifting my own cup to my mouth and taking a sip. I cough and set it back down immediately.

“It’s bitter!” I turn accusing eyes to the man next to me.

The corner of Ruen’s lips twitch upward, but he doesn’t say anything as he sips at his drink a bit more. How is he doing that without any expression? I scowl at the mug in my hands. How can something that smells so good taste so … awful?

“Try the milk and sugar,” Ruen murmurs quietly.

I eye the two things skeptically. How could they make this foul-tasting liquid any better? How are there so many damn people in this place still drinking it? With a sigh, Ruen sets his cup down and then reaches for the milk. He lifts the mini pitcher and dumps a hefty amount in and then grabs the tongs next, dropping at least three cubes into my cup until the liquid, now a light brown compared to the black from before, is at the rim. He stirs with the tongs until he seems satisfied and then sits back.

“Try it now,” he commands.

I lift the mug back to my lips and take a hesitant sip. The note of bitterness is still there, but not nearly as overwhelming. A soft breath escapes me though as the warm liquid pours down my throat and warms me from the inside out.

“It’s good,” I admit.

He hums in the back of his throat and goes back to his own drink. After a few beats, I chance another look at him. “Look,” I begin, “I know you and I don’t get along—”

He snorts. The first sound of amusement I think I’ve heard from him. “Understatement,” he says, setting his half-drunk mug down, “but go on.”

“You can’t come with me to meet my brother.”

Cool eyes meet mine. I expect him to tell me ‘too bad’ or ‘tough shit,’ but instead, he tilts his head to the side and looks at me. His eyes don’t glow like they have in the past. Today, they’re a simple clear blue. He doesn’t exude the natural Divinity that usually sits at the surface of his skin. Instead, in this darkened coffee room, he looks almost normal. If someone like him could ever be called something so pedestrian.

“Why is that?” he finally asks.

I release a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “My brother doesn’t like Mortal Gods.” I decide to stick with some truths. Lies are easier to warp when they’re based on fact. “He’s uncomfortable around them and I want to make sure that he knows I’m well after … everything that’s happened.” I pause before that last part, subtly reminding him of his part in my punishment and why he thinks we’re here.

Long moments of silence descend between us. Sweat gathers at the base of my neck and slips down my spine beneath my borrowed tunic. I wait, curious to know what Ruen will say, what he will decide. At the end of the day, I truly cannot take him to Madam Brione’s so if he refuses to listen, then I’ll have to call this whole trip off and getting out of the Academy will have been a waste.

Ruen lifts his head away from mine and gazes across the room. Unlike true taverns, there are books on the walls. Some patrons at the tables are drinking along with papers strewn in front of them or books of various types spread on their laps. I’d meant to bring him into a tavern and get him a little drunk before disappearing on him, but I think this place suits him far better.

“How far from this coffee house does your brother live?” he asks.

I stiffen, debating on how to answer. Truth. Lie. Or half and half. I go with the truth. “Several blocks,” I answer. “Deeper into the slums than the edges, but I can run there in under thirty minutes.”

Ruen seems to consider my words. Several more silent moments pass and I reach for my coffee, drinking down more of it as it cools. When my cup is nearly empty, Ruen sighs. “Go,” he says quietly, “you have exactly three hours until I come looking for you.”

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