Page 34 of The Omega Thief

“Your Highness.”

They all turned at the different voice as the soldier ran in. “We’ve caught a trespasser.” And that was it. Both Thakeray and Raz were gone in an instant.

Attiker wrinkled his nose again and stepped back. “I don’t know how you can just stand there with that goddess-awful smell.”

Laronne looked at him and seemed to consider what he said. Laronne waved his minions in to take care of the body. “I am aware, Your Highness, you’ve had a long day, but there’s something I would like to try if you can spare me any time in the healer ward.” He smiled. “I promise not to tie you to a bed.”

To be honest, Attiker didn’t care what he had to do to get away from that awful smell that turned his stomach over, so he agreed happily. They walked back the way they had come, a guard trailing at a discreet distance. This time, they diverted before they reached the royal quarters and entered the healer area. “Seems like I was only here yesterday…or actually this morning,” Attiker joked. His stomach growled, surprisingly. They’d had a good breakfast, and he should’ve been okay with the elderberry scones, but he was starving now he was away from the stench.

Laronne didn’t comment, just guided him into a small sitting room next to the healer ward. “I want to conduct an experiment, if I may.”

He rang his bell and ordered a small amount of food, just one dish. Attiker didn’t say a word, of course, but he would have given anything to be eating Jenny’s steak and ale pie at the Salamander right about now. When the small bowl of leaves with no dressing arrived, Attiker couldn’t help but look at Laronne in confusion.

Laronne seemed to think it amusing. “I’m trying a new menu for my patients. I need to know what will be acceptable and then what would likely make them sicker.”

Attiker stuck it out with tiny sample tastes. Some were mild, some were bloody awful. But when he was presented with a mutton pie at least a day too ripe, he had to back away and concentrate on not being sick.

Laronne waved everyone away after that, poured Attiker a cup of plain water, and made him drink it before Attiker’s stomach settled enough for him to sit.

“Laronne,” Attiker gasped. “I’m sorry, but if that’s what you’re feeding your patients, then your death toll is going to increase unmanageably.”

“I am truly sorry, Your Highness,” Laronne said, laughing as the servants cleared the offending items away, “to put you through that, but I had to know.”

He huffed. “Had to know what?”

Laronne smiled and waited for the servants to leave. “You still have your wolf. He lives.”

Attiker stilled. “What?” he said faintly.

“Sit. I promise the food served will be good.” Laronne rang a little bell, and four people appeared, all with separate serving dishes. There was a cauliflower and cheese baked pie. Roast pork so fresh and tender it couldn’t be cut but fell from the bone. Fresh greens and sweet onions. Carrots baked till, after one crunch, they melted in your mouth. Glazed turkey dripping in honey and raspberries, and an apple tart with fresh clotted cream.

An hour later, Attiker was stuffed. He couldn’t move. He’d also never in his life eaten so much in one sitting. To be fair, he doubted if he’d eaten as much before in a whole week.

Laronne had insisted he drink water throughout the meal, but now he poured them both a glass of claret from a collection gifted to him by Queen Mother.

Attiker wanted to lie down. For the rest of the day. No, for the rest of the year.

He thought about what Laronne had said, and he’d tried to ask, but Laronne had flatly refused to discusscourt business,as he put it, until they’d finished their repast. If Laronne ate this in any regular fashion, he didn’t know how the man wasn’t the size of a barn.

Attiker groaned pitifully and managed to lift his legs onto the couch. Just.

Laronne chuckled. “Your Highness—”

“I’m way too full to get my mouth around any more titles,” Attiker practically mewled. “I’m Attiker, and I hereby christen youKiller.”

Laronne seemed to consider that a compliment and nodded sagely. “It certainly wins out overHealeror how I’m addressed when my patients consider the cure to be worse than the ailment,” he added dryly.

Attiker—for some reason—found this hysterically funny and when he’d sobered, he glared at the claret. Twice in one day, people had plied him with drink.

“In my defense,” Laronne expanded, looking like he too wished to put his feet up, “this is the most fun I’ve had in a considerable time. Your face when Cook brought the three-day-old mutton pie out was a sight to see.” He widened his eyes. “It was still good and made an excellent supper for the regiment.”

Attiker shook his head in horror. “My prince’s enemies have no need to wage war. Just feed them that slop, and they would retreat immediately.”

Laronne twinkled, sighed, then gave up trying to sit decorously and dragged over a buffet to rest his feet on. “Attiker”—he experimented with the name—“as I said, your wolf is there, simply dormant. Your sense of smell, hearing, and taste have all grown exponentially. I guessed as much when the dead body affected you so, and my little experiment this afternoon confirmed it.”

Attiker thought about that. “What does that mean?”

Laronne shrugged. “I have no idea. I don’t have a wolf myself. Just know how to recognize it in others.”

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