Page 42 of Blood of Wolves

Náli made a low, outraged sound.

“It’s a good thing Tessa came North and doesn’t have to marry the heir of Hope Hall – he’s a prat, but he does favor those coat closets, let me tell you.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Náli asked, knuckles white on the chair arms, expression stricken.

Oliver dropped his casual act. “Because I’m asking you to do something dangerous, and if you don’t want to go, that’s quite all right. But I’d like you to think you can trust me. From one prickly shithead to another, I like you. And, at the risk of overstepping several boundaries, you strike me as terribly unhappy. If it would help to unburden yourself to someone – someone whoisn’tbound to you – then, well, I’m offering. For whatever that’s worth.”

Náli blinked at him a few moments, his discomfiture slowly morphing into a softer, less sure sentiment. He wet his lips, and averted his gaze again, firelight dancing across the crisp lines of his profile. “No one likes me.”

“Ugh. I just told you that I did. And so does your friend, clearly – the big one?”

“Ulf.”

“Yes, Ulf. He must like you. And I know that Leif does – Rune, too, probably. And Mattias–”

“Mattias doesn’t like me.” Said with harsh bitterness, lips pressed to a thin, pale line.

“No,” Oliver said, as gently as he could. “I imagine it’s a sentiment much deeper and more painful than simple liking.”

Náli sneered – and then wiped his face, quickly, with the cuff of his shirt.

Oliver allowed him to gather a few ragged breaths, and then, tone still soft, said, “I’m new to magic. I guess, considering what’s happened, I was born with it – but I wasn’t taught how to use it, growing up. Not like you.”

Náli’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and Oliver felt like a heel. It was beyond obvious, at this point, that Náli didn’t enjoy his magic; no matter how useful for the kingdom, it was an anchor around his neck, rather than a buoy.

“But your magic is powerful, and the drakes respond to it.”

“Hmph.”

“The little one adores you.” Oliver risked saying, “Have you come up with a name for him?”

Náli turned back to face him, teeth bared – but it was a pained sort of snarl, without any true threat behind it. “Why would I name that stupid lizard?”

“Náli,” Oliver said, evenly.

Náli took a long, slow breath, his gaze dark, unhappy. But, then: “Valgrind.”

Oliver felt his brows shoot up. Surprised. Pleased, though he fought a smile.

Náli scowled. “Doesn’t your stupid duchy share our gods? Valgrind: the fence around the underworld.”

The smile was even harder to hold back, now. Oliver nodded. “Ah, right. I like that.” He paused. “So, in a way, you’ve named him in the spirit of your own household–”

“Oh, shut up,” Náli fumed, sitting back, kicking his legs up onto the footstool in front of him. He crossed his arms and sulked, and looked more like himself, and less like the sad, lovesick boy who thought he couldn’t have what he wanted.

Oliver swallowed a chuckle. “I think I’ve named the female – Percy’s mate.”

Náli gave a noncommittal grunt.

“My aunt is the most ferocious woman I know. Lady Katherine.”

Náli blinked, and then coughed a laugh. “Oh, no, you wouldn’t.”

“How about Kat?”

“I think your aunt will have your hide the next time she sees you.” And, finally, Náli smiled. A small victory. “You truly are terrible at this, aren’t you?”

Oliver smiled back, and nodded. “Valgrind is too small to ride, still, I think.”

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