Page 50 of Of Blooming Embers
Rhaegar snorted, dismissing his friend with a wave while sweeping his eyes over Gavrel. “You’ll need to get a proper overcoat.”
The commander grunted.
“In a week’s time,” Breena added.
Gavrel grumbled under his breath, nodding at them before leaving and marching toward our lodging across the bridge.
Hugging my friend, I smirked. “I’ll ask Marek if he has an overcoat for Gav. Thank you for my dress, Bree. It’s beautiful. Want to practice dagger throwing with me tomorrow?”
“Absolutely. I’ll meet you at your place with the sunrise. Not sure if I’ll barge in or not, so it’s up to you if you have clothes on.” She wiggled the delicate slashes of her eyebrows as I chuckled my way out the door.
Marek’s shanty wasn’t far. I breathed in the crisp, damp air as I meandered to his door. As I lifted my fist to knock, his door swung open.
Bewildered, his mouth dropped until he collected himself. His chest was bare, per usual. Although he was fit, the sight of him didn’t turn my eye. He didn’t make my mouth water and heart flutter. Didn’t make my mind and body a traitor like the sight of Gavrel did. I frowned.
“Happy to see you as well,” he muttered. “Are you lost?”
With a heavy sigh, I suppressed my eye roll and pushed past him. It was tidy, but unadorned. Exactly how I would have pictured his home. Utilitarian, but comfortable.
“I just learned of the Moonbud Revelry,” I said, turning in a circle, eyes roaming over his space.
“Congratulations.”
A chuckle stuck in my throat. “Would you happen to have an overcoat Gavrel could borrow?”
He scoffed.
“Please?” My smile spread wide, eyebrows lifting.
He stomped over to a trunk in the corner, and after digging through piles of fabric, he whipped out a piece of clothing and tossed it to me. “That should do.”
“Why, I didn’t realize you had proper clothing,” I teased.
“If I could get away without breeches, I would. But I don’t want to cause a commotion among the mortalfolk.”
I cuffed him on the biceps, and it was like slapping stone. “Was that a joke? My Ancients. Have I died?”
He snorted, his head tilting ever so slightly. “I find it more efficient to go without a tunic. In this climate, the fabric clings, and anything that impedes my movements is impractical. One must always be ready for an attack.”
My eyes slid over the scars marring his flesh. To the wicked scar skating diagonally across his face. Lifting his chin, he met my eyes without shame.
“Helos is lucky to have you,” I repeated the accolade I’d given him the first day we met.
His jaw jutted forward, his chest rising and falling with even breaths. “Perhaps I am the lucky one.”
“It’s hard for you to take a compliment, isn’t it?”
Conceding, he dipped his head, his russet hair brushing his shoulders as he moved his head from side to side. “You sound like Yaya. She’s … she’s a fine woman. I do believe my life would be on a different course if I hadn’t found her.”
Compassion welled up under my breastbone. It was nice to see this softer side of him. There was something more to Marek than the haughtiness and contempt he wore as a shield, instead of a tunic, most days.
He sighed, the white slash through his left eyebrow rising. “Anything else, Seryn?”
My mouth pinched in an amused line. “No, thank you. This’ll do. Good night, Marek.”
He showed me out, his tongue pushing against his puckered lips. “Good night,” he mumbled, before closing the door behind me.
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