Page 13 of Slaying the Shadow Prince
‘I know,’ Drue mumbled. ‘How do you think he’s progressing?’ Both she and Adrienne had agreed that Gus was far too young for any formal duties, but he’d hounded them often enough that they’d allowed him to shadow some of the rangers, including his cousin, much to Dratos’ annoyance.
Adrienne laughed. ‘Slowly. What he lacks in skill, he makes up for with enthusiasm.’
Drue knew that too well. The last time Gus had tried to assist her in the stables, he’d nearly lit the damn building on fire. ‘Furies save us.’
‘Exactly. But though I’d never admit it to the little bastard… I miss him when he’s gone.’
‘I could do without the brutal honesty sometimes,’ Drue said.
Adrienne chuckled. ‘You still not over what he told you on your name day?’
‘You would be if someone informed you that you weregetting older but not smarter?’ Drue huffed, detecting Talemir’s gaze falling on her once again. Thankfully, there was a brief commotion as Terrence landed atop the table, sending a few empty bowls flying and spilling someone’s mead.
‘That’s hardly hygienic,’ Wilder muttered.
To her surprise, Talemir laughed deeply. ‘You haven’t had a bath in a week. What would you know about hygiene?’
‘Piss off.’
Talemir didn’t seem fazed in the least. Instead, he watched the bird with an awed but wary expression, following Drue’s movements as she fed the hawk a piece of meat from her plate.
‘What sort of name is Terrence for a bird of prey, anyway?’ he asked, not taking his eyes off them.
Adrienne chuckled. ‘Drue’s had him since he was a hatchling,’ she offered. ‘And when he first broke through that egg, he looked like a cranky old man – worse than Fendran and Baledor combined —’
‘That’s enough out of you, General,’ Fendran scolded from a few seats over.
But Adrienne simply grinned. ‘Drue and I thought “Terrence” suited him well enough then.’
Terrence’s head whipped around, as though the giant bird knew exactly what they were saying.
Talemir laughed, reaching for his drink. ‘He certainly scowls like an angry old bastard —’
There was a flash of a yellow beak, and Talemir gave a cry of surprise. A streak of blood smeared across the back of the Warsword’s hand and he cursed the hawk, snatching his hand away with a growl.
Drue snorted. ‘Terrence has always been an excellent judge of character.’
‘I assure you, in this case, he’s mistaken.’
Sitting back in her seat, Drue surveyed the warrior with a swelling sense of satisfaction. ‘Oh, I doubt that,’ she said, echoing his previous words. ‘I doubt that very much.’
But to her surprise, the Warsword’s gaze flickered with appreciation and that infuriatingly cocky grin returned to his handsome face.
Adrienne elbowed her. ‘Shadow wraith or not,’ she whispered under her breath, ‘you could cut that tension with a knife and spread it on bread.’
‘Shut up,’ Drue snapped. ‘I’ve got to get rid of him, but I can’t do it here…’
‘No,’ Adrienne agreed. ‘But that wouldn’t stop the Drue I know.’
Across the table, Talemir watched them as though he could hear every damn word. Drue’s eyes met his: warm and hazel, dancing with quiet delight. Beneath the table, she curled her fists as her stomach clenched. He was more than striking, more than handsome; he was beautiful, and that only made matters worse, for what dark danger lurked behind a face that could make her want to melt?
He smiled then, not the cocky grin from before, but a more genuine expression. ‘You alright there?’ he asked, his voice deep and silken, causing her blood to heat. He seemed to sense the conflict within her.
‘Never better,’ she managed, averting her gaze.
Elsewhere in the hall, the survivors of Naarva had decided that the visit of two mighty Warswords was cause enough for celebration. Baledor had brought out his old lute and was stringing together an awkward tune, while Coltan had stopped sulking in the corner and was now filling people’s cups with a cask of wine he’d found hidden somewhere.
As the music built its rhythm, Drue’s feet tapped under the table. Gods, she missed dancing. She had been a glorious dancer once, losing herself to melodies in a grand ballroom, long skirts billowing around her legs as she twirled. Drue had been to many a ball a lifetime ago, all over Naarva, favouring those held at the university on the lower eastern island, surrounded by gardens, thousands of blooms hanging overhead.
