Page 139 of Kissed By the Gods
“Silent skies upon you, Altor,” he mumbles, stepping aside with awkward reverence.
We pass through into the Crimson Feather, and the first thing that strikes me is the warmth.
The air inside is thick with the scent of burning candles and some kind of sweet, spiced wine.
Lanterns hang from the stone walls, casting pools of soft, golden light and leaving thick shadows to gather in the corners.
Beautiful men and women mingle, drinking wine and fruity cocktails. It’s easy enough to distinguish the Faraengardian civilians from the Altor. The civilians—men and women alike—are dressed in opulence and flair, everything about their appearance designed to draw the eye. There are high-collared jackets and sheer shawls, puffy sleeves and gauzy fabrics, dainty slippers and leather dress boots, dresses that are both scandalously high and scandalously low, and all manner ofjewels dangling from necks and ears and wrists and ankles. Even from bellybuttons.
The Altor, like Thalric and the others, are easier to spot. They’re dressed in their simple, severe day-to-day attire, just cleaner.
Even were everyone dressed alike, though, I could pick out the civilians in an instant. All of them are eyeing the Altor scattered around the room like they’re something to be sampled and enjoyed. The room practically buzzes with the excitement of the hunt, a thrill of frenzy and dark desires. It lingers on the air like an intoxicating drug, the energy rippling out and saturating everything it touches, even the chair cushions.
A room to my right offers tables set up for card games, while an area to my left hosts a band—a violinist, a pianist, a flutist, and a horn—whose generic, upbeat dancing music drifts into this room, the main area. A long, polished bar divides the space, a gleaming river of glass and dark wood, where servants bustle back and forth carrying trays of wine, fruit, and more colorful cocktails.
There’s a set of stairs leading to another floor. A dazzling woman in a crimson dress leads Faelon up the stairs with a smoldering look and a breathless laugh. He does a double take when he catches sight of me in Elowen’s dress, and then grins and waves happily, points toward the back of the bottom floor, then disappears from sight. I turn to where he pointed. Tables line the back wall, and that’s where Nyrica and the others sit.
Nyrica has a tankard, but I know it’s full of water, not mead. There’s a man I don’t know sitting next to him—a civilian. Nyrica listens with half an ear, but his eyes are on Thalric as we approach the table. Caius seems content to flirt with a woman to his left as the two exchange constant touches on the arms and legs. Leif is blushing, with a woman hanging on one arm and a man on the other. The man lightly trails his fingers up Leif’s armand leans down to whisper seductively in his ear. The woman is nearly in his lap and laughs at whatever was said. She grabs his hand, and the three of them also head for the stairs.
“Leina! You look stunning,” Leif tells me, even as the other two keep leading him away.
“Thanks. Have a good time,” I say with a wide grin. He blushes more.
In the span of a breath—the time it takes for Thalric and me to reach the table—a hush falls over the room. I feel the weight of a hundred stares.
“Why are they looking at us?” I whisper, trying not to let my lips move too much.
Nyrica leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, pipe balanced casually between two fingers. He exhales a stream of smoke, the scent curling through the already heavy air.
“Us? They aren’t looking at us, love. They’ve never seen a female Altor before, never mind one as exquisite as you,” He grins, flashing teeth, and tips his glass in my direction. “You clean up really well, Leina.”
The room completely quiets at his words, and the heat of a blush spreads up my chest and my neck. I’m uncomfortably warm in this crush of bodies. Put me in an arena with all eyes on me in a fight to death, and I can handle it. But this? I’ve never been the center of attention in a room like this. I didn’t even know places like this—with people like this—existed.
I tug at Elowen’s dress, feeling naked and exposed. “I shouldn’t have worn this,” I mutter, missing the comfort of my tunic and leather pants.
Nyrica scoffs. “You’ll have them eating out of your hands.” He scrapes out a chair from the table, offering it to me. “Have a seat and enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it.”
A servant appears at my side, carrying a tray of drinks. “Something to drink, miss?”
I clear my throat awkwardly. “I’ll have water, please.”
Nyrica shoots me a shit-eating grin. “Joining the sober?”
I smile back, his easy bantering helping to put me at ease. “Just for tonight.”
Nyrica throws his head back and laughs, and the sound is like a herald’s horn starting a race. The crowd surges forward in a crushing assault, people desperate to approach our table. Civilian guards immediately surround us to block the stampede.
Nyrica gently taps his large tankard against the delicate glass I’m holding. He raises his cup and shouts, “Silent skies upon us!”
The entire room lifts their cups in the air, wine, cocktails, and mead sloshing over the sides and onto the floor, making a sticky mess. “Silent skies!” The room quakes with the force of their shouts.
My eyes round. The man who’d been trying to get Nyrica’s attention shifts, his body angling toward mine. Thalric takes advantage of his distraction and squeezes onto the bench, next to Nyrica.
The man angled toward me is dressed flamboyantly, like all the others. He reminds me of the peacocks that strut around the overlord’s manor, birds raised for nothing but show. Not so good for eating, like duck. Not so good for laying eggs, like chickens. Not so good for defense of the property, like geese. They’re just pretty birds. I never understood why the overlord kept them.
This man, he’s wearing one of those jackets with the puffed-up sleeves that billow around his shoulders. The fabric of his coat is silk, the colors a mix of plum and midnight blue. It’s a startling combination. Each of his fingers is adorned with a silver ring, and his jacket has three different brooches pinned to it—one of the royal crest and two others I don’t recognize. He catches me eyeing them and he smiles proudly.
“Interested in the royal family, are you?” he asks, flashing perfectly white teeth in perfect straight rows.
