Page 60 of Odder Still
“To Sheona.” He takes a sip, then a longer one. A little half sob, half giggle leaves him. “This isn’t bad, actually. I wish they made it like this in Maraheem.”
I almost laugh. “You’re a fool of a princeling.”
“I could have you beheaded for that, if Sheona—” He doesn’t trail off as much as crash into a wall. But he picks himself up, taking another drink, and concludes, “She would be happy that I have you with me. Especially after that entrance into the town. Were they shooting at us?”
He doesn’t remember, perhaps none of it, not even the things I was hoping he’d expand upon. My stomach flops. I lift my glass, only to recall it’s empty. “Just at first.”
Tavish accepts that with a slight scowl that vanishes almost as quickly as it comes. “That ignit of theirs must be incredibly large.” He pauses, trailing his fingers around the outside of his drink. “I admit, I never memorized the kinds of energy they give off. Those variations are eliminated when it’s turned into ignation, so there didn’t seem much point.”
“Glenrigg’s ignit is a standard yellow—a color seen commonly in the South, though not as plentiful as say a red, which provides heat. All the other yellow ignits I’ve seen have been far smaller, and could, at most, attract fish or rodents from a short distance away, soothe cranky newborns, or distract an injured caiman. They’ve been very helpful when I’ve had to calm a young jaguar enough to set a leg or stitch a gash.” I motion for the server. He pretends not to see me. “Even I don’t know all the colors though. There’s a whole rainbow of them, some so rare that their effects are undocumented.”
“I will believe that when I see it.” He almost,almostsmirks. “All this rainbow nonsense, in fact. Colors sound quite fake to me.”
I laugh, but my gaze catches on our centerpiece’s bulging head, and it turns to a huff. “Don’t they have real meat here somewhere?”
Tavish pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Did you just refer to a fish asfakemeat?”
“Well, not fake, but disingenuous. I bet seals taste much nicer.”
Tavish sputters. “We do not.” He pokes my shoulder with his fork. His grief seems to slide off, like he’s tucking it away, piece by piece, and when he turns back to his food, his lips quirk. “But there is more than one way to eat someone. I’m not opposed to all of them.”
Now it’s my turn to choke, heat blazing across my cheeks and running like an arrow between my hips at the very vivid scene his words create in my mind and the way he’d be moaning in it. I wave at the server again, lifting my glass and pointing aggressively. I’m still far too sober for this, here, now, with my life-consuming parasite and the curious looks of the Glenrigg inhabitants and a too-gorgeous selkie making inappropriate jokes.
I could let the comment go. Or I could carry it forward. Maybe I won’t be here forever, but for one night, if it turned out he craved the thought of this the way I do…if.
“I wouldn’t want to eat you any other way.” I barely manage to force the sounds out, and the din of the dining room covers it over immediately.
The only sign he heard is the tiniest tint of red in his cheeks. He ducks his head and returns to his food. I feel like the butt of a joke, like the monkey who crawled too far down a weak branch only to be surprised when it snaps beneath him. What if it was all intoxicated nonsense? Not flirtation, not a heartfelt proposition, just the rambling of a man out of his mind.
Fuck.
A thin silence settles over us, Tavish sipping from his beer. The dining crowd seems to have finally accepted our presence—or possibly just grown bored of us—because only a few of the younger ones peek our way now. I toss a bread roll to keep my fingers preoccupied while I search for the server.
As Tavish’s glass empties, the remainder of the tension loosens from his shoulders. “You use ignits readily in the South, aye? Does everyone ken as much of them as you do or that a trait reserved for animal-obsessed recluses?”
“They’re as common as your ignation.” I tap my nails against my still-empty glass. “But I did run an ignit cartel for a month.”
Tavish drops his fork. “You did what?”
“No dirty work, I promise. Or, notmuchdirty work.” I spot the server and wave, half standing. He immediately dodges behind a pillar. With a grunt, I sit back down. “Lilias wrangled me into it, back before I had the aurora in my neck and I was just trying to get her away from the Murk as quickly as possible. But I didn’t object all that much; kind of suggested it, actually.” A host of emotions hits me, and in the midst of it, I feel my parasite’s encircling warmth, curling around me like a melancholic pet. I shake it off, trying to dislodge the memories in the same motion. Trying to ignore the pain they sprout in my chest.
But Tavish nudges me, his expression too soft to say no to. “Did you want to join them—the cartel, I mean?”
Outside the bright, jovial room, rain sweeps over the town like a veil of silver. I think it must be raining in me, too, that hollow pattering accompanied by a chilling ache. “No. But I was lonely and out of wine.” As the server slips around a table two away from ours, I grab a bread roll and hurl it at him, nearly taking out a tall pixie who happens to stand at just the wrong moment. “No one had ever wanted me, not in the Murk nor the river towns. But here was a group that few others wanted. I hoped, maybe, it could be my chance to belong somewhere. In the end though, they turned on me too.” Everyone always did: betray or abandon.I look at the man beside me and am glad that isn’t true of him yet.
“I’m sorry.” Tavish picks at the already raw skin at the corners of his nails. “And I understand, in a sense. I’ve been trying to fit myself into my family’s company, yet I keep feeling like a circle forced into a square hole, just waiting for someone to notice that I ruin the puzzle for all of them.”
“What if you don’t?” I take his fingers to stop him from peeling himself bloody. “What if you’re making this puzzle into something better, something new? You’re not a circle in a square hole but a fresh color on an old painting.”
His mouth twitches, making a sound so soft it could be a sob or a laugh. “You do realize that is the worst metaphor you can use on a blind man? But thank you.”
“I’m always happy to offer you my terrible analogies, princeling.” The moment seems to settle over us, the rest of the world fading beneath the pressure of my hand around his.
His fingers stiffen. He opens his mouth.
“Is this enough?” The server cuts him off, fins bristling as he plunks two pitchers of beer on the table hard enough to slosh some out the sides.
I wink at him. “You, my friend, are brilliant.”
