Page 11 of Changeling
I hold up two fingers, which is universal enough. The vendor holds up four, and we trade four coins for two sticks of lamb.
I’ll have to ask Leonas how to saythank youin Hungarian for next time. How many languages must he and Dominus speak if they greeted me in mine with perfect fluency and no hesitation? Being immortal must leave a lot of time to study. I guess that’s my life too now.
Biting into the succulent meat, I swallow back a moan that threatens to escape my lips. Either this is the best lamb that’s ever been cooked, or I was hungrier than I thought. It’s divine. Tender, juicy, and spiced to perfection, the meat melts on my tongue.
Though it’s tempting to stay above ground and explore, I head back to The Twig before the second strip of meat has a chance to grow cold. Making a friend is a top priority. Leonas might be inexplicably scary, but he’s the best chance I’ve got. And I’m not above bribery.
I bid farewell to fresh air for the time being. As I descend to the wine cellar, Leonas is busy admitting other guests. A man and a woman, both dressed in the fancy fabrics of the wealthy—he in a dark brushed woolen coat, she in a dress of gleaming turquoise satin. Neither bother turning their heads to me, which suits me fine. I wonder to which establishment they’re heading, The Twig or The Pearl, and if they’ll be partaking as a couple.
Catching Leonas’s yellow gaze as the giant wine-bottle-shelf door closes behind them, I wave the meat on a stick and grin. “For you.”
He presses elegant fingers with sharp, gleaming nails to his chest. “Moi?”
Of course he speaks French too. I hand over the lamb. “As a thank-you for sending me to the best cart of the street.”
Leonas takes the offering, and while he doesn’t smile exactly, his smirk doesn’t look as unfriendly this time. “In that case, let me tell you about my favorite butchery. Jonas sells offal by the pound. Mouthwatering.”
I frown. Offal doesn’t sound nearly as appealing as roasted lamb.
Leonas sinks his fangs into the meat and doesn’t bother holding in his moan of pleasure. If I weren’t still half afraid of him, I’d laugh.
“Is it rude to ask what you are?” I venture. Being new to this world, I haven’t learned all the rules.
He arches his brows, chewing and swallowing without breaking his stare. “I wouldn’t say it’s rude, no, but if you ask, you must anticipate the question in return.”
My jaw drops. Of course he’d ask if I do. That’s how conversation works. And I’m not allowed to say. I also don’t want to lie.
“Are you asking?” he purrs the question, knowing he’s caught me in a trap.
“You know already, don’t you? Or you wouldn’t be warning me like this.”
His expression flickers with amusement as he nods. “Dominus told me. I’m the only one who knows, so there’s no need to worry. You’re jittery enough as it is.”
He’s not wrong. “I guess I’m not asking after all. Sorry. And thank you for that. I won’t make the mistake again.”
“Good boy. A quick learner. I like that.”
“Speaking of learning. Do you think you could teach me some basic Hungarian? I’m next to useless out there without Ivaz.”
“Feltételezem,” he says with a hint of a shrug and a face that reads more positive than negative.
“What does that mean?”
“I suppose,” he answers around another bite of lamb. “But it’ll have to be when I’m not on duty.”
“Oh. Aren’t you allowed visitors?” That seems harsh, to sit in a dark corner all night, every night.
“Dominus isn’t that strict, but all the same, he won’t like this chatter in his entryway if guests come through.” He motions to the door. “You should head in, back to your room, and keep out of the way for now. We’ll catch up later.”
“I understand.” I offer a smile, which he doesn’t return. Instead, he winks at me. Well, that’s friendly enough.
Bottles clink as the magical door glides open.
“Sebastian.”
I twirl around. “Yes?”
“I’m a cat.”
