A Promise of Fire (Kingmaker Chronicles, #1)(72)

The protective fury in his voice goes a long way toward making me feel better. “I don’t know names,” I lie. I’ll handle Daphne on my own.

“When you do, you let me know,” he growls fiercely.

“So you can do what?” He’s not the type for cold-blooded murder. Despite Mother’s calculated efforts, even I’m not the type for cold-blooded murder.

Kato scowls, his blue eyes shadowed and hard. “I don’t know. Something.”

I laugh, the sound chasing away the past.

“I know,” Flynn says, pounding his right fist into his left palm and looking very mean.

I roll my eyes. I don’t believe for a second either of them would beat up a woman over a few insults. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. I killed a Dragon, remember?”

“Cerberus killed the Dragon,” Flynn corrects.

“But I had Cerberus. It’s all the same in the end.”

He shakes his head, his auburn hair loose and wild again. “You’re comparing grapes and olives. Sometimes they look alike, but they’re really not.”

I snort. “Thank you, O Wise One. I’m anxiously awaiting your next lesson.”

“I’ll bet you are.” Flynn ruffles my hair. “Sleep better now.”

Kato pats my head.

“I’m not a bloody dog!” I mutter, slapping at his hands.

After they’re gone, I light a lamp in my windowless room and stare at the shadows flickering on the wall, not willing to close my eyes again.

*

I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with myself the next morning, but I’m bored and hungry, so I head for the refectory as soon as I hear the barracks stirring, looking around for Kato and Flynn. They wave me over, and I sit with them, a plate of fruit and a buttered roll in my hands.

Kato unfolds a napkin and hands me a spice cake. “Cook likes me,” he says, brushing away the crumbs sticking to his fingers.

I’ll bet she does. My mouth instantly starts watering. “I love these!”

Kato grins, making most of the women in the refectory stop talking and sigh. “One every morning for Beta Team,” he says, completely unaware of his effect on the surrounding tables.

I groan, ignoring the dirty looks coming my way just for being next to him. “I can’t. I won’t fit into my pants.”

“Those leather ones from the circus?” Flynn chuckles. “Griffin couldn’t take his eyes off your ass.”

I choke on what’s left of my spice cake, and Flynn pounds me on the back. “What are we doing today?” I croak, my face absurdly hot.

Kato shrugs, leaning back in his chair. Feminine eyes follow his every move. “Griffin and Carver will be busy going over whatever happened while we were gone, and any messages they received. I doubt we’ll see them.”

A ridiculous and rather terrifying amount of disappointment pangs through me. Was I really looking forward to seeing a certain warlord turned royal that much?

“We could set up knife throwing,” Flynn suggests.

I nod. “The Gods know you two need the practice. And I’m always happiest with a knife in my hand.”

We finish breakfast in quiet conversation and then agree to meet in front of the Athena statue in one hour. Back in my room, I sort through my meager belongings, putting things away. There’s not much left between all the blood and fire of late. I’m just slipping my knives into my rather charred belt when there’s a tap on the door. I draw a blade before cracking it open.

Jocasta looks at me and then at my knife. I stick it in my belt, and she extends her arms, holding out an enormous pile of dresses. “Griffin said he promised to take you shopping, but I know he won’t have time. These were in the castle. I think they’re about your size.”

Surprised by her thoughtfulness, I push the door open wider. “Thank you.”

“Your room is very small,” she says, stepping inside. “You should live in the castle.”

“I haven’t been invited,” I lie.

She glances at me. “I just invited you.”

It’s not Epsilon Sinta who has the authority to invite people to live in the castle, but she was being kind, and I have good manners when I choose to use them. They were beaten into me. “I’d rather not, but thank you for the offer.”

She shrugs, the movement slight and naturally graceful. “I’ll ask again. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

Something about the way she says that reminds me of Griffin. Jocasta looks harmless, and she’s more subtle, but I have a feeling she’s as obstinate as her brother.

“Let’s see what fits,” she says, picking through the dresses.

I spend the next half hour trying on gowns that were custom-made for royalty. Jocasta gives her honest opinion about each, and I feel uncomfortable, like Eleni is in the room with us, a ghost of companionship that has no place in my life anymore. We end up with four dresses that fit and a few others that simply need shortening. They’re all similar in cut, with deeply scooped necklines, cinched waists, and long, flowing skirts that float around my ankles. Some have geometric patterns bordering the hems or gold cording crisscrossing the front from under the bust to low on the hips. All the dresses are held up by thin gold chains that buckle at the shoulders or behind the neck.