The Kiss of Deception (The Remnant Chronicles, #1)(19)

“Gwyneth! Wait!” But I knew she wouldn’t. In truth, I was glad for the push. Not that they had me lathered in the least. They were both a bit on the rumpled and dusty side. They intrigued me, that was all. Why shouldn’t I indulge in Gwyneth’s little game and see if I served a fisherman and a pelt trader? I took two more mugs from the shelf, the last clean ones, and hoped Enzo was making progress on the dishes. I pulled on the tap and let the dark golden cider race its way to the rim, noting the small flutter in my stomach.

I grabbed the handles of both mugs in one hand and made my way around the bar, but then caught sight of Pauline. The wet-lapped oaf who had grabbed me had a firm grasp on her wrist. I watched her, a painful smile on her face, trying to be polite while attempting to twist away. The soldier chuckled, enjoying watching her squirm. My face flashed with heat, and almost instantly I was by her side, staring into the eyes of the salacious snake.

“You’ve already been gently warned once, sir. The next time, instead of a wet lap, I’ll be planting these mugs in your thick skull. Now, stop your asinine conduct, behave like an honorable member of the King’s Royal Guard, and remove your hand at once.”

This time there was no slapping of knees, no round of laughter. The whole room had fallen silent. The soldier glared at me, furious for being shamed so publicly. He slowly released his grip on Pauline, and she hurried away to the kitchen, but my eyes remained locked on him. His nostrils flared, and I imagined he was wondering if he could throttle me in a room full of people. My heart hammered wildly, but I forced a slow, dismissive smile to my lips.

“Carry on,” I said to the room at large and turned swiftly to avoid having any more words with him. In only a handful of paces, I found myself stumbling into the newcomers’ table. Their stares took me further unaware, and my breath caught in my chest. The intensity I had seen from afar was more apparent up close. For a moment, I was frozen. The fisherman’s icy blue eyes cut through me, and the trader’s stormy brown ones were more than unsettling. I wasn’t sure if they were angry or startled. I tried to roll right past my awkward entrance and gain the upper hand.

“You’re new. Welcome. I must warn you, things aren’t always so lively here at the inn, but there’ll be no extra charge for the entertainment today. I hope dark ciders are to your liking. I surmised they’d suit you.” I set the ciders on the table. They both stared without speaking.

“I can assure you both, I’ve never crowned anyone with a mug. Yet.”

The trader’s eyes narrowed. “That’s reassuring.” He grabbed his mug and brought it to his lips, his dark eyes never leaving mine as he sipped. Rivers of heat spread through my chest. He set his mug down and smiled at last, a very pleasant satisfied smile that gave me much-needed relief. “The cider is fine,” he said.

“Is that an Eislandese accent I detect? Vosê zsa tevou de mito loje?”

His hand bumped his mug and sloshed cider over the side. “No,” he answered firmly.

No to what? It wasn’t an accent, or no he hadn’t traveled far? But he seemed agitated by the question, so I didn’t press further.

I turned to the fisherman, who still hadn’t spoken. He had what I imagined could be a kind face if he could only manage a genuine smile, but instead a smug grin was pasted across it. He was set on scrutinizing me. I bristled. If he disapproved of my treatment of the soldier, he could be on his way right now. I’d grovel no more. It was his turn to speak—at least a thank-you for the cider.

He slowly leaned forward. “How did you know?”

His voice hit me like a hard slap to my back, forcing the air out of my lungs. I stared at him, trying to get my bearings. The sound reverberated in my ears. It was hauntingly familiar, yet it was fresh too. I knew I’d never heard it before. But I had.

“Know?” I said breathlessly.

“That the cider would suit us?”

I tried to cover my muddled state with a quick answer. “It was Gwyneth, actually. Another server here. It’s a diversion of hers. She’s quite good at it most of the time. Besides guessing drinks, she guesses professions. She guessed you to be a fisherman and your friend to be a trader.”

I found my voice getting away from me, one word spilling onto the next. I bit my lip, forcing myself to stop. The soldiers hadn’t turned me into a chattering ninny. How had these two managed it?

“Thank you for the cider, Miss…?” The trader paused, waiting.

“I answer to Lia,” I said. “And you would be?”

After some thought, he finally answered, “Kaden.”

I turned to the fisherman, waiting for his introduction. Instead, he simply rolled my name over his tongue like it was a piece of corn stuck between his teeth. “Lia. Hm.” He slowly rubbed a week’s worth of scruffy stubble on his cheek.

“Kaden and…?” I said, smiling between gritted teeth. I’d be polite if it killed me. I couldn’t afford any more scenes tonight with the customers, not with Berdi looking over my shoulder.

His cool gaze lifted to mine, his chin angling to the side in a challenge. Small lines fanned out from his eyes as he smiled. “Rafe,” he answered.

I tried to ignore the hot coal burning in my gut. His face may not have been kind when he smiled, but it was striking. I felt my temples flush hot, and I prayed he couldn’t see it in the dim light. It was an unusual name for these parts, but I liked its simplicity.