Flamecaster (Shattered Realms, #1)(25)

Lila had been working with Destin Karn for two years now—long enough to know that the younger Karn was a chameleon of a man, who could play any part, who could take on the colors of his surroundings. Just as he was doing at that very moment. She just wasn’t sure who the real Karn was.

Destin’s father, Marin Karn, was commander of the Ardenine army and of the military campaigns against Tamron, Delphi, and the Fells. He was the architect of Arden’s captive mage program, in which they used flashcraft collars to force wizards to fight alongside them. Both Karns were wizards who had found a way to survive and thrive in a land that despised magic. Naturally, they’d managed to avoid taking the collar themselves.

“Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant Rochefort,” Lila said, putting on a fierce, brilliant smile that said she wasn’t pleased at all. Setting her ale on the table, she extended her hand. Destin hesitated, as if worried about her intentions, then took it. His palm was smooth, uncalloused, and delivered a definite sting of wizardry. Magic was the weapon he wielded on behalf of his king.

Destin kept hold of her hand, his eyes fixed on Lila. “Tourant was right,” he murmured, his lips twitching with amusement. “You are quite lovely—such an exotic mingling of races. We don’t have officers like you at home.”

Lila bit back the first retort that came to mind. “No,” Lila said, withdrawing her hand. “You don’t.” Destin was having fun at Tourant’s expense—always a good thing—but that didn’t excuse his showing up here like this. She needed to get rid of Tourant, so they could have a heart-to-heart.

“While we’re on the subject of physical gifts,” Lila said loudly, “I must point out Proficient Tourant’s very impressive ass. Nobody fills his breeches like he does. Turn around, Tourant, and give the lieutenant a look.” Lila described a circle in the air with her forefinger and raised her eyebrows.

Horror and rage chased embarrassment across Tourant’s face.

“And did you notice his skin—it’s the color of roasted beets.”

The commander backed away, spluttering, unable to manage a suitable retort.

“You forgot your ale!” Lila thrust a mug at him. Tourant took it and slunk away.

Destin’s eyes followed Tourant’s retreat, then he looked back at Lila, grimacing. “Is it politically astute to antagonize your class commander?” Meaning Tourant.

“I’ve never been accused of being politically astute,” Lila said.

“Tourant should know better than to engage with you.”

“He should, but he does not,” Lila said, “just as you should know better than to come here.” She added loudly, “So what brings you to Oden’s Ford, Lieutenant? Is the marching season really over in Arden?”

“It’s always the marching season in Arden,” Destin said, cradling his mug of ale but not drinking from it. “The king is a demanding master.”

Lila leaned toward him, so their faces were inches apart. “If you’re here to see me, you’re wasting your time.”

“I’m here on other business,” Destin said, looking away.

Which raised the question—what other business?

“But as long as I’m here,” he went on, “it seemed like a good opportunity to convey a message from our quartermaster. We have an urgent need for as many—”

“I thought I made myself clear. I don’t do business here. Never ever. If you want to talk, I’ll be heading east in another week or so. You can leave me a message at the Seven Horses on the West Road, or Chauncey’s in the city. Let me know how to get in touch with you.”

Destin’s hand stole to his neckline, then dropped away as he remembered himself. “Hear me out, at least. The king has made a proposal that I think you’ll find—”

“I said no. Is there something you don’t understand about no?”

“Is there a problem?” Somebody’s foul breath washed over her, and Lila looked up to find that Tourant was back, like a bad dream, and pulling up a chair. He all but fell into it, clunking his mug down on the table. It was nearly empty.

“Tourant,” Destin said in a low, vicious voice. “Go away. The lady and I were having a private discussion.”

“Lady?” Tourant snorted. “You must be joking. I can tell you stories about Barrowhill that would—”

“It’s all right,” Lila said heartily. “We were done with our discussion anyway. How are you feeling, Tourant?” She propped her chin on her fist. “You look a little under the weather.”

“Me?” Tourant blinked his bleary eyes as if unable to focus. “You! You’re the one who . . . how are you feeling?”

Lila shrugged. “I’m fine. But it looks like maybe you should call it a night.”

“You’re drunk, Tourant,” Destin said icily. “Why don’t you do as she says and go somewhere and sleep it off?”

Tourant ran his tongue over his lips. Did it again. Frowned. Pulled his tankard toward him, and sniffed at it. He reached for Lila’s, and she pulled it back, out of reach.

“Keep your hands off my ale!” she said. “Go lay down before you fall down.”

Tourant pointed a shaking finger at Lila. “You—you—you switched drinks on me.” He turned to Destin, a wounded look on his face. “Lieutenant Karn, I—”