Page 53 of Court of Lies and Deceit

Crossing his arms, he gives her a dubious look, as if the reason should have been obvious. “They hate us.”

“So?”

“So they probably spit in it.”

Lyra pauses with her tankard halfway to her lips. And so do the rest of us. I quickly put mine back on the table while trying to remember if the ale tasted strange or not when I drank it earlier. It’s hard to tell. But then again, spit is tasteless. Isn’t it?

“Huh.” Lyra glances down at the ale in her mug, already half empty, before cocking her head. “I didn’t think about that.” She meets Alistair’s gaze again. “How’d you figure?”

He draws his eyebrows down, trying to scowl, but ends up almost looking a bit embarrassed. Then he shrugs. “It’s what I would’ve done.”

A laugh rips from her throat. It’s so unexpected that the rest of us draw back and blink at her in surprise. But she just keeps laughing, almost making the ale slosh over the top of her tankard before she manages to set it down on the table. Her orange eyes glitter as she turns to meet Alistair’s gaze fully.

“We should totally team up some time,” she says, a sparkling grin on her mouth. “Can you imagine the level of trouble we could make together?”

“Oh no,” Galen interrupts, raising a finger at her in warning. “Don’t rope him into that. You alone are enough of a menace.”

“Menace?” She presses a hand to her chest in an exaggerated look of shock. “Me? I would never.”

“Uh-huh. Remember that time when?—”

“I don’t get you,” Alistair blurts out, interrupting their argument. His orange and green eyes are wide and filled with such genuine bafflement that it’s almost comical. Shaking his head, he stares at Lyra with those wide eyes. “Like, at all.”

Lyra turns back to him and blinks in confusion. “What?”

“Why are you being nice to me all the time?” There is an almost desperate note to his voice. Holding her gaze, he shakes his head in disbelief again. “I’m a rude, angry bully.”

Surprise flits across Lyra’s face, as if she’s shocked that he would describe himself in such a way. Then that easy smile returns to her features, and she slaps Alistair’s arm with the back of her hand. “Nah. You’re just a little grumpy.” She shrugs. “And I happen to like grumpy people.” A conspiratorial grin spreads across her mouth, and she nods towards Galen. “Why do you think I’m friends with that one?”

“I’m not grumpy,” Galen protests.

“Oh please. You’ve spent two hundred years sulking because Draven—” She cuts herself off, panic flashing across her face as her gaze darts to Draven.

I brace myself, waiting for that awkward tension to yet again settle over us and strangle the previously pleasant mood.

But instead, Draven slams both palms down on the table so hard that the utensils rattle and two of the mugs jump in surprise.

“Enough!” he snaps. “Enough with the guilt!”

Both Galen and Lyra draw back, looking stunned.

Draven rakes both hands through his hair and forces out a long breath, composing himself again. Then he looks between his two friends and repeats in a softer voice, “Enough with the guilt. It’s not your fault that I was ambushed and trapped and enslaved with dragon steel.”

“But we—” Galen begins.

“Listen to me.” He holds their gazes one at a time, his own eyes pulsing with calm authority. “It was not. Your. Fault.”

Pain and heartbreak swirl like a storm in Galen’s eyes. And Lyra bites her lip, her own eyes glistening, as if she has to physically hold back tears.

“We should have known,” Galen says, his voice barely more than a broken whisper, as he holds Draven’s stare with those desperate eyes of his. “Ishould have known.”

Draven shakes his head, his gaze softening. “How could you have known? No one knew that dragon steel was still in play. That they had kept some of it and used it in secret these past six thousand years. I didn’t know either. And without that, there was no other explanation for my behavior.”

“I should have figured it out.”

“You tried. I know you.” A small smile ghosts across Draven’s lips for a moment. “I watched you. You spent the first forty-two years trying to figure out why I was acting the way I was before you gave up. Forty-two years, Galen.”

Galen swallows hard, a tear escaping the corner of his eye and slipping down his cheek. His voice is thick as he glances away and repeats, “I should have figured it out.”

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