Page 48 of Artemysia
Riev grunts and rises to clear the table, shuffling around us to collect our bowls.
“You can do better than that,” Ivy prods, a wicked gleam in her dark eyes reflecting the gas lamp overhead.
“As a rule, I don’t comment on the attractiveness of others in the Academy.”
“There’s no rule on that, Captain,” Throg goads. “Be less uptight for one night. You almost died yesterday.”
Ivy nods eagerly. “Yeah, Captain, you almost died.”
I’m not one to back down from a challenge. “Yes, he’s hot.”
Riev dumps the bowls into the sink with a loud crash.
“And?” Ivy prompts, looking far too excited that I’ve taken the bait.
I know this kind of talk is how some people bond. Now that Ivy has taken a liking to me, I want to keep it going.
I sigh and lower my voice. “And…he has the ass of the carved marble warrior in the main square that I lust after every day at lunch when I sit under it.” My cheeks burn, partly from embarrassment and partly from the big gulp of ale I take to swallow my inappropriate words. The ale seems to hit harder in my compromised state but also gives me the courage to say such lewd things.
Riev abruptly stops wiping the table in front of us and stares at me, slack-jawed, before he catches himself and resumes polishing the table with a low snarl.
Throg claps me on my uninjured shoulder with a crooked smile while Ivy screams with laughter, almost toppling backward off the bench she’s kneeling on.
“Why the sour face, Riev?” Ivy probes. “Jealous?”
“I’d have to care to be jealous.”
“What’s your issue then, assassin?”
“Let’s see… You’re slurping ale like a goat and can’t be bothered to sit in a chair. The ogre is nearly naked,” he says to Throg, “and this one here—” he drags his heated gaze over me “—hasn’t stopped to breathe between bites of leftover bread except to extol Olivier’s ass.”
I ignore him. So what if I’ve dropped more bread crumbs after he wiped the table? I’ll eat those too. Bread is a great dessert.
“Ooh, sorry, King Riev.” Ivy stands on the bench and bows at the waist. “Thank you for gracing the peasants with your superior table manners.”
Olivier returns to the room, all the buttons of his uniform shirt undone. He dries his freshly washed face with a small towel, moving down his throat and chest. Rock-hard abdominals peek through his open shirt. Throg and Ivy exchange looks, but when they both turn to me and catch my gaze, we all fail to suppress our laughter.
Riev steps beside me and holds a dishrag open to block my view.
I shove his arms away.
“I’m sorry, Commander,” Olivier says to me, eyeing Ivy, who is grinning at him with her chin on her knuckles, “but I’m exhausted. The villagers keep this place stocked with food for us, so eat all you want and take whatever you need for the road in the morning.”
He cocks his head, his face screwed into thought. “That bedroom is usually mine.” He points to the one Ivy and Throg used earlier. “But I can take the floor next to the fireplace, if you can do with one less blanket,” he says politely. “Commander, you should have the second bedroom.”
Ivy tips back on the bench, peering into Olivier’s bedroom. “Your bed is big enough for more than one.”
“Does one of you want to share it with me? I don’t care who.” Olivier yawns, shrugging.
A low growl escapes Throg’s throat. “You’d ditch me for a warm bed, Morrigan, you little devil?” His sapphire blues darken. He lifts his stein and throws back the rest of his drink, eyeing her accusingly.
“No, Orion Throgmorton, you thick-headed lug, I’m negotiating for both our sakes.” She inclines her chin at Olivier. “What do you say to some fun, outpost boy? You can call the shots in bed. But it will be the two of us, and there may not be much sleeping.”
A flush creeps up Olivier’s throat into his cheeks, and his mouth opens and closes like a gasping fish. He looks as if he’s been offered a chance to live in the king’s castle. His gaze flicks from Ivy to Throg and back to Ivy before he looks at me for either help or approval. I’m sure he remembers how strict I was in class. But I’ve reached a level of mental fatigue that I haven’t felt since the early years of training, and for tonight, I don’t want to play Captain Mom to this band of loveable miscreants.
Tonight, I see things in a new light. If the Syf knife had hit an inch in any direction, I might not be here right now. Any of us could die in the next few days, and it seems wrong to prevent anyone from having a last bit of fun.
I cast a stern look. “Don’t let them pressure you, Olivier. We can draw straws for beds. Yes or no, it’s your call tonight.”
