Page 19 of Phoenix's Last Heist
If I may offer a suggestion…
“No!” Lyra shouts.
“Yes, please,” I say at the same time.
Ada continues.Lyra is correct that a disguise might be advisable. Whether Ranger Asterth has run afoul of anyone in Turquin, it’s safe to say a Xylothian Ranger would be a memorable sight. If our goal is to resupply and make our way to Minaris as stealthily as possible, drawing attention is inadvisable. Even if Amphitreas is free from extradition, there may be parties happy to sell information as to your whereabouts to the first person who comes asking.
Lyra smirks. “See? Even Ada agrees with me, which, truthfully doesn’t happen that often.”
I agree with you when it is logical to do so.
Ignoring the dig, Lyra sizes me up, her concern evident in the crease between her brows. Then, like a bolt of lightning, her face lights up with inspiration.
“I’ve got it!” she says, dashing from my room. “I’ll be right back.”
I frown. “I have a feeling I’m not going to like this.”
The probability is high that you will not,Ada chirps.
It takestwenty minutes for Lyra to convince me to wear the artfully arranged bedsheet looped over me like an elaboratecloak. She insists the disguise is perfect—a High Lord of Thelaous, a man so rich and politically powerful that no one would dare question his business on Minaris.
“People like that don’t get hassled,” she says, looping a gold clasp at my shoulder.
Her explanation for the disguise makes sense, but her cover story is thin enough to make me nervous—anyone with half a brain would see through it. Still, the confidence in her delivery makes it sound almost plausible, and that might be enough.
On top of that, she’s opened the aft windows and the saline humidity of the sea has already permeated the ship, making the cloak stick to my skin. The air is thick with salt and heat, and every step feels like I’m sweating through my dignity. The fabric itches like guilt.
My outward discomfort is only exacerbated by the fact that Lyra tells me she’ll be wearing the traditional garb of a Velusian pleasure house—her mother’s house, she informs me—and when she appears, I forget how to breathe.
She’s draped in a whisper of pink gauze, the fabric so sheer it seems to hover over her golden skin instead of covering it. The twist of material crosses her chest, ties at her waist, and falls in soft folds down her legs, catching every light in the room. The outfit doesn’t just reveal; it commands. She moves like someone raised in a place where beauty is power and attention is a weapon.
I catch myself wondering how many eyes she’s had to hold, how many hands she’s had to outmaneuver just to survive in fabric like that. Her soft chocolate and pink hair has been tied in an elaborate updo, which she assures me disguises a small dagger, if I think about teasing her.
Oh, I want to tease her, all right. Just not in the wayshethinks. Fortunately, the thought curdles fast. The more she jokes, the more I see the ‘don’t-mess-with-me’ under it—the self-defense built into every soft curve…and I hate that part of me wants her, anyway.
“Tell me again,” she demands. “Where are you from?”
“I’m a High Lord from Thelaous,” I say with a sigh. “I’m called Pater Xandar.”
“Good,” she nods. “And who am I?”
I swallow around the fluttering in my chest, my mouth suddenly dry.
“You are myserikka, Luxura of Velusia,” I choke out, desperate to ignore the dark shadows of her nipples beneath her top and the gentle swell of her hips—the way the delicate fabric caresses them just so.
“And why are we here?” she continues, blustering through my misery.
“We’re here to resupply on our trip to Theta-9, where I have a diplomatic conference,” I grumble.
“Good boy,” she says, patting my arm. “Now, take my tether and let’s go shopping.”
My eyes widen when she hands me a finely-wrought gold chain that connects to a matching gold collar around her neck.
“No way! I’m not going to walk around with you on a leash like some kind of animal,” I bite out. “That’s completely degrading.” The heat rising in my chest has nothing to do with embarrassment this time. I’ve spent my life hunting those who’ve treated others like property, and now she’s asking me to play one.
She cocks a brow at me. “We don’t have a lot of time to get into the finer points ofserikkatradition. This is how it works on Velusia. If I don’t have one, everyone will get suspicious.”
“Well, I’ll just tell them I trust you,” I say. “I’ll tell them you’re too in love with me to run off.”
