a silver kettle steaming over a low-burning stove. I grabbed one of the ceramic mugs and poured some coffee, retreating in the direction she’d indicated before she could chastise me further.
Cup in hand, I followed the sound of voices and silverware scraping against plates until I reached the dining room.
Fog-colored paneled walls were laden with oil paintings in stark white frames, and an impossibly long tarnished platinum table was centered beneath a row of chandeliers. High-back chairs with the same finish and steel-blue cushions lined the sides and ends. The three closest seats were occupied; two by assassins I recognized and a third I couldn’t place.
Ozias grinned. “Stomach calling again? Come on. Have a seat.” He patted the open chair beside him.
“Thanks.” I sat down and took a sip of my coffee—then nearly died of pleasure as the rich undertones of caramel teased the back of my tongue.
“This is Emelia and her twin brother, Iov.” Ozias gestured to the pair sitting across from us.
Emelia I recognized from the night before, and even if Ozias hadn’t mentioned her relation to Iov, it would’ve been obvious. They offered the same, uncertain smile that hinted at dimples and brought a warm glow to their sepia-toned skin. Off-black hair framed their oval faces, and they shared similar widows’ peaks and full lips.
“Hi.”
“Hello.” Emelia’s plate was empty, but she twirled her fork across it anyway as she studied me. “So you’re a Charmer?”
“Yup.” I took another sip of coffee. “And you’re an assassin.”
Iov’s grin turned genuine. “Quick, aren’t you?”
“Only because of this.” I lifted my mug. “Catch me before coffee, and I’m more or less insensate.”
Emelia arched a brow. “You shouldn’t share information like that with us.”
Ozias rolled his eyes. “C’mon. Enough of that.”
“What?” Her gaze slanted to Ozias. “It’s true. Our whole job is predicated on collecting information that makes it easy to eliminate our marks.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Besides, you didn’t see what her beast did to Kost.”
Iov leaned back in his chair and cradled the back of his head with his hands. “Ah, Kost was fine. He could’ve taken her.” A flash of humor sparked through his eyes.
My grip tightened on my coffee. “That so?”
Before he could answer, the chef entered the dining room with a plate in one hand and a carving knife in the other—the tip of which was pointed at Calem’s back. He sauntered forward with a lazy sway to his step.
Naomi glowered at him. “If you try to take someone else’s food again, I’ll cut you.”
Calem plopped into the chair next to me with his own steaming mug. “Yeah, yeah.”
Turning a sweet smile on me, she set the omelet down and handed off silverware. “Here you go. Enjoy.” With one last parting glare at Calem, she sashayed out of the room.
“It just looked so good.” He draped an arm over the back of my chair and sipped his drink. “Coffee is enough for me, though. What’d I miss? More riveting conversation from the dynamic duo?”
Emelia’s fingers twitched. “I was just saying how it doesn’t make sense that Noc is letting a Charmer wander freely through our home.”
This is what I’d expected. Some kind of tension or concern or thinly veiled threat. Had the roles been reversed, I would have acted the same. I dropped my gaze and speared a forkful of omelet.
“And I was saying it didn’t matter because Kost was—is—fine.” Iov frowned at his sister.
“Always the same with you two,” Calem muttered.
Ozias leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the table. “Cut it out. She’s a guest in our home.” It took me two tries to swallow the omelet. Not for lack of want—the savory burst of flavor was unlike anything I’d eaten before—but because this assassin had placed my comfort above his comrades’ concerns. “If you’re done eating, clear your plates so Naomi doesn’t come after you with a knife, too. Then, be outside in five to help with the new recruits.”
Iov side-eyed his sister. “See what you’ve done? I had today off before this.”
“Shut it.” She pushed away from the table and grabbed her plate without so much as a backward glance. Iov did the same, filing out behind her with a wave over his shoulder.
Ozias shook his head and reached for his mug. “Kids.”
“Hardly. They’ve been raised for ten years now. Their brooding teenager act should be long gone.” Calem set his mug down.
“We’ll give them some extra work, then.”
“Don’t punish them on my account,” I said. “If it were me,