Reign of Darkness (The Prince's Assassin #2) - Ariana Nash Page 0,44

golden background. He carefully released her fingers. “Interesting crest. A family insignia?”

“You aren’t familiar with it?” She was still openly scrutinizing him. “Good gods, Yasir, what backwater place did you rescue him from?”

“Loreen.”

“Oh,” she said, like that explained everything. “They don’t even have electricity there, do they?”

“I don’t believe so.” Yasir fiddled with his collar. “Talos thought it dangerous.”

“Ugh, so uncivilized.” She shuddered. “Although, you sir, are clearly not uncivilized.”

“This is my first time in Seran,” Niko replied, neither confirming nor denying how savage he could be.

“You don’t happen to frequent the Fortisque?” she asked, interest sharpening.

“I don’t know what that is.”

Yasir cleared his throat. “A coffeehouse in the commerce district.” He said coffeehouse in such a way that Niko wondered if the word coffee could be substituted for pleasure.

He arched an eyebrow. “I haven’t.”

“Perhaps you should. Hm?”

He dipped his chin slightly, unsure whether this was an attempt to seduce him or something else. “And why is that?”

“I’m always interested in meeting Captain Lajani’s new friends.” She grabbed Yasir’s shoulder and gave it a hearty squeeze. “Get me my silks, Yasir, or we’re going to have a problem. And you know how much I dislike problems.” She patted his shoulder and slid her dark eyes back to Niko. “Lovely to meet you, Lycus. Do you have a family name?”

“I do.” He could have fabricated one, but Roksana seemed the kind of woman to go asking after him, and he’d rather she didn’t. Not yet anyway.

She grinned. “Hm, a secret keeper. Well, I hope we meet again, perhaps at the coffeehouse, hm? Ah, here’s Father.”

The hubbub from the crowd rose in volume, and a beautiful senior pair emerged from inside the house, arms locked. Even without the crowd’s reaction, Niko would have known them from their regal presence alone. Shah Yazdan and his wife Sheran. Aging in years, both wore their lifetime experience on their faces. He could imagine they were formidable, and, by the way the crowd dipped their heads, the people here respected them.

Was he truly related?

Did it even matter? He’d still be a bastard, born out of marriage to Lord Bucland, who had clearly wanted nothing to do with Niko. If only Mah had taken him aside and explained it all. If only the war hadn’t happened. If only Vasili hadn’t been taken from the palace garden and bled in a box for eight years. Maybe things would be different. The war wouldn’t have happened. Mah would still be alive to answer his burning questions. She’d been gone years, but her loss still haunted him.

“Lycus?”

“Yes?” Niko blinked, bringing himself out of his spiraling thoughts.

Yasir’s soft hand gently rested on Niko’s hip. He leaned closer. “This must be difficult for you.”

“No, it’s not hard. I…” Everything in his head was all tangled up with war and family and Vasili, and the evening’s heat made the crowds feel too close. The bright laughter and startling opulence, the sweet air and all of these strangers. Maybe it was difficult, dredging up a past he didn’t understand, bringing it into a future he understood even less. He felt adrift, inadequate, an imposter—and suddenly, painfully alone. He didn’t belong in these clothes, in this house; it was like he’d been brought here without having a choice in any of it.

Niko wiped the dampness from his forehead.

“Some air for you, I think.” Yasir steered him through the corridors, and Niko let his legs carry him away from the crowd. The corridors opened into a tall, narrow hall ending at a balcony overlooking the moonlit sea. Yasir plucked Niko’s wine from his hand.

Niko braced himself against the balustrade, bowing his head, letting the cool ocean breeze kiss the back of his neck.

“The Seranian people’s spirit has always been with Walla, our ocean goddess. Do you feel her?” Yasir asked.

Niko snorted at the godly nonsense but lifted his head anyway and breathed salty air into his tight lungs. He’d never really believed in the gods. They certainly weren’t at the front when he’d needed them the most. “It’s difficult sometimes,” he admitted. “I don’t understand it. My body remembers how to fight at the wrong moments, and my head forgets I’m not in the midst of battle.”

Yasir stared out to sea. “It’s said emotional battles linger long after the war has ended. Every time I smell smoke, I remember the burning ships and feel like I’m choking.” He stroked at his throat.

What he spoke of sounded familiar. Like the memories were suddenly present and real. He