suppose you had to escalate at some point.’
‘You didn’t cry out.’
Lenk turned a hard stare upon Kataria. It was with a frown that Denaos noted the shict had affixed such a stare to the young man ever since they had settled around the crackling fire. He would have hoped that her gaze would have turned to him by now, or at least to Asper.
Then again, he thought, noting the particular hardness and narrowness of her gaze, perhaps it’s all for the best.
‘What?’ Lenk asked.
‘You didn’t cry out,’ she repeated, gesturing to the bottle. ‘Didn’t that hurt?’
‘It might have.’
‘But you don’t know.’ Her ears twitched with a sort of predatory observation. ‘Humans are supposed to cry out when they get hurt.’
‘And what do you think that means.’ It was not a question that came out of Lenk’s mouth, and the cold hostility with which it was delivered indicated no particular concern for whatever Kataria might have to answer.
For her part, the shict said nothing. It was with some concern that Denaos noted the hunting knife securely strapped to her belt. He hadn’t ever noticed her wearing it when not hunting, but that was far from his largest concern.
‘Oh, let’s not do this now, shall we?’ Denaos took his place around the roaring orange. ‘We’ve a victory to celebrate, after all, and it’s two days overdue.’
‘Victory?’ Lenk asked, raising a brow. ‘We barely escaped alive.’
‘Barely counts.’
‘We’re wounded and tired,’ Asper pointed out.
‘But alive.’
‘For now,’ Kataria muttered.
‘And now, we need to celebrate. We need to get drunk, roll around in our own vomit and lick whatever amphibious wildlife we can catch in our stupor.’ The rogue paused, blinked and cleared his throat. ‘Granted, in practice, it’s a lot more amusing, which is all the more reason to start drinking.’
‘I don’t feel the need to,’ Lenk replied harshly.
‘But the need feels you . . . to—’
‘That doesn’t make sense.’
‘It doesn’t have to! We’re celebrating!’
‘Celebrating what?’ The young man rose, his injured leg shaking beneath him. ‘What did you do that’s worthy of celebration?’
‘Well, I—’
‘Did you fight the Deepshriek?’
‘No, but—’
‘Did you get wounded?’
‘I was fairly well—’
‘When you close your eyes, what is it that you see, Denaos?’ Lenk snarled.
The rogue glowered, his lips twitching as if ready to deliver some scathing retort to that. After a moment, his face twisted, cracked around the edges, and he quickly looked down at the earth.
‘I’d rather not say,’ he whispered. ‘But I do know that liquor often helps it.’
‘Then you keep it,’ Lenk muttered, turning around. ‘Thank whatever kind of God Silf is that your problems can be fixed like that.’
Denaos did not try to stop him as he stalked away from the fire and vanished into the night air. Silf hated melodrama, after all.
‘Well, fine.’ The rogue snorted and spat upon the earth. ‘That’s just glorious. He can go and sulk and wait for someone to come and rub his back and tell him that everyone loves him and we shall have a good time all our own.’ He took a brief swig from the bottle. ‘So, why don’t we enjoy ourselves? Kataria, you take off your tunic and I’ll show you both a magic trick.’
‘She’s gone,’ Asper said.
Denaos’s frown only grew deeper as he stared at the indentation where she had been sitting. At what point she had decided to go, he could not know, nor did he particularly care. All the better, all the better, he told himself with a bit of hysteria edging his inner voice, that just leaves me and . . .
Asper, he finished with a sigh. Zealous, purist, morally irreproachable Asper. Asper, who had never done anything wrong in her life. Asper, who complained every time he stuck a knife into anything. Asper, who tried to use Huss’s Gold Cork as a disinfectant.
Maybe I should just save myself the trouble and go to sleep now.
He was about to rise when he heard the sand shift, sensed someone come up beside him. He felt soft brown hair laid down upon his shoulder as she pressed her body against his, resting her head upon him as she stared into the fire. So stunned was he that he didn’t even try to resist as she took the bottle from his hands and pulled a long swig from its neck.
‘Well,’ he said softly, eyeing the eager pulse of her throat. ‘Dare I ask what drives you to such extremes?’
‘You dare not,’ she replied coldly.
‘Dare I hope where this might lead?’
‘You dare not.’
‘Well, then what’s the