“Come on, Nilly. Just tell me.”
“It was lovely that Groningen’s manse had Annfwn coffee, but I don’t suppose we can hope for it here.”
Zeph growled low in her throat. “You know the curiosity will drive me crazy.”
“A just punishment, then.” Stella smiled serenely at Zeph. “I’ll have to consider whether to reveal to Astar that you talked to me about this.”
Zeph’s gorgeous sapphire eyes flew wide in horror. “You wouldn’t!”
No, she wouldn’t—she had no intention of interfering in Astar’s love life, any more than she already had, that was—but it also wouldn’t hurt for Zeph to worry about it a little bit. “What do you suppose his reaction would be?” she mused as they reached the bottom of the steps.
With a groan, Zeph pressed her fingers to her temples. “Moranu, I hate it when he’s mad at me.”
“Something to bear in mind for the future, hmm?”
Zeph lifted her head and glared. “You’re trying to teach me a lesson. You bitch. You’re supposed to be the nice one.”
Stella couldn’t help smiling. “I have my claws, too.”
“Yes, you do,” Zeph agreed ruefully. “Please don’t tell him. I’ll owe you a favor.”
Unable to torture her friend any longer, Stella gave her a fond look. “You already did me one.”
They were the last to reach the breakfast table, where the other five already sat, platters of food in the middle of the round table, their plates heaping. Astar narrowed his eyes at Zeph in suspicion as she slid into the chair beside him that he’d saved for her. “I was about to come looking for you two.”
“I asked Zeph to help me,” Stella replied calmly, taking the chair on his other side, though she skidded to a mental halt. What in the world would she ask Zeph to help her with?
“And I did,” Zeph jumped gleefully into the breach. “I put her hair up, and it looked beautiful, but she took it down again.”
Jak cocked his head, dark eyes sparkling as they would on any other morning, his emotions calm and unruffled. If he was anxious about Astar getting the verdict from her, he didn’t give the least sign. Something to remember about him, how well he dissembled. “What are you talking about, naughty Zeph? Stella looks absolutely beautiful this morning. But then, she looks beautiful all the time.”
Astar slid him a dark look, which slid right off Jak’s jaunty mood. Was it a cover? Tempted to probe deeper, she decided that would be too unfair.
“You’re awfully happy this morning,” Gen noted, studying Jak. “I expected you to at least be hungover.”
“Are you kidding?” Rhy grumbled. “That mossback can drink all of us shapeshifters under the table.”
“It’s a gift,” Jak acknowledged. “To answer your point, sweet Gen, I won a tidy sum last night in a spontaneous knife-throwing competition. Additional coin always puts a man in a good mood.”
“If the man is a pirate,” Rhy added.
“Fairly won,” Jak countered, “as you witnessed. I seem to recall some of my new coin came from your pocket.”
“You bet against Jak?” Zeph demanded.
“Isn’t that against the man code?” Gen asked, also surprised.
“We both bet against him,” Astar put in, shaking his head. “It should’ve been a sure thing. He wagered he could hit a bull’s-eye the size of a fingertip if he was blindfolded, knives sheathed, from a handstand, with his back to the target.”
“You did that?” Lena asked, clearly impressed—and earning a sour look from Rhy.
Jak lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “It sounds harder than it is. A simple flip, pull my blades as I drop, remember where the target is.”
“Did we mention he had to drink five shots of whiskey first?” Astar demanded.
“Ah.” Jak waggled his fork at Astar. “That’s where they made a mistake. The whiskey didn’t have time to kick in. You all should’ve made me wait a bit.”
“Noted for next time,” Rhy said.
“Or you could bet that he’d succeed,” Stella suggested. Because Jak was giving her empty plate a warning look, she took a roll and carefully spread blackberry jam on it. “I’ve become interested in wagers myself lately,” she added, ignoring Gen’s stifled giggle and Zeph’s outright laugh.
“You?” Astar asked, bumping his arm against hers. “Since when are you interested in such worldly games?”
Was she really so dreamy and off in her own thoughts all the time? They all seemed to think so. At any rate, Astar didn’t wait for an answer, listening while Gen gave her thoughts on an amended scout schedule that would keep them in closer contact with the carriage group, to avoid a repetition of yesterday’s lapse in reinforcements arriving. Jak, across the table from her, lifted his brows in question, and she shrugged, making it elaborate in the Tala style. He laughed silently and toasted her with his mug.
“Can I have a word with you?” Astar asked subvocally, startling her.
“Of course,” she replied the same way. “You don’t have to ask. I’m always here for you.” As she said it, she remembered Zeph saying how she was always there for all of them, perhaps to her detriment. Her gaze went to Jak, arguing cheerfully with Rhy about daggers versus claws. He winked at her without missing a beat.
“This is different,” Astar replied, a growl in his mental voice as he caught Jak’s wink and glared at him.
Stella nearly rolled her eyes. Really, even without Zeph’s warning, she’d have guessed Astar’s sudden desire for a private conversation had to do with Jak. “So, talk,” she prompted, just to yank his tail a little bit. She knew he wouldn’t want to talk here, even if no one else could hear them.
“After breakfast. We can take a walk on the cliff path.”
“Sounds bracing.” She eyed the thick snowfall swirling outside the inn, much of it going sideways.
“Good views, they say,” Astar agreed, missing her sarcasm entirely.
Oh, he was wound up all right.
“This is not a comfortable conversation for a brother to have with his sister,” Astar began. Stella nodded seriously, though it took a heroic effort not to laugh. The more awkward Astar felt, the more pompous he got. Another reason Zeph was good for him—she had a knack for puncturing that and getting him to focus on the moment instead of constantly trying to live up to the expectations of their long-dead, noble father. “I expected our mother to talk to you about this kind of thing, honestly,” Astar added, sounding almost paternal.
Dear Moranu, he wasn’t thinking he needed to explain sex to her, was he? “Mother already explained about hairstyles,” she assured him earnestly, not above keeping her teeth in his tail a bit longer. “I just find them binding.”
Astar cleared his throat uncomfortably, turning his face into the biting wind. The views were spectacular, indeed. They’d climbed in altitude considerably on the journey the day before, rounding the eastern edge of Lake Sullivan. The Cliffwalk Inn was a popular destination for sightseers—though typically in warmer weather—and the full expanse of the lake stretched out below. Like a black jewel set in platinum, the deep water shone glassy and mysterious amid the snow-covered landscape.