Zander studies me a moment, as if weighing the wave of guilt surging through me. “He was dead the moment Abarrane captured him. In truth, he got a more merciful death than the others will face. You helped him in that way.”
“Why don’t I feel better, then,” I mutter.
“Would knowing he killed the tributary bring you comfort?”
“Did he?”
Zander shrugs. “I do not know, but he was an accomplice, at minimum, and surely he has blood on his hands.”
Don’t we all. “Why is Bexley so anxious to feed off a Ybarisan, anyway?”
“Because Ybarisan blood is intoxicating. Most Islorians have never had the opportunity to taste it.” He turns to meet my gaze. “She can’t harm you.”
“I know. But it’s weird, having someone openly lust over feeding on me like I’m a slice of chocolate cake.”
“Is it any different from having someone openly lust over you in other ways?” he asks quietly, his eyes dropping to my mouth. We’re sitting so close I can pick out the gold flecks in his irises within the lantern light.
I assume he’s testing me again, but even being aware of that, my heart instantly races. The air in our private cubby thickens, the sounds of laughter and muted conversation surrounding us heady.
Something drastic is shifting between us, and quickly.
Zander swallows. He senses it too.
But then his attention snaps toward the drawn curtain. “I do not know what methods Bexley will employ with this man, but keep your composure and tell her nothing.”
Atticus draws the curtain back, and Bexley slides in with feline grace. Alongside her is a sturdy man of about forty with striking pale-blue eyes and golden skin, weathered, likely by years of sea and sun. He offers nothing, not even a stiff smile, as he eyes first Zander and then me, lingering on my face a beat too long for my liking. But there is no flare of shock, no nervous fidgeting. It doesn’t seem he recognizes—or even suspects—who he’s sitting across from. That’s a welcome relief.
A server sets three mugs of ale on the table—one in front of the captain, the others in front of me and Zander—and then quietly vanishes.
Bexley winks at me. “On the house.”
“What do ya want?” The captain’s voice is deep and gruff and laced with a heavy accent.
“Now, Kaders, that’s no way to behave with my friends,” Bexley croons, resting her arm against the back of the bench so she can twirl one of his sun-kissed curls with her fingers.
“Every time you ask me for a favor, I’ll wager it somehow ends up costin’ me more than it does you.”
“And I’ll wager you don’t mind paying the price,” she retorts.
His focus drifts down the front of her dress—half her nipples are still on display—but he doesn’t respond.
“They have some questions about your passengers, particularly any casters you might have had on board.”
“Through Skatrana,” Zander adds, his hands folded tidily beside his mug of ale. He hasn’t reached for it.
“Aye, I always have a caster with me to keep wind blowin’ in our sails and tame those dreaded sirens.”
“Not the casters under Seacadorian employ. Passengers seeking voyage to Cirilea.”
Recognition flickers in the captain’s eyes. It’s fleeting, but it’s enough that my heart skips a beat with excitement.
But he says nothing.
Zander casually reaches down to fish out a handful of coins from his money sack. He stacks them in a tidy pile between the ale glasses.
“Aye, there was a caster who came into port with me. She stayed below deck and didn’t bother much.”
“Just one?”
Kaders dips his head.
“What did she look like?”
Kaders’s eyes flitter to the stack of coins in front of him before he collects his ale and takes a long, drawn-out sip.
The softest exhale slips from Zander’s lips as he digs into his money purse again, pulling out another equal stack.
“Woman with long hair as dark as ink and eyes like green jewels. Pretty thing.”
“Did she give you a name?”
Again, Kaders takes a long sip, waiting.
But Zander isn’t so quick to dole out more coins this time. He leans forward and through gritted teeth, repeats, “What was her name?”
Kaders glares at Bexley and with a sweeping gesture collects his coins and dumps them into a leather satchel at his hip. He makes to slide out of the booth.
“Must we play this game?” Bexley’s sultry voice doesn’t fray, even as she seizes the back of his neck with her delicate hand. He’s a strapping man, and she’s a slight woman a fraction of his size, and yet his shoulders sink with resignation. “My friend has paid dearly for a few insignificant details.” Her free hand slips below the table, into his lap, working at the laces of his pants. “I think it’s important you give him a few more.”
A slow, steady exhale slides from Kaders’s lips. “She went by Gesine.”
That has to be a fake name. I would use one, if I were her.
“And did she say where she was going after she left your ship?”
Kaders swallows as Bexley shifts closer, pressing her body against him, the hand below the table now moving at a steady rhythm.
I assume this is what Zander meant about Bexley’s methods.
“Didn’t ask, and my crew stayed away from her for the most part. They’re not keen on the casters. They tolerate ours because they bring us smooth sailing. But she was wearing a gold collar around her neck. My wind woman said this one was of a powerful sort.”
Zander and I share a knowing look. She’s definitely an elemental. It must be Ianca.
“Is there anything else you might be able to tell us about this caster? Anything at all?”
Bexley leans farther in, nipping at the skin below his ear with her teeth.
“You demon woman,” Kaders mutters under his breath, his lids growing heavy with arousal. Her responding giggle is unexpectedly girlish, and it stirs a small smile from the rugged brute.
I elbow Zander’s side and nod to the coin purse between his thighs, but he shakes his head, his jaw set. My exasperation flares at his stubbornness. We’re about to lose Kaders’s attention for good, and any information that comes along with it. On impulse, I reach into the satchel. Zander’s body goes rigid, but I ignore his reaction, and the awkward location of my hand, and collect a fistful of coins. I toss them across the table’s surface.
The sound of scattering gold grabs Kaders’s attention, snapping him out of his lustful stupor for a moment.
“Anything else you can tell us?” I push.
Kaders’s breathing is shallow. “She was asking about the Ybarisan princess.”
“What about her?”
“If the rumors are true that the king still plans to marry her.” Once a reluctant victim, Kaders’s fingers are tugging at the laces that bind Bexley’s dress together in the front.
“I think we’re done here.” Zander secures his much lighter coin satchel to his hip.
“My payment?” Bexley asks.
“I will ensure you have your seat. You have my word.”
“Pleasure doing business with you.”