A ring of stones crowned the small cooking fire, and Thealos adjusted one with the toe of his boot. Thin sheets of smoke wafted up through the trees, obscuring the scattered specks of winking stars. He adjusted the rolled up blanket behind his head and rested his hands on his chest. Flent unstopped his little cask and poured himself a mug of Spider Ale. He grinned and started savoring the sips. It was his third, and from the sloshing sound, the cask was nearly empty. The serving girl sat next to the Drugaen, brushing out her tangled hair with a stiff-bristled brush. Thealos watched her, feeling a little jealous of their companionship. He felt like an outsider.
“I’ll never get these pants clean,” she murmured to Flent, brushing the dust off. “And I only brought a quick change of clothes with me. I hope they have a decent tailor in Castun.”
“And a bath,” Flent added. “You smell like a sailor, girl.”
She butted him in the ribs and gave him a scolding look. Thealos grinned wolfishly. “Don’t tease her, Flent. I’ve been gagging since you took off your boots.”
Ticastasy let out a burst of laughter. It made her eyes crinkle pleasantly as she smiled. He gave Flent a wink to apologize, but the Drugaen took the drubbing good-naturedly.
“Castun is a trading post,” Thealos explained, “But even if they have good wool from the Clothweaver Guild, it’ll still cost four times more than it’s worth. Here,” he said, sitting up and rummaging through his travel pack. Down in the bottom, he wrestled out the bundle wrapped in oilskin that Tomn the cook had bought in Sol. “This doesn’t quite fit me anymore,” he teased, untying the leather thongs and revealing the rich fabric. He hadn’t looked at it since he’d escaped from Tannon’s Band. As he lifted the folds, he stared down at the fine wool gown, a rich shade of ochre with a blue and violet trim around the bodice.
“Sweet Achrolese, it’s beautiful!” Ticastasy said with delight. She crossed around the fire and sat next to him, staring at it in amazement. “This came from the Green Weaver in Sol, didn’t it? How much did it cost?”
“Twenty pieces, if I remember right,” Thealos replied dryly. “It’s yours.”
“I can’t take this,” she replied, shaking her head. “It’s too beautiful. A barter’s daughter might wear it, but not a serving girl.”
“What am I going to do with it?”
She looked at him in disbelief. “Well, you don’t really have the right coloring for it. But why did you get it? Did you mean it for someone? Was it a gift for the Princess of Avisahn?”
Thealos shook his head. “No, Shae women prefer silk or damask. It’s a good quality gown though, look at the stitch-markings. Three, see that?” He showed her the seam and the stitch. “It’s worth at least thirty in Dos-Aralon. If you ever wanted to sell it.”
Ticastasy eyed him warily. “And you didn’t mean this for someone, then?”
He shook his head. “I think it would suit you well.”
She folded the fabric reverently and tied it up in the oilskin again. When she finished, she scooted up closer to him. Flent’s head was starting to droop down on his chest. The beginnings of a very loud snore were starting to rumble in his throat. She seemed a little more comfortable sitting near him, and he could see his own glowing eyes reflected in hers. Her eyes were an interesting color in the firelight. Cinnamon. He liked that. Rare as a brown-eyed Shae…
“Who are you?” she asked, picking at the scrubs of pine needles.
“What do you mean?”
She nodded. “Back in the Foxtale, you said you were Thealos. Don’t the Shae lords have family names too?”
He understood now. “Quickfellow,” he answered, watching her eyes. Did she know anything about the noble Silvan houses? Would she know that Silverborne or Silvershire or any dozen other names meant royalty in Avisahn? Not Quickfellow – never Quickfellow. He wanted to tell her he was only the son of a barter. He should tell her.
“Quickfellow,” she said. “I like that better.” She gave him a teasing look. “Thealos is so heady. Doesn’t come off the tongue very well. But Quickfellow has a nice sound. Would it offend you if I called you that? I just can’t call someone ‘my lord,’ not if they can tease Flent about the smell of his socks.”
He smiled. “It wouldn’t offend me. And what should I call you then? Ticastasy is a mouthful as well.”
“Well, Flent calls my ‘Stasy. He’s the only one who can get away with it.” She winked at Thealos. “Up until now. You can call me that too if you want.”
“It has a nice sound,” he said, smiling. She sat close to him, making him a little uncomfortable. He felt blood rising to his face. Their hands were almost touching. Why had he noticed that? She wasn’t Laisha Silverborne by any stretch of Silvan standards. Brown hair and brown eyes, about as human as she could get. Her skin was rich-colored, not pale like the Shae. Her cinnamon eyes would have been unfashionable in his homeland, but they looked well on her.
“You were wearing a pendant last night. Can I see it?”
“Your glowing eyes see too much, Quickfellow.” She tugged at her collar and pulled up the gold chain and sparrow, cupping the pendant in her hand for him to see. It glittered in the firelight.
“Pretty. Who gave it to you?”