Page 103 of The Mercy of Dawn

The sigh that left Bron was telling.

“Not as much as I would have hoped given the, well…” He gave Cyril a tight smile. “Effort we’ve been putting in.”

“Oh,” Cyril said.

She knew exactly what effort meant too, and she wasn’t about to push him any further on that.

Bron’s hand, draped over the top of her shoulder, drifted into her periphery, and Cyril focused on that instead of the frustration bubbling up in her about fucking everything.

She traced the outline of the rising sun tattoo occupying the space between his thumb and forefinger—the mark of merit that rogues of Helia wore. Dion, Ren, Tyr, and most of the others each had their own somewhere on their bodies.

The number and pattern of dots and lines apparently allowed them to identify one another, but it was another one of those many little secrets kept from her.

“Do you think Dion would ever let me get one?” she asked.

Bron flexed his fingers and cast her a wary glance.

“Do I think Dion would ever let his perfect, beautiful little niece do anything to mar herself permanently?” He raised his brow at her. “No, I don’t. But I do think if you asked Ren nicely enough, he’d do it for you, anyway. Dion be damned.”

Cyril’s lips parted and her eyes went wide. “You think he would?”

“I do. But don’t be running up to him asking him to do it tonight, dove.” Her shoulders sagged. It felt like Bron was right inside her head sometimes. “Wait until we’ve made it through this contract in one piece. I’m sure he’d be happy to do it then.”

Cyril pouted a little, but that was something she could do.

Chapter 25

Of no surprise to anyone, Dion was in a miserable mood when Cyril and Bron got back to the inn. The sun had barely set, but he argued it was irresponsible of Bron to keep Cyril out in the streets after dark. Like they’d been waving around gold coins and wandering shady alleyways in the middle of the night or something.

Neither she nor Bron bothered fighting with him about it.

Instead, they sat around one of the taproom tables and drank pints of lukewarm ale in fucking awkward silence before everyone broke away to turn in for the night.

Cyril’s door barely latched shut when Dion knocked once and opened it.

Standing in the middle of her cramped lodgings, she sighed. The last person she wanted to deal with right now.

“What?”

“What?” Dion scoffed. Clearly Cyril never had the right to be annoyed with him about anything. “Pack your shit up in the morning. We’re heading back after breakfast.”

She narrowed her eyes at Dion. “All of us?”

“Just you and I, we aren’t needed here anymore.”

Cyril barely suppressed her laugh. Like they even needed her here to begin with. Like they ever needed her anywhere.

“Do not sleep in,” Dion added, half his body already out the door.

Oh, her uncle was in a hurry. And he wasn’t wearing that jacket when they were downstairs minutes ago.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” he said and pulled her door shut. His footfalls echoed down the hall.

“Fucking arse,” Cyril grumbled.

She didn’t care if Dion heard her. He clearly didn't, though, because her door stayed firmly mounted on its hinges.