Page 55 of The Mercy of Dawn

“Incredibly. And it also means we don’t have some vigilante trying to purge Reykr of its filth.”

“Maybe not…but don’t discredit yourself yet, dove.” There was that empathetic smile that Cyril could only ever tolerate from Bron. “Just because the piece doesn’t fit where you think it should right now, doesn’t mean it’s the wrong piece, if you catch my drift?”

Cyril sighed. “You’re trying to talk to me about patience again, aren’t you?”

At that, Bron chuckled.

“I’ll spare you that tonight.” He slung his arm across Cyril’s shoulders, steering her out of the loop of hallways that they spent the last half-hour wandering, trying to get some peace after a raucous dinner. “We’ve both got empty drinks, and you know Dion will be pissed if we’re not in there batting our eyelashes at everyone.”

Gods, wasn’t that the truth.

With the guild, royal family, and a handful of high-ranking guards in attendance, dinners at the palace had become a bit of a production. They spent their evenings in a larger dining room that also had an attached lounge well stocked with everything they might need for a night of unwinding.

Bron and Ren flanked Cyril in the back of the lounge, standing comfortably around a tall table with their third bottle of red wine—the first two of which Ren nearly drank all to himself.

The room was dim and warm and smelled like worn leather and the rolled tobacco Lars and Dion enjoyed smoking with their spirits. Normally Cyril didn’t love the way the smoke burned her eyes and itched at her throat, but she’d had enough to drink that she barely noticed it tonight.

Like each dinner and wind-down before, the groups kept to themselves—Cyril and the guild, the guards and the arrogant prince, Dion with the rest of the royal family—except for Tyr tonight, who had taken to flitting about from group to group.

He was either right hammered or trying to gather intel. Both, maybe.

It all reminded her of home.

Like when bodies and booze and laughter would fill the great hall shoulder to shoulder. Admittedly, this wasn’t as rowdy as a room full of drunken rogues and house staff, but Cyril didn’t mind that at all. Even just the hint of home was welcome.

What she did mind, however, was that Rendal decided she would be the target of his harassment.

At least three times in the last few hours, he hip-checked her right into Bron or the wall when she wasn’t paying attention. After a near disaster on the first one, she stopped holding her wine glass when she wasn’t rushing it to her lips.

On the third hit, she tried shoving him back. Bron and Ren both threw their heads back with roaring laughter as she slammed all her body weight into the physical embodiment of a stone wall that was Ren.

He did not budge.

And now, gods help her, Ren was using her head as an armrest.

“I swear to each and every fucking god,” Cyril hissed as she swatted at his arm. She ducked out from under the weight of it as he started rubbing circles into her hair. “I’m going to take out your knees when you aren’t looking, you oaf.”

Ren’s chasmic eyes met hers.

Something diabolical flickered in them and he grinned.

“It’s going to be hard to do that”—he reached for her, and Cyril wasn’t fast or sober enough to get away from him—“when you’re busy swimming in the lake.”

A shriek of laughter left her as Ren hauled her under his arm, like he was carrying a piece of damn lumber, and trudged towards the door.

“Ren, no!” she barked, all flailing limbs and fruitless attempts to get out of his grasp. She assuredly kicked someone, but she couldn’t see past the curtain of hair that hung around her face.

“But I thought you loved swimming, dove.” He jostled her around, pretending to adjust his grip. Cyril swore and laughed, and a few indignant noises left her. “Besides, the water looked lovely.”

“Stop! Ren—” Another shriek of laughter left her as he jostled her once more. Her face felt so hot she knew it was an ungodly shade of red. “Ren, you’re going to make me sick!”

“We’ll just have to”—he shook Cyril around again—“dunk you in the—”

“Enough.” Dion’s unmistakable growl had Ren freezing. “Would you two knock it the fuck off?”

Cyril hadn’t noticed how silent the room was.

With a slow, measured movement, Ren set Cyril down on her feet. He let her hold on to his arm as she tried to blink through the wave of dizziness rolling through her.