Today's excerpt is from chapter 16 of Ink Adept, where Munayair has to pretend interest in a persistent young man.
Servants led them into a lavish dining room, already arrayed with food. Cold boiled eggs, dried fruit and nuts, sweet breads, and pots of liquor. Food enough for an army. Munayair’s mouth twisted. Her mind returned to the thin-faced girl shivering in the damp stable. But she allowed Sachin to lead her to a seat beside the table without saying a word. They sat on a finely-woven mat while a servant poured foaming, milky liquor into tall metal cups. Sachin crowded next to Munayair and handed one to her with exaggerated gallantry, beaming into her eyes. She snatched the cup and swallowed a hasty mouthful, choking on the thick, bitter liquid.
Sachin put his lips close to her ear and whispered, “Careful now. It’s not a race. Journeyer Tersic keeps a well-stocked cellar.”
The bitter taste lingered in her mouth. She leaned away while still trying to smile like she was enchanted. Falean gave quiet instructions to the servant to take a tray of food and a water pitcher out for the waiting soldiers. Journeyers chattered as they ate, casting glances at Munayair and Sachin, cozily sharing a mat.
Oh, if you’re going to play the part, play it right! Avlingai chortled. Give the boy something to boast about in the training yard. Touch his knee. Better yet, give him a sip from your cup.
Munayair rolled her eyes. At least someone was enjoying this. I told you to be quiet, she hissed.
Sure enough, a moment later Sachin’s hand landed—as if by accident—on her knee. Most of the journeyers were staring openly now, and the furrow in Anjita’s brow had deepened. Munayair firmly removed the offending article and scooted further away.
Anjita smiled at Falean, who sat swirling the contents of her own cup and studying it. “It must feel so isolated out here in the woods, far from other adepts,” she said. “Do you travel to other enclaves often?”
“Never, actually,” Falean said, tipping liquor into her mouth and rolling it on her tongue. “I haven’t gone farther than a league from Adasari for eight years now.”
A dried apricot fell from Anjita’s mouth. “Never?” she repeated.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Munayair slipped an egg and a raisin-studded sweetbread into her pocket. Sachin’s eyes followed the movement and she raised an eyebrow at him. He winked, shifting closer.
He can think what he likes, she thought, scooting away so she teetered on the edge of the mat. His spicy perfume was starting to give her a headache.
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