Читать книгу Darkdawn - Jay Kristoff, Jay Kristoff - Страница 25

It was the most uncomfortable dinner Mia had ever attended.

The good captain was seated at one end of the table in his cabin, dressed in a fine black velvet shirt, unlaced a touch too far. His mate BigJon sat beside him, propped up on a stack of cushions. Mister Kindly was draped around Mia’s shoulder at the table’s other end, and Eclipse was curled up on the floor at her feet. Ashlinn was sat to her left and Tric to her right, Jonnen sitting opposite BigJon to complete the set.

Ash had shed her sorority vestments, now clad in black leathers and a red velvet shirt. Tric still wore his dark robes, though his hood was pulled back, exposing his beautiful pale face, his black eyes, his saltlocks moving in a breeze no one else could feel. Mia still wore her leather gladiatii skirt and boots, but the good captain had been nice enough to loan her one of his black silk shirts to replace her bloodstained tunic. She quickly realized the scoundrel liked his fashion low-cut, and had to bend over carefully lest uninvited guests made an unexpected visit.

The ocean whispered and shushed against the hull, the gentle rise and fall of the Maid on the swell setting the crockery tinkling and clinking. Sunslight streamed through the leadlight windows, the Sea of Silence spread out in azure splendor behind them.

The silence around the table wasn’t nearly so pretty.

The good captain had put on a fine spread and seemed intent to impress Mia—though she’d not yet fully grasped why. After his initial fear, he’d acclimatized well to the notion she was darkin, slipping easily into the role of charming host. As the aperitifs were served, he kept the talk light, speaking mostly of his ship and his travels. His wit was so quick it might’ve been pure silver he was drinking. But it soon became apparent most of his audience weren’t in the mood for a Charming Bastard routine. Corleone’s small talk had sputtered, then died. And as the dishes were cleared in preparation for second course, the table descended into an awkward quiet.

Cloud Corleone cleared his throat. “More wine, anyone?”

“No,” Ashlinn said, watching Tric.

“No,” Tric said, glaring at Ashlinn.

“Fuck yes,” Mia said, waving her glass.

Mia was on to her third. It was a fine vintage, dark and smoky on her tongue. And though she preferred a good goldwine—Albari if it was going, though in truth, almost any whiskey would suffice—she wasn’t quite rude enough to ask the good captain if he had any. She could get drunk on red just as easily, and turns of being cooped up together in that cabin had set everyone on edge. So drunk she intended to get.

“Well,” Corleone said, taking another stab. “How do you all know each other?”

Silence.

Long as years.

“We studied together,” Mia finally replied.

“O, aye?” Corleone smiled, intrigued. “Public institution, or Iron Collegium, or …”

“… it was a school for fledgling assassins run by a murder cult …”

“Ah.” The captain glanced at the shadowcat and nodded. “Private tutors, then.”

“SOME OF US BECAME MASTERS OF IT,” Tric said, staring at Ash. “MURDER, THAT IS.”

“That shouldn’t surprise,” she replied. “Given what we trained for.”

“A KNIFE IN THE HAND OF A FRIEND IS OFTEN A SURPRISE.”