Hide Your Fires

Chapter Nineteen: Trickster

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How rude of the sun to rise the moment I shut my eyes. How rude of the light to return so soon after crumbling to dust, being sealed away like a malevolent demon shrieking in its prison.

The smell of coffee rouses me. But it's the blurred sight of Pyrrhus that returns my sense.

"Specs."

They land a little too roughly in my palm. He leaves me to untangle the chains myself, so I spare him no pleasantries aside from the required, "Morning."

The coffee tray between us seems less like an offering and more like a bribe. Droplets of it coat the serving tray.

"The sun is at his zenith," Pyrrhus answers, and his voice is rough, words clipped. I'm not stupid enough to ask if he's all better now. "I couldn't wake you, so I stumbled out there to make excuses before they sought you out. You were up late tending to me."

"That's true."

"It's not. You spent the night wounding our odds of survival. You spent the night tampering with the one thing that can secure our passage home!"

"You agreed with my methods last night." I shrug, then pivot away from him to smooth my hair, wondering aloud if the caravan stocks pomade— it's not my specialty, and I'm looking a little shaggy.

The pot boils over. Pyrrhus' scowl breaks. Luckily, the floor doesn't. He pounds it once with his fists. "I had mush for brains last night."

"Yes, I thought you seemed more like yourself."

Not a smile.

Sighing, I retreat into my bag, surrendering a bindle tied much tighter than before. "I didn't crush the whole of it. I wouldn't waste my time and energy- or Shideh's-  on a job that size if I'm not sure it will yield results."

Some bitterness subsides, but that's from confusion, not forgiveness.

I produce the shaker. "We're conducting an experiment. I hope to season each of your meals with a dash of stardust. But we're going to start with suppers only. I'll monitor your symptoms, make sure you're not sprouting any additional limbs... and we'll see if you continue to develop Fetterling powers. Cool?"

Another mistranslation. Pyrrhus skims a hand over the coffee and informs me it is piping hot.

"Bash said you require some before speaking."

"Yes. Before."

"But in the desert-"

"Did you find me very accommodating in the desert?" We traveled at night and in the early morning. I'm by no means pleasant on a good day, but...

Pyrrhus pulls the cup from the hot sand. He lifts the sugar dish in his left hand, removing its spired lid with the right... totally neglecting the spoon.

"Pyrrhus-!"

But I'm not fast enough.

There's poison in his cup. A lethal dose. So much sugar that the coffee looks like a ruined sandcastle. An empire felled at breakfast time.

He attempts to pass me the cup. I recoil.

"You're a monster," I hiss, but my bird doesn't agree. Shideh beats Pyrrhus to my spoils and downs them in a gulp.

He blinks in surprise.

I collect our dishes and go.

✧

She's mad about something; it lingers heavily in the air. Shideh won't tell me what it is, so I don't risk following her into our ramshackle court. The mask of Taranis the Vangyyl can hang on the wall I find myself leaning against moments after the curtain settles.