A Scoundrel's Song

22

For the next couple of days, Niico considered, then rejected, then considered and rejected several more tests for the ring. Whether he should accidentally knock the boy from the wagon, to see if the ring would save him from the wooden, trundling wheels. That sort of thing. He knew they were cruel thoughts, even on the border of evil, but the promised power of that ring called to his innate curiosity. Of course, he didn't want to hurt the boy, either. Not really. He felt almost certain he didn't.

It didn't matter, anyway, as the child only wore it once or twice, holding his hand up before him, admiring the filthy, tarnished metal, before returning it to a little pouch on his belt. Niico couldn't test it if the boy didn't wear it. Throughout those days, Akafa sat almost in silence the entire time, lost in thought. Not even glowering at Niico, or Antioni, and Niico wasn't certain that didn't bother him more.

He had become used to Akafa's nature and Niico disliked change. Well, he disliked change that he didn't instigate and he doubted his words to the Orususkan had made that much of an impact. Akafa still fussed around his brother but had softened, if only a slight. At least the boy had a little more freedom without Akafa hissing his name as though Herit had performed the most dastardly, depraved act. That was, after all, Niico's area of expertise.

"Are you ever going to tell us why we're going through Ancomo, putting us in danger from the family Engallini?" Pel had asked him several times over the course of the past few days and, for once, Niico had held his tongue. "We could be half-way through the Dariello Pass by now."

"It's a secret. A surprise." He strummed the mandolin, foot resting on the board before him. "Trust me. We'll be able to put on a performance, rake in so much coin we could swim in it, and we won't have to do anything ... questionable to do so. We won't be rich, but we'll make a good purse full."

"You know, for an absolute fact, that I do not, nor will I ever, trust you." Pel glanced into the back, where Antioni sat as far away from Akafa as he could in the tight confines of the wagon. "Just tell me. I won't say anything."

"Quite right. You shouldn't trust me. Trust me about that. But, trust me when I say, it'll be worth it." He, too, looked into the back, allowing a smile to cross his face. "It will be fun, profitable and Akafa will absolutely hate it."

Pelenia groaned. As much as Niico, he wanted to say 'liked her' but couldn't quite reach that far, tolerated her company, she rarely appreciated his sense of fun. Or his sense of wonder. Or, come to think of it, anything of his. Why she still spent time with him, he didn't know. He knew why he spent time with her, they worked well together, but Pel had different expectations. He had always known that.

They had first worked together as they barrelled out of childhood. She had stolen from someone Niico had shadowed for some time. He had stolen from her what she had stolen, she stole it back, with ever increasing animosity. Niico had admired, even then, the skills she had and had used his superior intellect to come to a compromise, allowing her to keep the stolen items and to forge a loose partnership. That she had held a knife to his throat had not affected his judgement. Mostly.

Over the years, they had worked together, drifted apart, despised each other, worked together again and almost killed each other. If that wasn't something almost, but not quite anything near, friendship, Niico didn't know what was. It wasn't friendship, of course. It was mutually beneficial companionship. They had had some good times. Trust didn't come into it. Well, actually, trust was vital between them, but not required. That still didn't sound right.

"You've softened to them, you know?" Where that came from within Pel's mind baffled Niico. "More Herit and Antioni, but Akafa, too. You haven't pushed Herit away as much. You've even stopped trying to bed Antioni."