Rinter grunted and rolled his shoulders back. “No, sir. I got it.”
“Good. Keep your eyes open.” When the orc in charge scanned the room and found Cheyenne watching him, she pulled back the volume on her activator and shot him a winning smile she hadn’t pulled out since Bianca’s congratulatory party six years ago for the newly elected governor. She raised her glass of dark-brown Uppertech swill toward him before taking a sip.
The orc looked her up and down, then dipped his head and kept moving through the club.
“Fuck.” Cheyenne thunked her glass on the table and scowled. “What the hell was that?”
Persh’al glanced around the room with a thin smile, though his hand around his drink trembled with the effort to keep from chucking it across the room. “Something that shouldn’t be possible here. This isn’t Hangivol anymore. This is the Crown’s prison.”
“Hey, keep it down.” Cheyenne forced a soft chuckle and nodded. “If I could tune in on that whole conversation, anyone else in this place could be listening to us.”
“Remind me to ask you what they were talking about when we’re not on the verge of stepping through the deathflame, okay?”
“What does that mean?”
The flickering smile he gave her was mostly genuine. “The root of all death and life, kid. Carries the same versatility as the human f-bomb, but with a richer historical context.”
She snorted. “Whatever.”
“We’re stuck here a little longer than I wanna be, but anyone who gets up to head out after that brilliant demonstration is asking to be sucked up into the walls next.” Persh’al drained the last of his mudshine and slammed the glass on the table. “I’m gonna do some schmoozing. See what I can dig out of somebody.”
“You sure that’s a good idea right now, with everybody this tense?”
“Better now than never, and I’m an excellent conversationalist. Watch and learn, Cheyenne.” His lighthearted words were weighted by the quivering anger beneath his voice and his rigid posture as he stood from their table and made his way toward the goblin woman who’d upset the vanished skaxen.
Cheyenne sat back in her chair and swept her gaze across the other tables and what little of the dance floor she could see on the other side of the round bar. Really? He goes right for the magical involved in that whole thing?
Chapter Forty-Six
Persh’al stopped at the goblin woman’s table, which was empty now except for her, and nodded. “Enjoying yourself?”
The goblin woman turned her glass inward, as if she thought he would try to take it from her, and met his gaze without blinking. “Always.”
“That’s good to hear. But isn’t it always?”
She gave him a thin-lipped smile and swallowed. “Without fail. I come here quite a bit to reassure myself about how much I enjoy all this.”
Leaning over the table toward her, Persh’al said, “You know what would make me enjoy the rest of my evening?”
Her scarlet eyes narrowed as she tried to figure out if he was flirting with her or trying to send some other type of message. “I have no idea.”
“That was a first for me.” He set a hand on the table and barely jerked his head toward the club’s entrance, where the skaxen had vanished into the walls. “I would love to hear more about what happens next.”
The woman’s eyelids fluttered, and she swallowed thickly again despite the small, thin smile. All put together and viewed from a distance, it might have looked like she was flirting right back. Cheyenne saw the goblin woman’s fist clench around a handful of her skirt by her thigh. She’s trying not to lose her shit.
“You can keep walking.” The goblin woman met Persh’al’s orange gaze and lifted her chin. “I’m here to have a good time, not to tell you stories. That one doesn’t have a happy ending.”
“Right. I won’t keep you from the party, then.” He nodded, and the woman turned away from him in her chair to watch the dancing on the other side of the club. Her hand shook as she raised her drink to her lips, then the tremor disappeared.
Persh’al turned toward Cheyenne and spread his arms, then made his way through the laughing, drinking magicals to schmooze with someone else.
The halfling spun her half-full cup in a slow circle on the table, watching intently. Nobody’s having a good time in here unless they’re hammered or hyped up on whatever is in vials.
Loud, startling laughter came from somewhere closer to the dancefloor. There was Persh’al, spreading his arms and grinning from ear to ear while he fake-laughed it up with a group of magicals in fine evening clothes. He pointed to his head, then at a puff of purple-gray hair rising two feet above the circle of magicals. More laughter followed, then Persh’al’s eyes widened, and he barked genuine laughter this time. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! I mean, who told you that was a good idea?”
The laughter faded, and the blue troll spun in a small circle and scratched his head. “Oh, sure. We’ll walk right up to the fightmaster and say, ‘Hey, why don’t we bring back mercy killings? Wouldn’t that be a trip?’”
Cheyenne clenched her jaw. What the hell is he doing?
Persh’al stumbled backward with a giggle, then widened his eyes. “No offense, you puffy-haired whatever-you-are. But you’re an idiot.”
The circle of partygoers who’d just been laughing right along with him quickly disbursed, leaving him alone with a short, pink-faced woman with two long rabbit-like ears dangling past her shoulders. The puff of purple hair belonged to her, and her eerily glowing green eyes darted back and forth as she searched for an escape.
“You know what I’m saying, though, right?” Persh’al practically shouted, waving his hand around.
So we’re going with the public-drunkenness plan. That would’ve been nice to know. Cheyenne stood and grabbed both their packs. Persh’al’s nearly pulled her over as she struggled to
