“What shock?”
“The shock of being in the real world.”
“And what could you possibly know about what I’m going through?”
Cypress took a gulp of his drink before responding. “You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to be raised in Nightmare Penitentiary. But at the Assassins Guild, I was kept in a cage. I was trained to be cruel. I had my first kill at eight years old.”
I stared at him. “Eight?”
“That’s right. Eight. I thought that was normal for the longest time. That we all lived exactly like that. When I discovered that most of the world didn’t, it came as a little bit of a shock, you might say.”
I blinked. I didn’t want to fall into his story, didn’t wish to escape my reality and hear about his for a while. But I was doing it just the same. “How did you end up doing that? Being with them? Are your parents assassins?”
“I don’t have parents that I know of.” He shrugged as he looked at the waitress and held up two fingers. She nodded. What did that exchange even mean? He didn’t have parents. I hadn’t thought I did either. We also had that in common, the aloneness in the universe. “The assassins go after orphans. They find us on the street. In Fae whorehouses. In barns. Working the mines with the trolls. Whatever. They locate kids before the ages of four and bring us in. That’s what they did with me. I was the street rat variety.”
Two mugs were placed in front of us, and two plates that had chicken legs, something green I couldn’t identify, and a piece of bread on them. I stared down at the offering. I’d never seen so much food. Ever. Not in a single sitting.
“Is that alcohol?” I sniffed at it. I’d never seen any before.
“Yes,” he nodded. “Try it. I think, right now, you’ll find it helpful to calm down a little bit. It might make you feel tired eventually. That’s okay. We’re going to stay here tonight. Upstairs. The assassins don’t come here. They’re not welcome with the Fae. I only gained entrance here myself last year. Long story. Anyway, try the drink.”
I picked up the mug and took a sip, nearly gagging at the aftertaste. “Bitter.”
“You’ll get used to it. Three or four sips, you won’t notice it anymore.” He took a big sip of his and then a bite of the chicken. I’d eaten before. That wasn’t foreign. So why did it feel like this was the very first meal I’d ever consumed?
“So who did you kill?” The chicken was moist, and I hungrily took bite after bite. Still, I managed to get the question out.
He lifted his eyebrows. “At eight or in general? Because there are too many people to specify in one conversation if you want a whole list.”
“At eight.”
He took another bite, chewed and swallowed. He really had a beautiful jawline. I took another drink of the booze. He was right. The bitter went away. “You’re handling this very well. I told you I killed someone starting when I was eight.”
I shrugged. “I spent my life in a prison. Do you think you’re the first murderer I’ve ever spent time with?”
“How many specifically? Do you remember their names?” He had practically eaten all of his chicken.
“There was Mae. She was a bear shifter. She killed a brew witch that tried to steal a lock of hair from her mate.”
“That sounds honorable,” Cypress replied between bites of food. I started stuffing my face with chicken and continued to talk with my mouth full.
“She was nice. Didn’t stay long. She taught me how to braid my hair.” I thought back fondly on the woman before continuing. “Then there was Brie. She killed her husband for cheating on her.”
“Revenge kills are my favorite,” Cypress replied with a wink. I swallowed before taking a long gulp of my drink.
“Was it a revenge kill when you were eight?” I asked unabashedly.
“No. He was my best friend,” Cypress said, growing quiet. “They put us in a room together and said whoever survived gets to live.”
I gasped. That was horrible. How could anyone do something like that? “So you killed him?” I asked.
Cypress picked up his drink and stared over the rim of his mug before gulping down the rest of it entirely. I met his hard stare head-on as he drank. When he was done, he set the mug down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand with a hiss. “I might as well have. Gilbert killed himself to save me. Selfless bastard. Now stop with the questions and finish your food. I want to rest for the night, not deal with you.”
I nodded and took another drink. My cheeks had been growing warm. My belly was fuller than it had ever been.
“You know that means you didn’t kill him, technically. So...your first kill had to be later.”
He sort of shrugged. “It felt like I killed him. And when I was nine, I lodged a bullet spell in the back of the head of the bastard who gave that order. So, yeah that was a revenge kill. I didn’t flinch. I was made for that work.”
I was officially stuffed. I’d hardly gotten through a quarter of the plate. It felt wrong to waste it. Was there a way to save it? In case food stopped later. That had happened sometimes, for punishment.
“You’re done?” He eyed how little I had eaten.
My cheeks were so hot, and I had no idea if that was from the booze or from embarrassment at not being able to consume my meal. “I’ve never had so much food. I was wondering if we could take it with us?”
“No need. You won’t starve with
