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Then, before Seth could even form a question, Raider shoved himself to his feet and stalked off across the square. The metallic shoulder guard had vanished from sight.
CHAPTER 7
SETH STEPPED FROM the tavern’s kitchen into its courtyard. The evening sun cast a mellow glow through the square space, where a cooking fire smoldered under a heavy iron pot and junk was stacked along one wall.
Along another wall, a low table held a jute-wrapped pottery jug and several cups. Beside the table was a bench. On the bench was Raider, bare chested and slumping against the mudbrick wall behind him. A big tawny dog lay at his feet, canine chin resting on Raider’s crossed ankles.
Raider’s head, resting against the wall, rolled Seth’s way. “I told Ahmet I wanted to be left alone.”
“I told Ahmet I would pay for a third night.”
“Bastard.” It wasn’t clear whether Raider meant Ahmet or Seth.
“What are you doing?” Seth asked, even though the answer was obviously that he was in the process of getting drunk. Well, drunker.
“I’m cooking.”
“Is that so.”
“I stirred it recently. Though why I would help Ahmet turn that beautiful pork into stew, I do not know.”
Seth walked to the cooking fire and used the long wooden spoon to stir the stew, inhaling the delicious scents of pork, onion, chili, and spices. His mouth watered.
“I’m the one who’s cooking,” Raider said.
“It was about to burn to the bottom, which Ahmet said was likely—with you cooking. He told me to stir it.”
“He doesn’t trust me,” Raider complained.
“Probably because you’re drunk. Do you ever spend a day sober?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“So. A thief, a cheat, and a drunk. Fantastic.”
Damn it. Seth had been determined to be civil. He’d spent a solid hour lecturing himself on the subject.
Because …
Because he needed Raider.
Seth hated that fact, viscerally. It knotted his gut, set a fire in his heart, made his jaw clench so hard his teeth ached. He wanted to get away from this man. He wanted to be done with this mission.
But he needed one to accomplish the other. More than one god, it seemed, was having a laugh at him. This kind of cruel joke went beyond the mischievousness of the squat little trickster Apep. This felt like a divine conspiracy.
On a certain level, Seth knew that his reaction was extreme, even unreasonable. But he couldn’t control how he felt. Every time he interacted with Raider, it was like all the years he’d spent learning to so carefully govern himself puffed into smoke. It was like he was once again the boy with bruised knuckles, disappointing Marcus, disappointing the Arcanum, wondering if he was about to be tossed onto the streets where Marcus had found him.
But even if Seth couldn’t control his feelings, he needed to control his actions—and his mouth. Because he’d come here, unfortunately, to hire Raider. Which meant he probably shouldn’t sling insults at the man.
Raider’s eyes had narrowed slightly, though he looked more assessing than offended. Maybe he wasn’t as drunk as he looked. What the hell was Raider thinking about?
Instead of giving Seth any clue, Raider rolled his head to look at the dog and said, “Jasmine, he’s not being nice. You’re supposed to keep the riffraff out, you know.”
The dog sighed against Raider’s crossed ankles and offered a tail thump.
When Raider lifted his eyes to Seth again, he focused on the blood-red bundle in his hand. “You brought my kaftan?”
“And the dagger sheath.” Seth walked over to him and held out the items.
