He was the youngest, with a different mother—that much I remembered.
“No one intended for me to inherit royal duties,” he continued. “Neither did I, for that matter. I’m more interested in freedom than obligation.”
“Yet here you are.”
Regret tainted his smile. “Here I am.”
More common ground. I wanted to tell him as much, but I stopped myself. One offhand remark would invite too many questions. Distance was better for both of us.
Vale gestured to the wine. “Can I interest you in a glass?”
“Drinking on the job, Vale? Whatever next?”
He uncorked the bottle. “Do you know how hard it is to get a demigod drunk?”
“I’ve never tried.”
“What about half Gorgons? High tolerance level?”
“Moderate.”
“One glass should be fine, then, if you want to keep your wits about you.”
“My wits are always about me.” I nodded at the glass. “Go on, then. I wouldn’t want your whole bottle to go to waste.”
He ordered the grilled pork tenderloin, and I ordered the shrimp and scallops.
“The other victims only communicated with the suspect online. Why do you suppose they’re willing to meet in person this time?” I asked.
“Desperation. We only agreed to the sale if they were willing to do the exchange in person. Told them we’d been burned by a previous transaction and wanted to count the money first.”
I speared another shrimp. “The money doesn’t transform until later, so I guess they decided the potential gain outweighed the risk of being identified.”
“They want to get their hands on this artifact. The question is—why is it so important to them?”
“Maybe they’re history buffs. Or collectors. Both can be obsessive.” I omitted any mention of Thornborn. I’d know for certain soon enough.
We stopped talking when the food arrived, because we didn’t want our conversation to be overheard, but also because the food was outstanding. I couldn’t remember the last time I had such a mouthwatering meal. I almost felt sad when I glimpsed the bottom of my plate.
“How much time do we have?” I asked. I hadn’t expected to enjoy a full meal upon arrival.
“No rush.”
I squinted at him. “Exactly how much of a cushion did you tack on?”
He refilled his wine glass. “Two hours.”
I nearly spat out a shrimp. “Vale, is this a date?”
His expression gave nothing away. “What makes you ask that?”
“You invited me here for a sting operation, yet somehow we’re sharing an upscale dinner and a bottle of wine.”
“If I recall correctly, you invited yourself.”
“Not to dinner. And I didn’t get the impression you were planning to be a part of the sting. Did you decide to show up because of me?”
“Yes.”
