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He scoffed and came to stand before her. “I don’t give a shit about the bottle, although…” He sighed. “That’s top shelf. You’ve expensive taste.”
Verve bared her teeth in a mocking smile. “I’m good for it.”
“What are you doing out here, alone?”
“I can look after myself.”
“I’m well-aware,” he murmured.
Eyes still closed, she took another hit from her puffer. “Someone’s got to keep watch while you lot cavort.”
Alem snorted a laugh. “Is that what you’re doing out here?”
Verve cracked one eye open to regard him. Standing over her as he was, he blocked her view of waning Atal. “Don’t you have anything better to do than scold the woman who saved Lotis?” she asked.
“You got some pretty nasty cuts back there,” he said after several heartbeats. “Have you treated them yet?”
Verve patted the bottle. “It burned at first, but I don’t feel anything now.”
He harrumphed. “At least let me look.”
“Wounds heal.”
“Not without help, sometimes.” But he didn’t move, didn’t try to touch her as Ivet had. Why did that fact disappoint?
“While I’m wearing my gear, your magic can do nothing for me,” she said slowly, carefully. Would he understand? “And I’m not about to strip for you. Or anyone, for that matter.”
He slid down to sit beside her, still not touching. “I wasn’t implying you should strip, Verve.”
Maybe you should. The thought ambushed her, and she couldn’t help but glance over at the solid lines of his arms and legs, at the sharply angled cheekbones that belied a soft heart.
Then he said, “The road you’re on? I’ve seen where it goes. And it terrifies me.”
A laugh sprang from her tongue, almost making her drop the puffer. “Then why keep liquor here at all? And why work as a barkeep, unless you like judging your customers?”
“Nothing wrong with a little relaxation at the end of a long day,” he replied. “But there’s a line between ‘just enough’ and ‘this will kill you one day.’ And this,” he gestured to where she sat alone with the bottle, “has crossed it. And I just… Hate to see anyone suffer.”
“Suffering’s part of life.” She took a long draw and blew out the smoke. “Besides, people in my line of work don’t live long enough to die of natural causes.”
He was silent. “Do you truly believe that?”
“Why do you care?” she shot back, though she wasn’t really annoyed. She’d been called worse. She almost laughed again. “You’re not perfect, either. What kind of a healer pukes at the sight of blood, anyway?”
He scrubbed a hand through his hair, mussing his neat braids. “Yes, I’ve seen blood before, Verve. But what you did today was a slaughter. You… destroyed those mages. Completely.”
For some reason, she couldn’t look at him. “Am I mistaken,” Verve said, “or was I not hired to protect this village?”
“Protect, sure,” he replied. “You had some great advice. Ivet’s already making plans based on what you told her, and Dannel’s already threatening to weave you a shirt or something.” He sighed. “But they didn’t see what you did today.”
“Dannel can’t see anything,” Verve said, and snorted at her flimsy joke.
Alem rubbed the base of his thumb like he was deep in thought. “How does someone learn to fight like you do? What kind of a life have you had?”
Something inside her balked at the gentle earnestness in his voice, so she sucked down the final bit of puffer and glared at him. “I survive. I always have. One day, I won’t. Until then…” She flicked the final bit of the puffer into the darkness. “I get by. Same as anyone.”
Alem exhaled. “Nothing about you is the same as anyone else.”
In another moment, she might have been flattered, but here and now his words landed like crossbow bolts in her heart. Heat tore at her eyes, clawing its way through the puffer smoke and the liquor, and the darkness tightened around her neck, strangling her in shadows. Her breath quickened and her feet itched to get up, to run away, to put the shadows behind her.
But no matter how far or how fast she ran, the darkness always nipped at her heels.
Instead, she looked back up at Atal. Three full cycles was too many. She could finish the job in one. Then she’d be gone — the sooner the better.
“I have some herbs in my garden,” Alem said carefully. “No magic needed. If those wounds get infected—”
Verve stood, cutting off his words.
She dug in her belt and withdrew one of the silver coins Ivet had given as payment. She pressed it into Alem’s palm and tried not to enjoy the feel of his skin against hers. “For the bottle,” she said. “Please tell Ivet I’ll sleep in the barn tonight. And keep your advice to yourself. I don’t need it.”
