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“Are your parents still living?”
The scar on his cheek pulled as he frowned. “Why all the questions?”
“I’m just curious about you.” She gestured to the ale in front of her. “You don’t drink, and I didn’t know that.”
“And that bothers you?”
“Yes. Not that you don’t drink, of course. I’m just bothered that I didn’tknowyou don’t drink.”
His eyes dipped to the ale. “How potent is that?”
She shot him a defensive look. “I’m not drunk.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “You’re not as eloquent as usual.”
Her cheeks warmed. “You think I’m eloquent?”
He sighed and reached for her mug. “I think you’ve had enough.”
She clutched it to her chest. “No I haven’t. And you’re avoiding my questions.”
Cardon rolled his eyes, one arm braced against the bar as he turned toward her. “I don’t know if my parents are alive or not.”
She hadn’t expectedthat. “You don’t?”
He shook his head, his eyes fastened on her. “No. I have no idea who my father was, and I have a name for my mother, but not much else. Soon after I was born, she left me with her parents. She never returned.”
Her chest squeezed. “Cardon, I . . . I’m sorry.”
“It’s in the past—it doesn’t matter.” His tone was even enough, but old pain threaded his words.
“I should have asked you before now,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry I never did.”
“I would have evaded your questions. I don’t like to think about my childhood, let alone talk about it.”
It hadn’t been good, then.
At the thought, she cursed herself. Ofcourseit hadn’t been good—he’d never known his father, and he’d been abandoned by his mother. But there was something else there, some other demon that haunted him. She could feel it.
Before she could ask, Wilf returned to the bar and ordered four tankards. While the barkeep left to fetch them, Wilf glanced down at them. “Their tongues are loosening. Apparently, they have some complaints against Buhari and the clans.”
“Drunk men like to complain,” Cardon murmured.
Wilf nodded, then jutted his chin toward the corner. “You should join the arm wrestling. The men who make a profit betting on you might feel friendly and buy you a drink.”
Surprise lit through Serene. “You arm wrestle?” She didn’t doubt his strength, but Cardon didn’t have a competitive spirit or a gambling nature.
He dipped his chin. “I was one of the best in my barracks when I first joined the army.”
“He’s stronger than he looks,” Wilf grunted. “He’s beaten me before.”
Serene’s eyes rounded.
“You were drunk at the time,” Cardon said, waving a dismissive hand.
“True.” The drinks Wilf had been waiting for arrived. He lifted all four mugs, two in each fist, then looked to Serene. “If you want to make a few coins, place a bet on him.”
As Wilf walked away, Serene twisted on her stool to face Cardon. “I’m learning so much about you tonight. How long have you been a champion arm-wrestler?”
