Chapter LXXI

  Kina's heart races as she mentally scolds herself, wishing she could sp some sense into her own face. How could she have let something like that slip?

  The necromancer in front of her simply leans back in his chair, watching her with amusement.

  Thinking quickly, she starts speaking, hoping to find a way out of her mistake.

  “Well, considering the coin your companion pced on the counter, you two can hardly be considered common folk.” Nero, the necromancer, listens to her, seeming to consider her words, prompting her to continue.

  “And judging by your overall demeanor… I think it makes sense to refer to you as a lord.”

  The necromancer nods in agreement, seemingly satisfied with her expnation. Meanwhile, the waiter gnces between them in confusion, clearly not understanding why Kina is speaking with such respect to someone dressed like a beggar.

  “Smart!” the necromancer finally says, with a tone of respect. “Very smart.”

  Hearing it repeated, the relief she started feeling for salvaging the situation vanishes.

  What exactly does he mean by "Smart."? There’s a huge difference between whether he’s acknowledging her reasoning that led to calling him a lord, or if he’s praising her quick thinking in fabricating the excuse.

  The bastard’s face reveals nothing. His calm demeanor could mean he bought her story… or that he simply finds amusement in her attempts to engage with him. After all, he’s likely very aware of the power gap between them.

  “Thank you,” she replies, as it seems to be the only possible answer. He just keeps looking at her.

  “So, are you two going to order something or not?” the waiter cuts in, still baffled.

  Kina gestures for the necromancer to order.

  “I don’t want anything, thank you. My experiences with service in unknown inns haven’t been great, so I try to be cautious,” Nero replies with a polite tone, though clearly firm.

  This puts Kina in a bind, as it removes the possibility of poisoning him if needed. She also notices the subtle tension in his companion, confirming that the cryptic comment held some significance for both of them.

  She can imagine several situations where what the mage said makes sense. But her training tells her not to imagine stories, but to focus on facts.

  “Then I won’t have anything either. Thank you,” she tells the young waiter, who, still confused, walks off toward the other occupied tables.

  “If you don’t like inns, then why are you here?” Kina asks Nero, trying to seize the only opening she sees.

  “Fresh supplies… and maybe some new clothes,” the mage responds casually, pointing to his tattered attire.

  This might be the first genuinely useful piece of information she’s gleaned from this conversation. Fresh supplies suggest they don’t ck food, just fresh ingredients—which taste much better than preserved rations. Had that not been the case, she doubts he would’ve phrased it that way.

  Unless, of course, he’s pying her. But his companion had also referred to the freshness of the supplies, even mentioning meat. So, they clearly don’t ck provisions. This is bad news, for it allows them to stay away from poputed areas, making them harder to track.

  She looks at his clothes and finds another way to keep the conversation going while steering away suspicion.

  “Oh, what happened there?” she asks, trying to sound as innocently curious as possible, pointing to his arm where there’s a poorly stitched sleeve—and more importantly, a rge bloodstain.

  He gnces at where she’s pointing, then back at her, seemingly pondering before replying.

  “I was an idiot and got sliced in the arm by some jerk with a bde,” he says, shrugging, his tone admirably rexed despite the slight irritation he fails to fully hide.

  Given the truth of the matter—that the “jerk with a bde” was actually the commander of Figor’s forces, and the attack should’ve cleanly severed his arm—his nonchance is impressive.

  Looking at the state of his clothing, Kina decides to make a joke to downpy any suspicions about her question. “Oh, does that happen often?”

  What she intended as a light-hearted jab at the state of his clothes causes the mage to look at her intensely before speaking.

  “Fairly often. But you know what’s really annoying?” he asks, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret.

  Despite the odd turn of the conversation, it seems to be going well. Even if she hasn’t gotten much useful information yet, at least she’s building a friendly rapport that she might ter capitalize on.

  But this st question raises her guard. There’s something in his eyes—calcuting and suspicious—that he can’t quite hide.

  Unfortunately, she has no real choice but to respond: “What?”

  “Friends,” he says coldly, a smile on his lips that doesn't reach his eyes. She doesn’t understand and can only say, “Hmn?”

  “Yes, friends. Even though it’s incredibly difficult to believe, for some reason I’m great at making new friends,” he continues, the fake smile still pstered on as she realizes this is going downhill—fast.

  “Friends that are always following you around, dragging you into messes. Friends who can’t seem to understand what no means. Do you, girl, understand what no means?” he asks—not raising his voice, but somehow sounding more threatening than if he had shouted.

  It reminds Kina of his confrontation with Figor's men. Even then, facing forty armed men, he never needed to raise his voice—and yet everyone had heard him.

  She can only nod, trying to understand how things spiraled like this. The necromancer just returns her gaze, clearly doubting her.

  This is a make-or-break moment. She either keeps up the act and tries to be convincing, or she admits the truth he likely already knows—or at least suspects. But she can’t afford to back down.

  “As you might imagine, I’m not looking for new friends. And it’s frustrating how many keep appearing. Especially…” he pauses, his brown eyes locking on hers in a way that nearly makes her shiver.

  “…little girls who show up completely alone at inns in the middle of nowhere,” he finally finishes, pointing out the fw in her approach.

  This wasn’t the best setup for this kind of encounter. Maybe bringing the other two would’ve helped sell the story. Unfortunately, the very real risk that the mage could kill them all ruled that option out.

  “Oh, are you talking about me?” she asks with as much innocence as she can muster. “But I’m not alone.”

  “I’m part of a group. It’s just that the others are a bit behind. I came ahead to reserve rooms,” she tries to alleviate his suspicions, gesturing toward his companion still speaking with the innkeeper before continuing.

  “But the innkeeper is still busy,” she finishes, hoping he’s buying the story. He just gives a faint smile and shrugs.

  She starts considering how to proceed, given how far off-track the conversation has gone. Seeing few alternatives, she decides to take a risk. Opening her robe slightly, she moves closer to the mage.

  “But I can understand the appeal of a possible friendship with you. In fact, I’d love to get to know you better,” she says in the most seductive voice she can manage, carefully positioning herself to be as provocative as possible as she reaches to touch his hand.

  This isn’t her best strategy, nor her favorite. But as always, she’s willing to do anything for her people. Perhaps physical contact will give her the chance to drug him into revealing his secrets.

  But just as she’s about to touch him, his eyes go wide, and he looks almost panicked. He jerks his chair back, dragging it noisily, attracting the attention of the entire room.

  Not that he seems to care. He extends his hands to keep her at a distance. “Sorry, girl, but I don’t go for lo…” he starts to say then abruptly stopping mid-sentence, looking her up and down.

  His intense reaction leaves her genuinely shocked. Even if his tastes lie elsewhere—which is more than likely, given that he travels with two young men—the strength of his refusal is surprising. Especially considering her appearance, which, due to her petite build, can easily resemble that of a young boy—something certain men find appealing and has made many of her missions easier.

  Even if she weren’t his type, or he preferred curvier women, the almost fearful look in his eyes leaves her at a loss, and somewhat insulted.

  “Look, I don’t know what you’re thinking… but, well… tastes are tastes…” he starts stammering, words spilling out in a babble. She can hear some chuckles from the room as people begin to interpret the awkward scene. It only makes her angrier and more humiliated, even knowing the danger this mage represents.

  Seeing him embarrassed, trying to expin himself, doesn’t help.

  Just as she’s preparing to respond, his expression turns serious again. He rises from his chair and stares toward a table where two priests are seated.

  The sudden change in behavior throws her off. The mage focuses intensely on that table. For a moment, he hesitates— visibly unsure if he should act or not.

  Finally, he moves past her and walks directly toward the table he had been observing. His sudden movement leaves her even more furious—but also intrigued.

  Why is he acting like this?

  Fury and curiosity war within her as she follows him—wondering what, in this pce, could’ve rattled this necromancer enough to cut their conversation short.