Lord of the Night

Chapter 58: My Person

Isalio's chamber was an uneven oval, creased with a couple of dark ridges. In the back, a single stalactite tapered from a pillar at the top to a paper-thin needle at the ground. The accommodations were a surprising improvement over his cell at Sitaklasa: a wooden table and chair, a lumpy mattress with a pile of blankets, and a warm glow from electric lamps. But it was the sight of Isalio himself that made my jaw drop.

He lounged back in the chair with his legs stretched out under the table in front of him, crossed at the ankle with one toe bobbing. A forest-green shirt hugged his lean shoulders and torso, unbuttoned at the top to expose a smooth patch of chest. The matching draw-string pants hung low on his hips and loosely outlined his long lean legs. Clean damp hair swooshed over his forehead and brushed his shoulders.

His hand draped over a glass of amber liquid, so casually that the cuff on his wrist looked like a fashion statement. I eyed the shine of his eyes, the relaxed smile on his lips, the half-empty bottle perched beside his glass. If there had been any question of what he was drinking, the smell gave it away—the bitter sting of zaikut burned my nostrils even from several feet away.

Bakvar rolled the boulder back into place behind me, closing us off from the corridor and from everyone else, but I barely even registered it. I continued staring at Isalio, heart thumping with a confused mixture of fear, anger, and lust.

Jabbing a finger at the bottle, I spat, "Where did you get that?"

"It was a gift from Andradkut. He said he found it in the kitchen."

"And you thought it was a good idea to drink it? Now?"

"You're cute with your brow all scrunched like that."

I scrubbed a hand over my face. "Fuck. How drunk are you?"

He tilted his head and tapped his lips. "Maybe three sips past adorable, but several gulps short of wasted." He lifted the glass to his lips.

I snagged his wrist and wrenched the glass from his hand. "What are you doing, Isalio? Why did you accept zaikut from Andradkut?"

"You said he wouldn't hurt me."

"I was ordering him not to hurt you. I wasn't ordering you to accept anything he gave you. Besides, even if Andradkut wouldn't hurt you, someone else at the Mantle could have taken advantage of your state."

He shrugged. "Eh, you worry too much."

"And you worry too little."

"Oh, calm down. I know what I'm doing."

"So you're deliberately disrespecting me?"

His smile disappeared, and his voice sharpened. "Oh, I'm disrespecting you? Because I'm having fun without you?"

"Because you're under my protection, and you're making it fucking difficult."

"I didn't ask for your protection." He rose to face me, shoulders squared with my own. He stood steady, slightly assuaging my fears about his level of intoxication—but only slightly. "Why don't you go join your people? I've got zaikut to warm me up, so I don't need you here tonight. And anyway, I was having more fun before you came."

I plunked the glass of zaikut onto the table, splashing some over the side. "Why did you even join us, if you don't want me around and don't want my protection? Do you just enjoy making a mess out of everything?"

He shoved both hands into my chest, and I rocked back a step, more out of surprise than from the force. "As if you're one to talk, Remgar. You seem determined to get yourself killed, racing back after your base was already demolished, almost jumping from the window of the fiftieth floor, driving a warper straight into the prison. Every time I make a plan, you do something outrageous, and I'm back to square one."