The Amulet Of Nicmir (The Scripts Of Neptune, Book 1)

Chapter 35

The next morning wasn't just awkward. It was excruciating. But mostly for Sam.

He'd had a hangover before. But this? This was something entirely different. And worse.

Not only had he woken up in nothing but his smallclothes; oh no, that wasn't nearly good enough to satisfy the gods or whoever lived up there. So naturally, he had a splitting headache, a churning stomach, and a mouth dry as the desert to boot. And a Crynia giving him this weirdly self-satisfied look across the table as he suffered over a cup of gross things that Noah had been kind enough to concoct for him. It was supposed to cure hangovers. Sam hadn't yet gathered the courage to touch it.

Lillian wasn't up yet. Chad had gone somewhere in search of fresh water, since apparently, the tavern didn't sell it. Kariana had disappeared upstairs with another bout of sickness. Everyone else crowded too close around their selected table and shouted in his ears.

At least that's what it sounded like. Then again, he hadn't opened his eyes since he sat down, so he was hardly a reputable source for such information.

Someone smacked him good-naturedly on the back, and all the air rushed out of his lungs. Raising his head, he turned to see Noah grinning at him.

"It's best if you plug your nose and down it in one draw," he advised, setting a steaming mug beside the cup of torture. "I got some coffee to get rid of the taste when you're done."

Sam's upper lip lifted in what could've been interpreted as either a grin or a grimace, and he dropped his head back on his arm.

"C'mon, Jackass," Crynia said, clapping her hands together and leaning forward. Sam glanced up at her and wished he hadn't. She looked far too enthusiastic about his pain. "It can't be that bad, can it?"

His eyes flicked down to the cup. With a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh, he reached out and slid it towards himself, plugging his nose and lifting the rim to his lips.

It tasted worse than the whiskey he wished he hadn't drunk the night before. Crynia futilely fought a smile as his face pinched. Stomach churning, Sam forced himself to swallow. Then he groped for the mug of coffee and downed half of it in one gulp.

"Easy," Nyle murmured absently from the other side of the table. "Don't want to drown yourself."

Sam glanced up. Nyle hadn't spoken all morning; he'd just sat down, curled his fingers around his mug, and stared at it like it was speaking some awful, mesmerizing prophecy that only he could hear. There was something weird going on in that head of his, and Sam wanted to know what it was.

"What's with you this morning?" he asked, deciding bluntness was best. "You're being bloody quiet. Nobody died last night, you know. Lil and I just got a little tipsy, that's all."

Surprise, surprise; Nyle kept staring at his mug. But he did concede a light frown and a shrug. Progress.

The stairs creaked. That brought him to life like a spark on oil. He glanced up sharply, dark eyes getting darker, looking past Sam with an expression like the thing he feared most was standing there.

Curious, Sam glanced over his shoulder, but all he found was Lillian, walking toward the table a little unsteadily, a hand to her forehead and her eyes scrunched closed.

Turning back to Nyle, he narrowed his eyes.

"'Bout time you got up," Crynia chimed in, breaking the silence. "All of us have already had our breakfast. Except Sam, of course. And Nyle."

Lillian opened her eyes and started to reply. And then she saw Nyle, and she froze for a moment. Awkward tension grew so stifling in the silence that Sam decided to say something before he choked.