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

Chapter 51

It really would've been unclear to any bystanders whether Sam was intentionally making Lynn's job of guiding him difficult or not. Whether he knew exactly what was happening also might've been a subject worth speculation. Even if it had become as such, he wouldn't have confessed. But the truth was that he in no way had forgotten his own birthday, or Lillian's. Nyle's plan had come to light the moment he'd seen Crynia in that corset. And he was terribly, terribly excited. A party meant sweets. Sweets were heaven.

Besides that, he still felt like he was floating after that incredible kiss.

Not that he hadn't kissed girls before. Good looks meant kissing a barmaid who may or may not have overheard an important conversation got you valuable information that could be used in a war. But he'd learned, recently, that locking lips with someone you were bribing was nothing compared to a kiss from someone you'd given your heart to.

"Stop dragging your feet," Lynn snapped for the third time, pinching the tender skin on the underside of his arm hard enough to make him twitch out of her grasp. Her bony fingers closed over his sleeve again in a split-second. "And no running off, either. I've known you a long time, you little imp, so don't try anything."

"Yes ma'am," Sam said sweetly, scuffing his boots along the ground with renewed vigor. Lynn growled. Ah, such fun.

Nyle's laugh drifted to Sam's ears. "Be good, Sam. Ten more feet, I swear."

So Sam behaved for ten more feet. Lynn pulled him to a stop, yanking off the blindfold despite Nyle's look of irritation. Then she whispered irately, low enough that Lillian wouldn't hear, "There you are, you rascal. Happy birthday," and stalked off.

Grinning, Sam turned in a circle. Gods--they'd really outdone themselves.

Nyle and Lynn had guided them to the town square, where a massive crowd of townspeople had gathered, dressed in vibrant clothing of every shade and style, a swathe of life and color in the dry cold of the desert night. Little paper lanterns hung on strings along every rooftop and gutter, points of warmth, and tables of rich-smelling foods were scattered everywhere. The stars were crisp and bright above it all, and the moon, already at its pique, cast an eery, beautiful light over the dark faces dually lit by standing torches studding the street corners.

He finished turning when he heard a gasp. Lillian's hands were over her mouth, her eyes alight with surprise and delight as she took everything in. She laughed breathily through her fingers, her gaze shifting to Sam. "I completely forgot. Happy birthday."

"Likewise," he laughed, shooting Nyle a grin.

"I got you off kitchen duty, too," Nyle said, bringing something from behind his back. Sam flicked an eyebrow, and Nyle grinned. Sam wasn't entirely sure he liked the evil mischief dancing in his dark eyes. "For a price."

Eyeing the long wooden sword in Nyle's hands, Sam asked, "What's the price?"

"We're in a city full of Nemaru, some warriors, who've never met or fought a Canivera. They'd like a chance." Nyle held out the carved longsword hilt-first, and Sam took hold of it, swinging the blade, testing its weight and balance. The sword. His weapon. "Besides," Nyle added with a grin, "sparring is one of your favorite pastimes. I figured you'd enjoy it."

Rolling his eyes, Sam swung the blade again, switching hands as he did. "You know me rather well, don't you? I assume I won't be battling in the square?"

"Naturally. They've got an arena for events and training. I'll show you where it is." Nyle offered Lillian his arm with a smile. "Milady."

"Why thank you, kind sir," Lillian said, linking elbows with him. "Shall we?"