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346 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 24, 2023
Not far away from the frozen and unsettling Rezwyn capital at Doskor, on the single cobbled road that originated in Port Sulvoy on the Prauv Ocean, Oren Radek was experiencing perhaps the worst breath he'd ever smelled. It wafted out of a bandit who held a knife to Oren's jugular. He spoke in broken Uslethian, "What are you doing out here all alone, pretty boy?"
And Radek, who had just been weeks at sea without a single compliment, leaned into the blade and grinned. "Do you really think I'm pretty?"
The commander blinked, unmoving. "What are you doing?"
"Dying," Radek wheezed. "I'm-" he managed to point to the poisoned wine on the table.
Izra stared. "Dramatic."
"What?"
"It is only snake wine," Izra said, gesturing to the ceiling like the gods were watching. He came and brushed his hand along Radek's bnack, the briefest of gentle touches, and then put his hands beneath Radek's arms and lifted him. "It has the burn of venom in it, but it is not poisoned. Are you comforted now?"
"Yes, alright, thank you." Radek decoupled from Izra and thought about running violently toward the window and crashing through the glass to a euphoric end. He stood facing it for a long moment, feeling his cheeks burn with the kind of embarrassed rage he hoped would corrode his insides and kill him standing.
"You look very nice," Izra said. He seemed to belatedly register the awkwardness of this compliment, because he frowned immediately after he'd spoken.
A number of things flooded Radek's mind at that. But only an adolescent giggle emerged from his mouth.
Gedrok shook, not with anger or fear, but with relief. (...)
"You still," he whispered, just loud enough for Dziove to hear over the dying battle and the murmurings of their guards. "You still love me.