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“So,” Vex said, in arch and mildly inebriated tones. “I never knew you had an eye for the gentlemen.”
Percy barely had time to raise his eyebrows before Vex’ahlia dropped onto the tavern bench beside him. He’d become somewhat separated from the rest of the group, after a couple members staggered off to find more drinks, rowdier activities, or, in one loudly announced case, the privy. It left no particular need to squeeze in tight, but Vex was doing her best regardless. Perhaps it was the fault of the ale. Or she meant to set him off his guard. Or both.
Either way, Percy began enunciating as carefully as possible—he’d had more than a little of the ale himself—as he replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, if I’m not mistaken, I heard you call Kashaw attractive.” She poked his shoulder. “Twice.”
Ah. That. Percy masked his expression behind a casual, or so he hoped, hand-swipe to dry his lips. All right, he’d had a lot of the ale. “That was merely an aesthetic observation. And you all seemed to agree with me.”
“Yes, but you don’t normally comment on that sort of thing.”
“Don’t I?”
“Percy.” She angled a sardonic look at him. “For months half the group was convinced you had no romantic inclinations toward anyone or anything, you said so little about the topic.”
He did raise an eyebrow then. “Was convinced? Dare I ask what changed your mind?”
“Oh, I didn’t say I thought you weren't interested in anybody. Especially after a certain, oh, what's-her-name, after the feast.” She said it airily enough that he turned to watch as she sketched an idle horn-like gesture above her head. Percy was on the verge of responding to that when she continued. “But every now and then you let something slip. Usually while half-asleep. Or soused. Like now.”
“I wouldn’t call this soused.”
“Oh, gods, no. The exalted and exemplary Percival Whatsit the Whatever would never stoop to anything but getting drunk with dignity.”
He couldn’t resist a laugh at that, although he tried. The end result was suspiciously like a snort. Vex nearly giggled in reply, a light and merry sound, and he unconsciously leaned toward it—although he reined himself in there, too, before he could tip too far over. Whether Vex noticed it or not, she gave no sign.
Granted, Percy thought a moment later, it was Vex. She noticed everything. He was only beginning to realize how much he’d probably revealed in one way or another before she asked, “So do you prefer anyone especially? Men? Women? I promise I won’t tell.”
Her wink probably wasn’t the world’s best indicator of trustworthiness, but Percy found himself answering honestly, even if his words were directed mostly to the table. “Neither solely, but neither prominently as of late, either. I’ve had other things on my mind.”
She made a little face at that. So did Percy. It was, after all, entirely the truth, although it was difficult to communicate exactly how deeply he meant that last part. He gave only a brief thought to everything they were embroiled in, however—and the shadows that had crowded his thoughts for so much of it—before traveling on to older concerns. He sighed and pondered his mug. “I suppose there’s more to it than that,” he admitted.
“What do you mean?”
He took a moment to form the answer. “Some of it reaches back to Whitestone. I never bore the full weight of family expectations, but there was always talk of, oh, advantageous alliances. It was worse for my sisters, to be sure; I could have gone on being the eccentric. But there was still a sense of what sort of relationships would have been proper, and….well. Especially with my eldest brother playing the rascal, I felt at least someone ought to act respectably.” He gave a small shrug. “And I was never the most…outgoing, in any case.”
“I can’t possibly imagine,” Vex said, her mouth quirked. He gave her a look, but let that go.
“So. Privately, yes, I’ve had an eye for a few people. But little of that has ever been indulged.”
Vex gave the sense of thinking over something private of her own before eyeing him again. “I think I understand, in a way. But…that was a while ago, Percy.”
“I know. But much of the time since was lost, one way or other.”
He didn’t look to see her reaction. His own thoughts had turned again to what memories remained of the days before they’d found him. He’d never completely described to anyone what that time had been like. He never intended to.
Instead, he swallowed the dregs of his ale, grimaced, then gave Vex a crooked smile and as deft of a deflection as he could manage. “I’m giving you a golden opportunity to mock my unimpressive exploits, you realize,” he said dryly. “Do go on; you might as well.”
“Oh, please. That’s my brother’s job. Or Scanlan’s.” She grinned at his sudden appalled expression. “Not to worry, darling. I won’t be the one to tell them.”
“Well, thank you for that.”
She hummed low in her throat and sat back, giving him a long once-over. “Was there anyone, though, truly?” she asked, her voice carefully light. “At least once or twice? I’d feel bad if there wasn’t.”
He smiled wryly. “Concerned for the state of my heart, are we?” She didn’t reply, just chuckled. After a time, so did he. “I never pegged you as a romantic.”
“Hah, well. Maybe it’s the ale.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s probably the ale. And maybe I am. A little.”
They were both, Percy thought, most definitely tipsy. He didn’t intend to take any of this too much to heart. Still, he listened to the noise around them, the not-so-far-off laughter of their friends, and he felt himself not exactly nod, but shrug, at least, in a small concession. Privately he remembered a few things—some from rooms much like this one, some seemingly worlds away. And he also remembered a wish or two, from not very far away at all.
“Perhaps,” he told her quietly. “Once or twice.”
She took that in and watched him for a little while.
Percy, feeling strangely unbothered by her regard, sat silent, too. It was companionably quiet until Vex flagged down a passing serving-girl. Percy didn’t realize what she’d done until he found the empty flagon in his hands replaced with another, full to the brim. He raised his gaze to Vex again, noting the equally full tankard in her hands. Foam and a few drops of ale sloshed over the side as she raised it in a toast. Part of him wanted to read it as teasing, but there was nothing unkind in her smile.
“To another once or twice, then,” she said. “And more. Of whatever it is you hope for.”
He laughed softly and raised his mug, too. “Fair enough.”
She took a swig, looking entirely too satisfied about it. “And really, Percy, for what it’s worth…”
She trailed off, but before he could ask what she meant, she’d bent much closer. Percy startled a little as she spoke, for her breath and her tone were equally warm, and her lips were almost at his ear.
“It doesn’t hurt to play the rascal every now and then,” she said.
Percy turned to her. He only had time for the impression of a smile and twinkling eyes before she pressed a kiss to his cheek, then rose from the bench, hoisting her tankard high as she swung around to meet Zahra and Kashaw again. Percy watched her go, then looked away hastily, realizing that his hand had just gone to that spot on his cheek.
He was flushed, all right. He didn’t think he could entirely blame the drink. And of course Vex would have taken notice.
“Damn it,” he muttered—before, unaccountably, laughing.
Well, he thought. Some questions have a way of answering themselves, don’t they…
He took another deep drink, considered the mug in his hands, then set it aside. Finally he got up from the table and went to rejoin the circle of his friends.
There were worse things in the world to drunkenly confess to, after all. And it was hard to imagine better company to keep.