Free Brimstone Angels by Erin M. Evans Page A

asked.
    “Brin.”
    Havilar nudged Farideh again with her elbow. “Go see if he wants to say thank you by eating with us.”
    Farideh turned completely scarlet. “No.”
    “Come on!”
    “No!” She scraped the last of the gravy from her bowl. “Anyway, he seemed pretty happy to have us on our way.”
    Now the boy was talking to the innkeeper who was shaking his head. The boy was getting flustered and arguing, but over the low din of the taproom, Havilar couldn’t hear about what. Maybe he didn’t want the dumplings.
    “Let’s go,” Farideh said, standing. Much as she’d protested Mehen’s orders, she was still wearing the awful cloak.
    Havilar stood. Finally, they were going to have some fun. “Where?”
    Farideh pointed up the stairs. “Second door on the left, right?”
    “Oh Fari, really?”
    Farideh gave her another dark look, and headed upstairs. Havilar sighed heavily, picked up Eater of Her Enemies’ Livers, and followed. She looked sadly over at Brin as she passed—
    And saw him pulling a half-empty bottle of liquor over the counter and shoving it inside his jerkin. He glanced around and spotted herwatching. Havilar smiled, but he turned away and sped out through the door.
    “
M’henish,
” she muttered and headed upstairs.
    The room wasn’t very big, but the bed was wide enough for the two of them, and there was space for Mehen on the floor and a table and chairs besides. A pitcher of water and a basin for washing rested on a stand and a small fireplace lay cold behind an iron screen. Farideh had pushed open the windows and sat in one of the chairs to catch the breeze. Havilar pulled off her cloak and tossed it across Farideh’s, already lying on the bed.
    “I wish,” Farideh said after a moment of quiet, “you’d be a little less obvious. Don’t you think at all about what might happen? About what people might be thinking?”
    Havilar sat in the other chair. “Why should I?”
    “Do you know how long it takes for someone to make up their mind about you?” Farideh asked. “About anyone? Seconds. You don’t even have to open your mouth and they’ve already made their minds up. If you’re lucky you can change their minds, but … you’re a tiefling. It’s harder than it is for most.”
    “Me?” Havilar said. “I’m delightful. Everyone knows that. Or everyone should.”
    Farideh sighed. “I’m only saying be more careful—”
    “You be more careful, you’re the responsible one.”
    “Hardly,” Farideh said. “Mehen doesn’t trust me to do anything.”
    “Because,” Havilar said, “you’re too careful. Anyway, who cares about Mehen? Careful doesn’t work with boys.”
    “How would you know?”
    “I’ve talked to boys.”
    “When?”
    “Before,” Havilar said. “At home.”
    “There were four fellows within a dozen years of us,” Farideh said. “Which one did you prove your theory on?”
    “Well you did with Iannis,” Havilar retorted. “Pretty clear careful doesn’t work with him.”
    Farideh’s cheeks reddened and she looked away at the mention of the dairyman’s stupid son. Havilar rolled her eyes—her sister had been infatuated with one boy so far as she knew, and Faridehwas still sulking over it. All the more reason to get her out of this boring room.
    “Come on,” Havilar cajoled. “We’ll just slip out for a bit.”
    “No. You don’t know who’s out there.”
    “Aren’t you bored of having no one but Mehen to talk to?”
    Farideh frowned and rubbed her arm. “I have you.”
    “Of course you have me. That’s always going to be true. But when was the last time we spent
any
time with anybody who wasn’t a hundred years old? And don’t say Lorcan,” she added. “Lorcan doesn’t count.”
    “Of course he doesn’t count,” Farideh said. “Lorcan could be a hundred years old for all I know.” She rubbed her arm again.
    Havilar frowned. “That’s not what I mean.”
    “It doesn’t matter. We’re talking about boys. Not