I swallow my misgivings. The warlord doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know what I’m capable of. “Four coppers then. One for each.”
He puts the coins on the table, and I pocket the money, turning to the ax-wielder first. “What’s more important? Your warlord’s life or your own?”
“My warlord’s.”
There’s no hesitation. No soul ripping.
“You have to choose between this savage”—I sink a lot of sneer into my voice just for the fun of it—“or your wife. Who do you choose?”
“I have no wife.”
“But if you did?”
“If I choose to marry, my wife and children will come first.”
No searing flames. No melting bones. No pelting truths to outweigh the lie.
I let my eyes glaze over and place my hands on my crystal ball, pretending to do soothsayer-like things for an appropriate amount of time. I should probably make up a chant, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
“Your man is loyal,” I finally announce. “But I don’t advise using his future family against him.”
“I’ll have a family?” The ax-wielder’s face splits into a wide grin.
Eh… “Yes. Lovely wife. Several strong children,” I lie. Or maybe I don’t. How in the Underworld should I know?
The warlord’s unwavering stare has me shifting uncomfortably in my chair. “Step back, Flynn,” he commands. “Carver, you’re next.”
A dark-haired man approaches, moving forward with a confident stride. He’s about my age, lean and tall, and looks like he’d be mean in a fight. He’s the type of sinewy swordsman that can move like a shadow and strike before you blink. I know his kind. He’s the kind you want watching your back, not sneaking up on it. There’s a resemblance to the warlord in his facial features, black hair, and gray eyes, but the similarities end there. The warlord outweighs him by about sixty pounds and is probably ten years older.
The man—Carver—smiles at me. There’s a disarming, rather friendly gleam in his eyes, but I have no doubt his easy smile could turn sharp with menace.
“Is loyalty important to you?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I point to the warlord. “Would you follow this man into a fight?”
Carver nods.
“Say it,” I prompt.
“I would. I have, and I would again.”
I glance at the warlord. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes feel like a Cyclops’s foot on my face. I ask for Carver’s hand, feeling awkward. Even if palm reading is a hoax, his rough skin still tells a story of battles and blood. “Would you die for this man and his cause?”
“Yes.” A simple, one-word, truthful answer.
I stare at Carver’s long, powerful, callused fingers. What is the warlord’s cause? From what I heard, the new royal family outlawed warring among the Sintan tribes. They’re all supposed to get along now that one of theirs has taken over.
I repress a smirk. Good luck with that.
“I would bleed for him. I would die for him.”
Carver’s truth is so strong that it carries a word—brother. Shocked, I drop his hand like a poisonous snake. I almost never hear an echo from truths.
The word still bouncing around inside me, I say, “Your brother is loyal, but I think you already knew that.”
“Hmm.”
I scowl at the warlord. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I never said he was my brother.”
Damn it! Who stole my filters tonight? “You look the same.”
“Not that much.”
I wave my hands above my table. “Soothsayer, remember? I know stuff.”
He tilts his head, looking hard at my eyes. He keeps up his scrutiny until unease ripples through me, making me squirm.
The warlord breaks eye contact. “Basil,” he calls out flatly, motioning another man forward.
A blond man takes Carver’s place. He’s handsome without being remarkable, strong without being overwhelming. He blends in. I guess that’s what he’s good for. Warlord, Flynn, and the fifth man don’t blend. They’re too big, too powerful. They demand attention. Carver doesn’t blend, either. He’s lean and angular, with wily eyes. Basil is just…blah, as far as I can tell.
Basil moves to the right, away from the warlord and closer to the fifth warrior who has watchful blue eyes and a colossal mace that could probably crush three skulls at once. Basil’s movement is minute, and I only notice because I’ve trained myself to look for body language that will help me fool people into thinking I’m not a fraud.