Solitaire POV: Day 78

  Current Wealth: 229 gold 37 silver 6 copper

  I had to apologise to Argar shortly after waking up, even though his being thumbed in the eye was mostly his own fault. I mean, I’d been asleep, unconscious, even! Not an hour removed from a deathmatch! Holding his face that close to me like that had just been asking for trouble. It hadn’t even been on purpose, either, my arm had just done that.

  Still, I said I was sorry, on account of what a kind, generous soul I was. And the fact that I didn’t want to be used as a drumstick by the biggest ginger I’d ever met.

  “It’s fine.” He grunted, still blinking and rubbing his watering eye as he said it. Evidently I’d closed the physical gap a bit since our last fight, it was almost satisfying to see confirmation, though I was a bit preoccupied to dwell on it.

  “Did we win?” I asked, memories of the fight swimming back before my eyes. Argar nodded.

  “You’re still alive aren’t you? ‘Course we won.”

  “I mean, did they manage to destroy any of our equipment?”

  He hesitated at that.

  “A few bits and pieces, but not much, we fought them off well enough.”

  A few bits and pieces. My blood boiled even at that much, those stupid fucking rats.

  “Thanks for your help.” I told him, realising that it needed saying. One did not live long with bodyguards whom one failed to make friends with, history had taught me that much. Argar, though, didn’t look particularly happy.

  “Should’ve done more.” He said, face dark. “We were next to useless.”

  I considered replying, but hesitated. Argar didn’t look it, didn’t seem it most times, but he was smart. Always thinking behind those beady eyes, slow, steady but deliberate. He wasn’t the sort to eat up my typical bullshit.

  “You did as much as you were capable of.” I replied, watching his face as I said it. “Kept enemies tied up, fought well enough, I don’t think anyone can blame you for not winning the entire fight for us.”

  “I wasn’t the one who ended up almost dying.” He scowled.

  “Yeah, well, you were last time.” I sat up, with a grunt, and climbed off my…Couch. I was lying on a couch, apparently, and that realisation led to more. I studied the room around me, the size, the pomp, and realised it was probably what the Velaharo Manor looked like on the inside. Ugh, I could smell the aristocracy. It had the scent of stolen relics, dead poor people and uncommonly numerous chromosomes.

  Argar looked for a moment like he’d say something more, but the opening door distracted both of us. I turned just as Shango stepped through it, his face plastered with worry, eyes wide.

  “You’re okay?” He asked, instantly. I forced a grin, knowing how much it would soothe him.

  “Of course, they build us Liverpool boys different from the rest of you. How do you think we survived the seventies?”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Shango didn’t answer at all, he just hugged me. Well, he tried to, I assumed. It was more of a deduction really, given that he didn’t manage to complete the motion. I saw him quickly stepping in with arms raised and all the old reflexes just took over, it was all I could do to shove his face back and send him stumbling rather than thumbing an eye out.

  He glared at me, and I felt that old feeling. The stab of guilt, going in deep and twisting wide. I didn’t meet his eyes.

  “Sorry.” I said, pathetically. Shango remained silent, and after a few moments I was forced to look up by the sheer weight of awkwardness closing in around us.

  There was a new look to him then, and I took a second to digest it. Shango smelled of fury, all of it directed my way…But too strong to just stem from my shoving him.

  “You used my wife as a human shield.” He growled, answering the newfound mystery in one, quick breath. I took a second to let his words sink in.

  Really? That? He was annoyed by That? It was too ridiculous for words, but pointing that out would hardly mollify him.

  “It was a heat of the moment thing.” I said, coolly. “I realised why the bastards were there, what they intended to do, and I figured they’d be hesitant to kill her compared to me. I was right, if I hadn’t kept myself hidden behind her I’d have gotten a crossbow bolt put through me long before you showed up. I’d probably be dead now.”

  “And so you decided to risk her to save your own skin?”

  Yes, I had. Obviously.

  I was the cleverest human who’d ever lived, carrying the knowledge and ethics required to save this entire, steaming shit pile of a world. She was one of the tapeworms living in her society’s gut. The choice between which of us needed to die, if it came to that, was clear.

  Shango wasn’t behaving like a man who’d accept that sort of retort, though, so I tailored my words a bit more strategically.

  “We were both already in danger.” I replied, calmly. “As far as I could tell, she was in much less than me, which meant that the only way it could have been right to not shield myself with her is if you somehow think my life is simply worth less.”

  He was not, in fact, molified. Rather, Shango got that look in his eye that only ever came when he thought I was being stupid.

  “This isn’t just a numbers game you fucking reptile, you don’t just shield yourself with someone on our side. In our family, even, you should’ve tried to get both of you to safety.”

  I considered explaining the particulars of how difficult it would have been to get myself, let alone myself and Velaharo, behind cover in the time we’d had. I considered, further, testing Shango to see just how much he valued this woman he’d known for less than a week. But I stopped myself.

  “I’m not going to pretend to care about some fucking aristocrat.” I told Shango, meeting his eye. “Not in the slightest. I hate her, I hate everything she stands for, even more than I hate the other monkeys inhabiting this world.”

  I gave him a moment, letting it sink in. Only a moment though. Shango was brilliantly quick, less than a decisecond passed before understanding exploded across his face. I spoke up again just before he could let it give voice to an argument.

  “But I realise that you, clearly, feel differently.” I finished. “And I didn’t before. I’m sorry for that.”

  Clearly the apology took him by surprise, which probably should’ve made me introspect about what sort of person I was, but instead just made me pleased to know that the sheer novelty of it would add weight to my feigned concession.

  It did.

  “That’s…Big of you to say.” He noted, with the tone of a man being forced to say something he didn’t want to. Well, that was Shango all over. Always forcing himself, instincts nice and chained up like a loyal hound. God, I was jealous of that sometimes. The sheer mastery he had over himself. If I had his mental stability- or if he had my raw mental prowess- the result would be…Terrifying.

  “I should hope so.” I replied. “I think one of my nuts just ruptured in the process.”

  I didn’t smile, despite the joke, and I could see the balance of levity was well picked. Shango relaxed a hair, then spoke again.

  “Solitaire, I don’t like that you’re only apologising because I care about her.”

  I met his eyes.

  “And I don’t like that I’m apologising at all.”

  Shango held my gaze for a second, a dozen separate thoughts being born, reared then put down behind those hazel irises within the span of his consideration. Then he sighed.

  “Just don’t try to fucking kill my wife again.”

  It was then, finally, that I flashed him a grin.

  “Of course I won’t, what do you take me for?” Shango didn’t grin back, so I moved on quickly. “Now then, who the fuck tried to kill me, and how stretchable is their urethra?”