Steelhands - Jaida Jones [149]
“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Luvander said. “We’re bound to go on talking about you after you’ve left, too. That’s just my nature. Don’t you find this preferable, though? Gives you a little sense of what we’ll say when you aren’t here to know about it. That always makes me feel a little less paranoid.”
“I’m beginning to understand why them other redheads had horrible dispositions,” Laure muttered darkly, smoothing out her skirts.
Balfour waited for her to settle and for me to take my place beside her before he finally reclaimed his own seat.
“Somehow, he doesn’t mean anything by it,” he confided, not bothering to lower his voice for Luvander’s benefit. “Sometimes—quite often, actually—he says things without thinking. He’s very interested in gossip, you see, and prone to flights of fancy, but there’s no real malice in it.”
“Why, Balfour, are you conspiring to give away all my secrets at once?” Luvander asked, striking a match to turn on the heat beneath the kettle. From the way it began to steam almost immediately, I could tell he’d been preparing in advance for our arrival. “And here you had me thinking that you were the only one of us with manners, but at last you reveal your true colors.”
Balfour flushed, but I thought I caught him rolling his eyes, as well.
“We’re not offended,” I assured him quickly, moving my chair closer to Laure’s. The position was a precaution, in case I needed to kick her under the table. “In truth, we’re both quite honored to be taken into your confidences this way.”
“I was, anyway,” Laure said, recovering a bit of her charm. “This one invited himself along for my protection. Said it wasn’t decent, me meeting a group of men in the city all alone, with no chaperone to speak of.”
“And he was quite right,” Luvander said, coming up behind us with a lacquered tray filled with all the accoutrements for a proper tea. The napkins were clean and neatly folded, and I had to keep myself from snatching one up to brush away a spot of loose tea leaves on the table before me. “I don’t know how many wild stories you’ve heard, but we were quite notorious back in the day. Not at all proper company for a young lady. Speaking of which, let’s all take a minute to thank bastion Rook isn’t here. In fact, I’m rather shocked Adamo didn’t insist on accompanying you down here himself in order to limit our terrible influence on you. Perhaps he assumed that Balfour would take charge of the situation, thereby mitigating any damage I might cause to your lovely person. Now, would you be a dear and take a moment from your stalwart defense of the girl’s honor to help me with this tray, Balfour? It’s incredibly heavy.”
“Of course,” Balfour said, reaching above my head to set the tray onto the table.
Thankfully, there were no disasters.
Of all the things I’d expected from a lunch meeting with some of the few surviving airmen, drinking tea hadn’t even entered into the equation. I supposed I’d imagined they drank liquid fire at all times, and breathed it, too; not being city-born, I’d allowed myself to be swayed by some of the more outlandish rumors about the corps.
I could see now that my assumptions had been greatly unjust; Luvander was evidently in the habit of entertaining fine guests. Despite the mismatched china, the pot, milk pitcher, and sugar bowl were all clearly from the same set—painted a lovely shade of green and decorated with a scrolling gold detail I’d seen imitated in a lady’s frock just last week as I was walking down the Rue.
It was all very fashionable indeed. I wondered how long he’d had it, and more importantly, where he’d bought the thing. It certainly wasn’t traditional Volstovic ware.
“It seems rude to start without