The lads left eventually, well fed and properly watered, with praises to Damion’s name on their lips. Meera toyed with her mug, feeling rather decently fêted herself, then looked at her benefactor.
“You made a trio of friends there.”
He shrugged. “Idle conversation and edible food. That doesn’t seem very memorable, but perhaps for them it was.”
“Where are you from?” she asked, because she had been fighting the question all evening and found she couldn’t resist it any longer.
He was leaning back in his chair, looking like nothing more than an average, if not painfully handsome, man with no remarkable past. “I can’t answer that.”
“Why not?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you and the telling of that particularly useless piece of trivia would hardly pass my lips before I was dead.”
