Nettles
Lilliana Two men shouldered toward our corner, grinning like fools. They were large the way hills are large, both dark-haired, broad through chest and shoulder, with a rangy ease to their movement that said they didn’t mind if they knocked a chair aside; it should have minded them. Their eyes flashed too bright in the lamplight. One of them carried a dented tankard in each hand and sloshed a good mouthful on his own boots without noticing. “Ashford,” the taller crowed, clapping Reade’s shoulder hard enough to rock him. “Saints take me, I thought you’d fallen down a hole.” “I look that lucky?” Reade said, dry. The other man’s gaze found me under the hood, curious and shameless both. “And who’s this little star?” My spine straightened without my bidding. Reade’s hand tightened on mine b
- Writer
