He winced at her choice of words, but he was smart enough not to claim to be something more.
The somewhat attractive girl approached their table and handed out menus that were written in a script with so many curlicues it was almost impossible to make out the words. Surreal knew ornate writing. Saetan had never written anything in any other way. But the flourishes that had been natural for him never interfered with a person’s ability to read the message.
“We’ll have the variety platter—the large one,” Dillon said. “And three coffees?” Now he looked at Surreal and Jillian.
“Sounds lovely,” Surreal replied. Was there a reason he had placed the order before she had a chance to look at the menu?
“My treat,” Dillon said, giving her a smile that made her itch to call in her stiletto. His smile, his manners, made her think of someone singing just a little off-key—nothing deliberately malicious but still grating.
“That’s not necessary,” she said. “Meeting here was my idea.”
“I insist.”
She inclined her head, noting how Jillian looked at him, as if offering to pay were the most brilliant thing a boy could do.
The platter of cakes and the coffee arrived. Dillon included her in the conversation, but the effort was heavy-handed. Not that Jillian noticed. Then again, when he focused on the girl, he sounded at ease. It was like watching someone sliding on ice—moments of grace followed by flailing limbs. It made her think again of young men trying out social skills and revealing their lack of experience. It would seem Lord Dillon’s polish was still superficial, and that made her wonder why it was still superficial.
Surreal took a sampling of the cakes on the platter—nothing excessive and less than a third. Jillian, following her example, made different choices but took the same number. After a moment, Dillon took the same amount.
She wasn’t trying to read his thoughts, because that would be a serious breach of the Blood’s code of honor. But emotions flowed beyond a person’s inner barriers. Some people were better at self-control and concealing their feelings, or stood so deep in the abyss their feelings couldn’t be read. This Warlord had neither the power nor the control, and the flash of annoyance that followed her taking the selection of cakes made her wonder what game he was really playing—and what role he thought Jillian filled in that game.
Then he seemed to shrug off the annoyance and entertained them with talk about books he had read and plays he had seen.
“I saw Lord Beron in a play recently,” Dillon said. “He’s worked his way up to second male lead and was quite good in this new part.” He nodded sagely. “Quite good.”
“We go to see him whenever one of his plays comes to the theater in Riada,” Jillian said.
“I doubt he’ll be playing small theaters like the one in Riada for much longer. When we had dinner after his last performance, he hinted that he’ll have the male lead in the next production.”
“Really?” Surreal put a seed of doubt in her voice. “That seems a bit presumptuous, since he hasn’t auditioned for the role yet.” She gave Dillon a puzzled look, as if she wasn’t quite smart enough to understand him. “I’m sure if Beron was on the threshold of such a significant step in his career, he would have mentioned it to my husband. After all, Prince Sadi is Beron’s legal guardian, and the Prince also had dinner with Beron recently.” She took a sip of coffee. “Since he knew I was coming to Ebon Rih, I’m surprised the Prince didn’t mention you. He makes it his business to know about all of Beron’s friends, so he would know that you’re currently staying in Riada.”
“We’re not friends, exactly,” Dillon said hurriedly. “More like acquaintances who have some friends in common.”
“But you had dinner together.” She didn’t look at Jillian. The girl still looked at Dillon as if he were the yummiest cake in the shop—which she could believe, having tasted one of the cakes on her plate—but there was a hint of bafflement under the adoration. Good.
“A group of actors and aristos went out to dinner together, so we didn’t have more than a minute or two to talk,” Dillon said.
Surreal nodded. Now she turned to Jillian and smiled. “We know how those dinners go, don’t we? There’s barely time to congratulate the boy before he’s swept off to be hugged by someone else.”
“That’s because he’s brilliant,” Jillian said. Her eyes shone as she focused on Dillon. “One of the reasons Beron is so graceful and can do those athletic moves on the stage is because Prince Rainier taught him how to dance. Rainier served in the Queen of Ebon Askavi’s court.”
“He was also Lady Angelline’s dance instructor when she was an adolescent,” Surreal added. Then she laughed. “When Jaenelle and Rainier danced together, you could watch them all night. They didn’t just dance; they soared.” A bittersweet memory, one she hadn’t meant to share.
Dillon abruptly changed the subject.
Surreal listened to the boasting, the bragging, and the subtle sneering at anyone who wasn’t a member of the aristo class—no, more than that, who wasn’t a member of Dillon’s exalted clique, which now, curiously, seemed to exclude Beron. She wanted to gag, but Jillian soaked up every word, as if her life had been nothing but a dull and boring gray, and Dillon had presented her with a palette of colors that dazzled the eyes.
Jillian was right about Dillon. The boy was pretty to look at, as long as you didn’t look beyond the surface. Then again, the boasting, bragging, and sneering hadn’t started until he’d made the mistake of claiming to be one of Beron’s friends and been called on it. Maybe those things were an attempt to hide his insecurity and regain some ground.
Lucivar was right about the cakes. They were awful and could be part of the reason she wanted to gag.
Four cakes were left on the platter and Surreal was more than ready to leave. Then Jillian reached for another piece and Dillon blocked her hand, pushing the platter away from the girl—or as far away as he could, considering it was a small table.
He smiled and shook his finger playfully. Jillian blushed and looked unhappy.
“Thank you for the cakes, Lord Dillon,” Surreal said, pushing her chair back as a signal that the outing was over. “It has been an interesting afternoon.”
“I hope I was able to entertain you in some small measure,” Dillon replied. He turned to Jillian. “And I hope we can do this again.”
“Are you sure I can’t settle the bill?” Surreal asked. “This place was my choice, after all.”
He waved her offer away. “No, it’s my pleasure. You two go along, and I’ll take care of things.”
“In that case, good day, Warlord.”
“Lady SaDiablo. Jillian.”
Surreal walked out of the shop and took the first side street, moving swiftly until they reached open land and were far enough from the buildings in Riada that nothing that was said would be overheard.
“Lady Surreal?” Jillian sounded worried. “Aren’t we going back to the eyries?”
“I need to walk for a bit. And we need to talk.”
Jillian waited, but Surreal continued to walk and remained silent. Finally, she couldn’t stand waiting.
“What did you think of Dillon? Isn’t he lovely? He’s so smart, and he went to all these fine schools, so he knows everything. Well, not everything. He doesn’t know about weapons or fighting or things like that, but Dillon says those skills aren’t as important as they used to be.”
Surreal just kept walking.
“What did he say to you?” Surreal asked suddenly.
“What?”
“When he stopped you from taking that cake. What did he say to you?”