Tethered by Meljean Brook Read Free Book Online

expectations might have been wrong. The interior was one of the few places Yasmeen hadn’t been. Only chartered airships could fly over the native territories, and only along established routes that were strictly enforced by the trade confederacies—which deployed too many mechanical air-walkers to make the attempt to fly off-route worth the risk. She’d never seen an airship consumed by a clockwork swarm, only heard secondhand rumors and tales, but she didn’t intend to test the truth of them with her lady.
    Bilson shared tales from the interior, too—and Yasmeen couldn’t decide whether they were true, or whether he might have heard them from someone else—but there was no doubt that he possessed an engaging way of telling them, and a robust laugh that was infectious.
    She could see why Zenobia had feelings for him. Under other circumstances, Yasmeen would have quickly warmed to him, too. Perhaps it was because of his familiarity and long history with Archimedes, but he fit quite naturally into the spot across the table, seemed completely at ease. Some men never looked comfortable lounging on rugs and cushions during a meal, as if a simple pillow was a shocking decadence—and perhaps it was. The cushions seemed to invite intimacy, and Yasmeen could not count the number of times she and Archimedes had eaten together, all but entwined, progressing from dessert to lovemaking with barely a change in position. They maintained a small distance when they dined with passengers—or old friends—but that space between them was for their guest’s comfort rather than their own. Yasmeen suspected, however, that Bilson would have appeared just as relaxed if she and Archimedes had been stroking each other in front of him.
    And she saw why Zenobia worried now: despite the surface similarities, Bilson wasn’t like Archimedes at all.
    That sort of immediate ease simply wasn’t natural. Even Archimedes watched new acquaintances for cues, soliciting their opinions and weighing their responses; he only truly relaxed after taking their measure. For a man of Bilson’s experience, it would be the height of stupidity not to do the same,particularly in the company of a mercenary with Yasmeen’s reputation. Yet he didn’t. As a result, his easy manner seemed to be something that he deliberately put on.
    But why? Perhaps only to heighten that sense of friendly intimacy, to remind Archimedes of their long familiarity before asking for his help. Perhaps to avoid any awkwardness, given the way he abandoned his friend. Perhaps he was the sort of man whose pride wouldn’t allow him to show that he was the least bit concerned about Yasmeen’s reactions, no matter how dangerous offending her might be.
    Whatever the reason, his manner confirmed Archimedes’ earlier claim: his friend always had a game in play—even if that game was nothing more than maintaining a certain attitude.
    Yasmeen hoped that was the only one he intended to play tonight. If it was, she’d be willing to forgive him much, because his presence offered her a glimpse of Archimedes she’d never seen before. Except for Zenobia, she’d never met anyone who’d known him so well—and she was far less interested in the native interior than she was in her husband.
    As the cabin girls removed the lamb course and set out the plates of cheese and fruit, Yasmeen took advantage of the pause in conversation. She refilled Bilson’s wine, subtly forcing his attention toward her with his thank-you.
    “My pleasure, Mr. Bilson. It isn’t often that we have an opportunity to entertain friends—we are usually en route to some abandoned city or other.”
    Her smile must have been as engaging as she’d hoped. With a laughing glance at Archimedes, Bilson said, “I recall months where we never saw the inside of an alehouse, let alone entertainment of any sort.”
    “So you often lamented.” Wineglass in hand, Archimedes sank deeper into the pillows, resting his thigh lightly against