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“Can you fight?” Rakos asks, as the voices outside get closer. Bell moves, soft hair brushing Rakos’s cheek. “I can try.” “So, that’s a no.”
If he weren’t silently lurking in wait, Rakos would give Bell a round of applause. Great improvisation. Must be a minstrel’s natural performance talent.
No, he’s not alone. He has Bastard. And Rakos, the mysterious criminal farmer.
“Look, which one of us knows more about plants? I’m the farmer here.”
How about a song while we walk, minstrel?” Bell chokes on his next berry too. When he’s done coughing, he says, “I don’t like to sing after it rains. It’s bad for the throat. Besides, aren’t we in hiding?”
Fuck, if he knew he was going to be sticking with Bell for this long, he would have picked a less ridiculous secret identity.
Pay attention to what people do, instead of just what they tell you. Words are just what people want you to hear.
“Wait, did you—did you kill her?” “Of course, I killed her. I’ll kill anyone who hurts you.”
“Perfect. I’ll be right in that corner. If anyone bothers you, wave and I’ll kill them.”
Well, the thing is, I only know how to play the Pathan lute.” “That is a Pathan lute,” Teodor says.
