7. Lirien
7
LIRIEN
I grab Darak's arm as we approach the cottage, my fingers pressing into the leather of his armor. "Let me do the talking."
"I'm perfectly capable of?—"
"They're more likely to trust a pretty human than a dark elf with a sword," I say, cutting him off. "Especially out here."
"Pretty?" His crimson eyes narrow. "Your manipulation needs work."
"Just stay quiet and try not to look murderous." I pull my robes on and smooth them before reaching for the wooden door, rapping my knuckles against it three times.
The door creaks open, and I blink in surprise. Instead of the farmer or woodcutter I expected, a young minotaur boy peers up at us. His horns are barely more than nubs, and his brown fur is ruffled as if he's just woken from a nap.
"Oh," I say, caught off guard. "Hello there. Are your parents home?"
The boy's tail swishes behind him. "They're hunting. Won't be back 'til sunset." He grins, showing small teeth. "Want to come in? Ma always says to be nice."
I feel Darak tense beside me. The bond exposes his wariness to me.
"That's very kind," I say, "but perhaps we should?—"
"I made sweet bread!" The boy bounces on his hooves. "Well, tried to. It's a bit burnt, but you can try it if you want." He steps back, gesturing inside the cozy cottage.
The scent of scorched honey wafts out, along with the warmth of a hearth. My stomach growls, reminding me we haven't eaten since dawn.
"Your parents won't mind?" I ask.
The boy shakes his head. "They like meeting new folks. 'Cept bad people, but you're pretty!"
Darak's low growl vibrates through our bond. I dig my nails into his arm in warning.
"I'm Turo!" The boy bounces on his hooves again, clearly full of energy. "Come try my sweet bread. I put extra honey in it!"
Before I can respond, a bone-rattling roar splits the air. The ground trembles beneath my feet as a massive minotaur charges toward us, battle axe raised. His horns curve wickedly, gleaming in the sunlight.
"Papa, wait!" Turo calls out.
Darak's hand flies to his sword hilt. I grab his wrist, digging my nails in. Through our bond, I push a wave of calm. "Don't."
The minotaur skids to a halt, nostrils flaring. His eyes lock onto Darak, muscles bunching beneath his leather vest. "Who are you? Who sent you? How did you find us?"
"We're travelers," I step forward, keeping my voice steady despite my racing heart. "I'm Lirien, and this is my brother, Darak." The lie tastes strange on my tongue, noticing his skepticism. "He's adopted, obviously."
"Adopted," the minotaur repeats flatly.
"My parents took him in when his family fled the dark elf territories." I continue. "We're seeking shelter from the forest. Nothing more."
"Papa, they were going to try my sweet bread!" Turo tugs at his father's vest.
The minotaur's grip on his axe loosens slightly. "A dark elf, adopted by humans?"
"Strange times make for strange families," I say, forcing a smile. I feel Darak's irritation at playing along, but also his grudging appreciation for my quick thinking.
"And you're travelers?" The minotaur's grip tightens on his axe.
"Yes." I brush leaves from my robe, playing up our disheveled state. "We just emerged from Kanturak forest." Through our bond, I feel Darak's approval at weaving truth into the lie. "We're seeking shelter for the night, if you'd be so kind."
"The forest?" The minotaur's nostrils flare. "No one survives?—"
"Rook, stop terrorizing our guests." A tall woman emerges from behind him, her presence both commanding and gentle.
My eyes snap up—and then quickly away—from her impressive chest, which is exactly at my eye level. She wears a simple dress that does little to contain her body, and her honey-colored hair falls in thick waves past her shoulders.
"I'm Serra." She places a calming hand on the minotaur's arm. "This suspicious brute is Rook. I help raise Turo." Her warm smile reaches her eyes. "Did you say Kanturak? My, you must be exhausted. Come inside before you fall over."
Through our bond, I feel Darak's tension ease slightly at Serra's genuine warmth. I also feel something else that makes me want to punch him in the throat.
"That's very kind," I say, my teeth clenched in a forced smile. "We'd be grateful."
"And you can still try my sweet bread!" Turo bounces between us, his tail swishing with excitement.
Serra laughs. "Oh dear, is that what I smell burning?"
The cottage interior welcomes us with warmth and the lingering scent of burnt honey. Wooden beams stretch overhead, accommodating Rook's impressive height. Dried herbs hang from the rafters, their earthy aroma mixing with woodsmoke from the hearth.
Serra gestures to the oak table. "Please, sit. Water?" She pours from an earthenware pitcher, her movements graceful. "You must be parched after traveling through that dreadful forest."
"Thank you," I say, but Serra's attention has already shifted to Darak. She hands him his cup first, her fingers brushing his as she releases it.
"I've never met a dark elf who lived among humans," she says, leaning against the counter. "How fascinating. Your features are so striking—those eyes! They're like garnets."
I grip my cup tighter.
"How long have you two been on the road?"
"A week almost," Darak answers before I can stop him. His voice carries that low rumble that makes my stomach flip. Through our bond, I sense his amusement at Serra's attention—and it mingles with my obvious irritation.
"My, my!" Serra's eyes widen. "You poor things. And through such dangerous territory. You must be quite the warrior to protect your sister."
I take a long drink of water to keep from correcting her assumption about our relationship. Our connection pulses with Darak's silent laughter.
"I manage," he says dryly.
"Oh, I can tell." Serra leans forward, giving Darak an excellent view of her considerable assets. "Those scars on your armor tell quite a tale."
My water suddenly tastes bitter. Through our bond, I send Darak a sharp jab of annoyance. He responds with a wave of smug satisfaction that makes me want to hex him.
Rook's hooves thud against the wooden floor as he steps into the kitchen, seeming equally unimpressed with the direction of the conversation. "You're running from something." His nostrils flare. "I won't have danger brought to my door."
"We've encountered many on the road," I say, keeping my voice steady. "But we're not running. We're traveling to meet family in the northern provinces."
"Family?" Rook's tail lashes. "I still find it hard to believe a human family would take in one of them." He jabs a thick finger toward Darak. "Dark elves don't make for loving siblings even among their own kind."
Perfect. I lean forward, a sweet smile playing on my lips. "Oh, you should have seen him when he first arrived. All that posturing and those fancy elf manners." I wave my hand dismissively. "Mother had to teach him how to eat with actual utensils instead of just magicking everything into his mouth like a lazy noble."
Darak's annoyance burns into me like acid. I ignore it.
"And the preening! Hours spent arranging his hair just so?—"
"Your brother's hair is quite magnificent," Serra cuts in, her knife sliding expertly through the rabbit's hide. The blade moves with practiced precision, separating flesh from fur in smooth strokes. "Such a lovely shade of black. Like ravens' wings in moonlight."
I grip my cup harder, watching her hands work. The way she handles that knife speaks of far more than simple hunting skills.
"Besides," Serra continues, "anyone who leaves their people behind shows true courage. Especially a dark elf." She flashes Darak another smile. "It must have been quite the adjustment."
"Oh, you should hear about the time little Liri decided she wanted to be a boy," Darak says, his deep voice carrying that infuriating hint of amusement. I can feel his satisfaction at getting even.
Serra leans forward, her ample chest practically resting on the table. "Do tell."
My fingers twitch toward my satchel. One pinch of nightshade in her water...
"She was, what, twelve?" Darak continues, ignoring my mental daggers. "Decided she'd prove herself by climbing the tallest oak in the village. Got halfway up before her dress caught on a branch."
"No," Serra gasps, hanging on his every word.
"Oh yes. Hung there upside down, screaming about how dresses were stupid and boys had it easier." His crimson eyes gleam. "Mother had to hire the baker's son to climb up and cut her down."
Serra's laughter rings through the cottage. Even Rook's stern expression cracks, a low chuckle rumbling in his broad chest.
"I still have the scar from where that idiot dropped me," I say through gritted teeth. The lie comes easily – anything to stop Darak's story before he embellishes further.
Husband and wife. I should have said husband and wife. Then maybe this cow would stop batting her eyelashes at him every time she refills his cup. I feel Darak's smug satisfaction peak as Serra touches his arm while laughing.
My magic stirs beneath my skin, responding to my irritation. I take a deep breath, forcing it down. The last thing we need is for me to lose control and reveal what we really are.
But by all the gods, if Serra "accidentally" brushes against him one more time...
This is not going how I thought it would. Fuck.