Chapter 28 — Ethan
It doesn’t take us long to find Lady Gemma.
As soon as we walk out into the courtyard, we see her sitting on a bench with Elder Stasio.
They look like an extremely fashionable old couple sitting in a park somewhere: Stasio with his shock of white hair blending seamlessly with his sleeveless white robes, and Gemma with her silver-tinted blonde hair pinned up in an elegant bun, her curls framing her face on both sides.
They look like they’re deep in serious conversation. She’s probably trying to convince him not to unleash a Shaman war on Kortan. I don’t know if disturbing them right now is a great idea.
Neither does Rhiannon. I glance over at her and see that she’s shifting from one foot to the other as we watch. “Do you think we should come back later?”
Before I can answer, both their gazes lock onto us. Stasio’s weathered hand rises in a deliberate wave, summoning us toward them.
We approach the bench where Lady Gemma and Elder Stasio sit. Lady Gemma offers a warm smile, while Stasio’s dark hazel eyes track our movements with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.
“Commander Rhiannon, Mr. Langley.” Lady Gemma’s voice carries its usual warmth, but there’s a strain to it. “Please, join us.”
Rhiannon flawlessly executes a respectful bow. “Lady Gemma, Elder Stasio. We hope we’re not interrupting.”
“Not at all.” Stasio’s voice rumbles like distant thunder. His eyes lock onto Rhiannon. “I was just discussing the recent...incidents with Lady Gemma. Tell me, how progresses your investigation into the monster who attacked my children?”
I pick apart each syllable he speaks and observe every micro-expression, hunting for hidden meanings.
“We’re pursuing several leads, Elder,” Rhiannon responds carefully. “I assure you, we’re committed to finding the truth.”
“Several leads?” Stasio leans forward, his weathered hands clasping together. “What sorts of leads? Do you mean there are suspects other than that guard of yours, Jayme? Or are you closer to understanding why my Haron and Holden were targeted?”
He sure likes to ask a lot of questions.
Is this normal parental concern, or is it something else? The man’s son was just brutally attacked in the dungeons after his daughter was mauled in the garden. Any father would be desperate for justice. But still. . .
“We’re exploring all possibilities,” Rhiannon says. “It would be premature to make a judgment at this stage.”
“My children’s safety cannot wait.” Stasio stands up, bearing down on her with a sharp look. “They both identified the same attacker. I don’t know what else you need. If you cannot protect—”
Lady Gemma stands and places a steady hand on his arm. “Elder Stasio, you promised to grant them time to see the investigation through. Let them conduct their work thoroughly. I guarantee our Alpha seeks justice for your family.”
Her gentle voice seems to calm him. “Yes, you’re right, My Lady.
I should be going anyway. I’m due to see Haron and Holden.
Olcan says their wounds are healing quickly.
Fortunately, we are Shaman.” There’s no kindness or even a drop of pleasantry in his voice.
He nods to Lady Gemma. “If you will excuse me, My Lady.”
“Of course, Elder. Thank you for being receptive.”
His concern seems real enough, but I still can’t tell if he has another agenda.
As Stasio begins to walk away, he pauses and turns back to regard us one more time. His gaze darts between Rhiannon and me with disturbing precision, as if he’s deciphering a hidden code that only he is aware of.
Do I look that creepy when I’m reading people?
“Those bound by the stars cannot be broken,” he says, his voice carrying an odd note of thoughtful satisfaction.
Rhiannon’s posture becomes more rigid. “What do you mean by that, Elder?”
His expression changes, and there’s a certainty in it that roots me to the spot.
“It’s an old Shaman proverb. Perhaps it means nothing.” His gaze lingers on us a moment longer, unreadable, before he turns as if a spell has been broken and walks away, his white robes flowing behind him.
A feeling settles over me that we’ve just been weighed and measured for something we never signed up for.
“What the—” I catch Rhiannon’s eye, my confusion mirrored in her expression.
“I have no idea.” Rhiannon shrugs. “Maybe he’s talking about the summit. The Shaman and Lycans working together. The stars binding our alliance?”
“Sure.” I don’t believe that for a second, but I have no alternatives to offer besides that it must be Shaman mystic nonsense.
Lady Gemma watches the Elder’s retreating figure with concern etched across her features. “I apologize for his...intensity. The attacks on his children have left him quite shaken.”
“That’s understandable,” Rhiannon says. “Lady Gemma, I’m glad we found you here. We have a question related to the investigation.”
“Of course.” She gestures toward the bench. “Please, sit. How can I help?”
Rhiannon settles beside her, but I decide to remain standing. The professional amount of space needed between Rhiannon and me might as well be a chasm after everything we’ve shared.
“What do you know about Blackroot?”
Lady Gemma raises her thin, elegant eyebrows. “The tea? I recall you don’t like it, Rhiannon.” She looks up at me. “Did you want to try it, Ethan? I can have some brought to your quarters if you like.”
“No, thank you, My Lady.” I shake my head with a pleasant smile. “We were wondering if you knew more about its properties?”
She pauses, tilting her head curiously. “It’s a very common stimulant. The root of a plant that grows wild in many places throughout Clarion.”
“Is that all it is?” I ask her.
She takes a deep breath and says, “Well, yes. Blackroot is an herb that’s valued for very little other than its ability to wake a person up. No one’s used it for anything else since— well, since my mother was alive.”
I look over at Rhiannon, hoping she caught the words anything else. “What else was it used for back then?”
She smiles, and it reminds me of my grandmother when I was young.
Her smile is kind, with a wealth of old-world wisdom glimmering in her eyes.
“Oh, it used to come in handy as a fabric dye, before there were more options for that sort of thing. Tailors and weavers often used it. Some still do, I think.”
That makes sense. I smile and say, “Yeah, people used to boil certain plants to do that in the Outer Lands too.”
“I remember my mother saying that people didn’t start drinking it until one of the wars that went on when she was a child. Soldiers would consume it in large doses to stay alert during battles that raged on in the night.”
“Has it ever been known to make someone . . . violent?” Rhiannon asks.
“Oh, no,” she says with a little laugh. “You may get a little cranky if you drink too much of it, though.” She turns to me, putting a hand on my arm. “That’s why I had to stop drinking it. I was consuming far too much and it was making me irritable. It even started to darken my hair.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s a pretty powerful dye, if it can do that.”
“Wolves can be very sensitive to such things.”
I smile again and nod, even as my heart sinks a little. Blackroot really does sound as innocent as coffee. Damn. I was hoping there was more to this.
“Well,” she says, looking up at the sky. “It’s getting late. Would you two like to join me for afternoon tea?”
“Thank you, but we have more work to attend to,” Rhiannon says.
Lady Gemma nods and stands up, straightening her gown. “Yes, of course. Good luck finding your answers.”
We stay there for a moment after she leaves, silent, like two strangers who have accidentally become stuck in an elevator together.
I clear my throat and try to lighten the mood. “Well, that explains why Branson and Jayme have such dark hair.”
“What?”
“They drink gallons of that stuff.” I flash what I hope is a lighthearted grin. “Maybe we should ask Dr. Olcan to run some tests on them to make sure it’s not turning them into plants.”
Instead of the small smile I expected, or at least an eye roll, Rhiannon’s expression transforms completely. Her face goes pale, then lights up like I’ve just revealed the location of buried treasure.
“I have to go.” She turns abruptly, already walking away.
“Rhiannon, wait—”
But she’s already halfway across the courtyard, moving with that purposeful stride of hers that shows she means business.
It was just a joke. Oh, I’m supposed to be maintaining a professional distance. Right.
As she disappears around a corner, that familiar sting of rejection hits.
We’re doing exactly what we agreed on: Keeping things civil, focusing on the investigation.
So why does it seem like she’s running away from me?
This is exactly why I need to leave when the summit is over.
I can’t help but bring my feelings for her into our every interaction.
I shake my head and turn toward the main building. There’s only one person in this entire fortress who actually seems to enjoy my company anymore, who doesn’t make me like I’m constantly disappointing her just by existing.
Time to see what Thea is up to.