Chapter Three #2
“Insights for when you’ve got ’em cracked open at the ribs.
” That bright, piping voice came from the pair Robin had failed to check off his list. Teddai, the redcap, with a red-lipped smile on a round, innocent-looking face, with the kind of ‘scrubbed clean’ pinkish tint to their cheeks that made Robin think of cherubs.
“But if s’gonna be old ways, go old ways all around.
Quick like, splatter what needs to be. No point dragging it out. Makes the meat taste bad.”
“I doubt many are concerned with how the Monarchs would taste,” Metara replied.
“Speak for yourself.” Those words came in a near whisper, from the manticore, Abrhail, who sat beside Teddai. Warm brown skin and stone-hard eyes. A tail as barbed as Zyr’s. Ragged wings held tight to their back.
Teddai smiled. They had dimples. “Just sayin’, if you smarty pants can get your paws’n’claws on pre-convergence bits on how to kill the void-lovin’ shit outta creatures tied gut-deep to Faerie, ‘m all ears. And teeth.”
“Thank you for that, Teddai,” Dinam muttered.
“That was me agreein’ with you, pussycat.”
Robin rolled his eyes again, jotting down the suggestions of murder and mayhem. He couldn’t shake the taste of chocolate and electricity, and downed the last of his water in an attempt to wash it away.
No dice. Instead, the electric edge grew more pronounced, the chocolate darker. Bitter.
“Let’s not go about assuming access,” Aisling said, all silliness gone. She sounded edged, so maybe that was her, adding to the emotional charge of it all.
That was weird enough to snag Robin’s attention away from his notebook. Aisling frowned at the group, upset and bristling. The why of it became clear as soon as he got a good look at the beithir beside her.
Or, more, the beithir that had been beside her. Zyr’d pushed himself back, away from the table, his arms folded tight over his broad chest. Lightning cracked in his eyes, visible even at the other end of the table, and it didn’t take a genius to interpret the angry set of his jaw.
The guy had been more relaxed when being told off for his manners, staring at Robin with keen intensity.
This was a look—a vibe—that Robin knew but couldn’t quite place. The word for it sat on the tip of his tongue, with storms and melted chocolate.
“I’m not giving fucking tours of my library,” Zyr ground out through gritted teeth. His tail had started twitching again, but where it’d been like a cat’s flick when he talked to Robin, it now looked like he was trying not to stab the table.
“Any particular reason?” asked Spider, propping up his chin on his palm. “A fan of our dear leaders?”
“No.”
“I’m not generally a fan of collective action,” whispered the manticore. “But, when it comes to treason, all chips must be thrown into the pot. I’m not getting fucked over because the dragon doesn’t like sharing his toys.”
“There’s a difference between knowledge exchanged willingly and carte blanche to someone’s library,” Aisling snapped, smoothing down her hair. The side closest to Zyr had started to static up. “I don’t hear anyone here clamoring to peruse my books or branding me a traitor among traitors.”
Aisling: actually snarky. Good to know Declan came by it naturally.
“If you were known for having the sorts of books that would help us, I would be,” Dinam retorted, his nose giving a twitch. “But you aren’t. Am I misinformed?”
A low hiss sounded from Declan’s side of the table, and the soft click-click-click of black sluagh claws on wood.
“I’m more curious now about how you managed to get away with possessing what you are alleged to without constant visits from the Council, Zyr,” the cat-sith continued. Crossed a hard line, if Robin read Aisling’s expression right. “Perhaps Spider’s line of questioning has merit.”
“Now, now,” Spider said, voice smooth and smile fading. “I meant it as a tease, nothing more.”
“Nevertheless,” Dinam said. “Merit.”
Robin spared them only a glance. His attention stayed mostly on the beithir.
The intensity from Zyr had been not harmless when he talked to Robin.
But it certainly hadn’t been like this. The sense of a storm building that sharp, rich tang of an incoming category five on the horizon that would either veer or rip your town apart.
More people started to talk, voices raising to be heard. Opinions aired, insistences made, demands for books issued.
The suggestion of a traitor in their midst.
Lightning struck the center of the table, accompanied by a sharp crack of thunder. The smoking, black mark it left lasted a beat before Faerie smoothed it away.
Zyr’s breath came in short, sharp pants, his lips peeled back in a snarl. In the brief quiet that followed, Robin knew what he’d seen in Zyr’s face. That set, clouded expression.
Robin hadn’t looked in the mirror to see that look himself for a long time, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten. He knew building panic attack when he saw one.
The silence didn't sound for long. A pause, that was it, then voices. More and more people talking about Zyr’s shit and calling him a traitor while the guy didn’t fry them in place.
Yeah, no.
Robin stood quickly enough to send his chair skittering back a few inches. Someone tried to talk to him, but they weren’t family or friend. He ignored in favor of quick, sure steps down the length of the table.
Zyr hummed. His skin, that’s what it was, like the electricity orb at the science museum.
Weird fae shit later. Possibly disassociating beithir now.
He leaned over Zyr, feeling the hair at the back of his neck standing on end. No reaction from Zyr. So: option B.
Three sharp raps of his knuckles to the table, then he offered that same hand to the man, palm up.
“We’re going to the kitchen,” Robin said. “Get up. It’s quiet there.”
After all his talk about people being idiots, Robin offered his hand to a guy with electricity playing over him.
He was so stupid. And, yeah, Zyr was definitely dissociating, with the way he reached for Robin’s hand, slow, then pulled away a second too late to stop the electric arc from his hand to Robin’s.
The miniature lightning stung. Robin sucked in a sharp, tight hiss at the touch. He didn’t regret it though, shoving his hand into his pocket as Zyr stood. It’d gotten the beithir’s attention, and that was the main thing.
“I’m fine,” Zyr told him. Super believably, too. That off-in-the-distance look in his eye and flat affectation totally sold the ‘I’m fine’ vibe.
“You’ll be more fine in the kitchen,” Robin replied, nodding toward the room in question. He turned on his heel without another glance to the others, and walked them both toward Bo and Everil’s storybook kitchen.
His hand still smarted. That’s what he got for grabbing the lightning dragon. Next time, he’d help a gentle breeze fae.
Antonio was right. Everyone in the room trying to show off who had the biggest dick to swing around and who could piss the furthest, like that meant anything all.
Fucking fae.