Chapter Thirteen
Piris
Piris calmed herself, breathing deep in and out in the paced measure she’d learned from her father—her blasted, stubborn ass of a father who was the reason she needed to calm herself in the first place. Her anger bubbled to the surface again in a flash before she could tame it. This type of anger, only someone one cared for could cause, the unique mixture of rage, disappointment, hurt, and love family members could somehow so easily make rear up inside. More, however, was at stake than the building anger she might have at the average argument with her father. This was her life, and because of his flippant words about the royal family, it might mean his life if he didn’t rein himself in.
Not that she thought King Frit or Prince Ghel would harm him. Prince Jarok, though angry at his words, wouldn’t either. Unless pushed. Either prince, when pushed, would do much to protect their kingdom and those they loved. She’d seen it and didn’t want her father to get anywhere near the line he’d have to cross to get on the bad side of one of the Boraus. She didn’t want on the bad side of the Boraus either, for a more complex variety of reasons.
One reason being the prince seated a few paces across from her, his usually flippant or friendly face dark and brooding after the encounter with her parents. A small ruffle of wind occasionally whipped through the room as if his thoughts were conjuring force without him realizing it. While Piris worried her lip, concentrating on how to defuse the situation, Gem jumped into the breach as only she could.
“This big black house is drafty enough, cousin. You don’t need to add to it,” she grumbled with a slight lift of the corner of her mouth, her teasing clear for anyone looking. Jarok had been too busy clenching his jaw and narrowing his brown, half-moon eyes at the intricate rug under their feet.
“Not now, Gem,” he grumbled, not breaking eye contact with the rug, its ivy pattern broken up only by the occasional cream flower popping up here and there.
Piris, calmed now, tried to get his attention in her own way. She didn’t know what to say to him. Their usual snarky banter wouldn’t work in this situation. Neither would the lust they’d cultivated over the last few days, though it continued to pulse between them like a living, breathing entity all its own.
She decided on simple. Scooting forward in her chair, she stretched her leather-booted foot forward and knocked his with a solid tapping motion. He started, blinking his eyes as he raised his head slightly to look at her. One eyebrow lifted in question, though it was a hard slash on his golden-brown skin instead of the insolent curve he’d so often directed at her in the past. Her mind blanked for a second at the thought of how he could make such an insignificant patch of hair say so much, do so much, until she shook herself from the odd thoughts.
“How about some tea?” It was all she had. Her mother, bless her, said tea cured all worries. Piris had never believed it, but damned if she wouldn’t try it now.
The harsh line of Jarok’s shoulder eased, as did his face, and he nodded in reply. His torso rose from his bent position where he’d dug his elbows deep into the tops of his knees, straightening him, as he cleared his face bit by bit with each inch.
Cylian said, “Allow me,” and moved without much sound toward the cord pull in the corner. He didn’t know her home well, but as a lord, he knew it would call a servant with tea to the room.
Piris took a moment to survey Darin, who’d refused a seat in the center of the room and stood with his back to the group, straight and tall, centered in the large picture window with its green velvet curtains. He looked to be studying the lane and bushes, but his eyes appeared distant. They weren’t close and hadn’t talked much during their journey, but she wanted to check on his mood nonetheless—not only because he was capable of great violence but because he didn’t deserve the disrespect her father had thrown his way in his fear and anger.
She slid in close to him, though not touching, and centered her gaze out the window instead of at the man. Figured he might prefer it. “Darin, I apologize—”
He raised a hand between them, as if brushing away whatever she might say. “I have endured much worse, lady.”
“I thought I stopped being lady.”
“It is good to remember one’s place.”
She ached at the words. No one should feel that, especially not in her home, and her father would chastise himself later at the way he’d made a guest in his house feel. Swallowing hard, she pushed through. “Your place is about protection, honor, skill… from what I’ve seen of you. Nothing I wouldn’t be proud to say about myself.”
He turned to look at her, moving only his head in a rather eerie, slow creep. After giving her an up and down, he turned back to look outside once again before he asked, “Do you know what magical affinity I wield?”
She thought on it. She couldn’t remember seeing him use magic or hearing any of the others comment on it, so she shook her head.
He saw her in his peripheral and answered without further urging. “I wield shadows. Handy magic for an assassin, especially one who started as a lowly, court-banned lord of his land.”
Piris’s breath caught. All she knew of shadow-wielders was they could blend in and out of shadows at will. Some with great power might even be able to flit between shadows for short distances. It was a handy power indeed for any fighter, let alone an assassin. Shadow-wielders weren’t persecuted or hated by the average Fae. Still, like mimics, they more often than not ended up used by people in power. How he’d become Hooded Death made much more sense to her. Piris had a suspicion he’d been someone without a lot of power before his shadowy gifts had come to the attention of the king of the Springlands. Such a king as he was rumored to be would do a great deal to keep someone with that power under his thumb.
“A truly impressive magic to wield, Darin. One you use wisely.” Jarok stepped to her other side, joining their conversation. She’d notice the thaw between the two men who’d at first seemed opposed to one another. The prince’s words were another stone in the bridge they seemed to be building.
Darin looked at Jarok and gave a small smile, his harsh face softening a fraction. His confessions continued, bright-green eyes boring right into Piris as he spoke. “I come from a poor, lesser noble family. Barely connected to the Springlands Court after a long-ago disgrace made us fall from favor. Then, I was conscripted because I couldn’t buy my way out of duty. Of course, my magic was tested first, to define my place, and I’ve been directly in the king’s service ever since.”
Piris wanted to pat him or maybe even hug him, though she wasn’t much of a hugger herself, but his rigid stance and locked jaw told her it wouldn’t be appreciated. It wasn’t why he said all this to her and Jarok in his low, droll voice.
“I have done things… But this is not the point. I would never reveal your magic to another, Lady Piris. I’ll swear any oath you require to ensure you can trust in my word.”
Piris reached out then, not being able to help herself. A long history of being a tool for another, of the weight of heady power and how it was ill used by someone else, hung heavy on the Fae’s head. The part of her who’d been locked away for so long, who’d been forced into lies and secrecy, knew the burden some magics could bring all too well. Darin wouldn’t be a hugger either, she thought, but she did rest a hand on his shoulder as she breathed deep, looked out at her homeland, and hurt for an assassin. Something she never thought she’d experience.
“No oath required,” she answered in a whisper, and she felt his shoulder ease a touch under her hand after, a silent sign he’d worried over her response.
“Darin, if ever—”
Darin took a big step backward, breaking their line and the prince’s words.
“I have taken oaths, Prince Jarok. Ones I would be bound to obey despite what I might think or wish. Do not offer me anything one could in any way view as detrimental to my king.” Darin raised his sleeve slightly, flashing a black mark on his forearm—the sign of a permanent loyalty oath. Piris had never thought to see one. Such a binding was often seen as unnecessary or even harmful among most Fae because it required a death price. In this case, without asking, Piris was certain it meant Darin was not free to disobey his king in any way without his life being forfeit. Before she or Jarok could respond to all he’d revealed, he pivoted on the balls of his feet and moved swiftly across the space to stand close to Cylian’s chair and the two other Fae in the room talking about lighter things to pass the time.
“I-I could’ve—” She couldn’t finish through the lump in her throat she desperately tried to shove down. She understood now, despite the hiding and secrets, what her life could have been if born elsewhere, with different parents… different royals.
“You could have, but you will never,” Jarok bit out, his anger directed somewhere else, for better or worse.
After the head housekeeper, Gollan, arrived with a mass of serving trays for tea service and fussed over Piris’s return, her mother glided into the room. Her father stomped behind, but in his normal heavy-footed gate and not his angry stomp, so it appeared her mother had calmed him down.
“Apologies, again, to all our guests,” she said, her curtsy deep and solemn. She meant it. Piris’s mother was all civility and niceties, but unlike other ladies she’d known in her life, Piris could say, without doubt, her mother did not act the part. She was the part. Sometimes she wondered if it disappointed her, having a daughter who was more fighter than lady, but she never gave such a doubt voice.
Lady Volesion gestured toward her husband, who mumbled as he bowed. His voice cleared when he turned to Jarok and Darin to offer more words. “To you, my prince, and Lord Marco, I am sorry. My words were rash, unthinking, and not reflective of my true nature. I ask your forgiveness.”
Jarok, surprisingly, looked at Darin first, who with a quick nod and flick of his wrist, acted as if he hadn’t cared at all about her father’s words. After seeing his reply, Jarok also turned to her father and rose, offering a small bow. From a prince, especially one he’d insulted, it was more than her father deserved, given royal protocol. Jarok eyed Piris a second before offering a hand to her mother and bowing over her own, laying a soft, chaste kiss there. “Lady Volesion, Lord Volesion, no more need for apologies. What has passed is past, and we must all now deal with what is ahead of us. Thank you for your time and hospitality.”
By the gods, her mother blushed when Jarok turned on that princely charm of his. Piris couldn’t help herself and snorted out a laugh. Both her mother and father stared daggers at her, her mother because of its rudeness and her father for upsetting her mother more than she was already.
“You’re too kind, Prince Jarok. Do sit, please.” They all gave Jarok the seat at the head of the circle, if there was such a thing. Her father sat beside him, her mother beside her husband, and the rest fell in line, with Piris taking the space between her mother and Cylian. Gem lounged by Jarok, and once again Darin chose not to sit, standing along the short wall to Jarok’s back so the door and the window were in view. Smart. Same could be said of Jarok, even if most would think he took his seat because it was his due. Both could be true.
Once everyone settled, her mother started right in, always ready to repair a breach or handle any issue head-on. “As you are now aware, we have held a secret in our family for many years. Our reaction may have been questionable, but I do not believe anyone can doubt our reasoning behind it. We did both because we love our daughter and wish to protect her.”
Tears threatened, and Piris flexed her hands, biting her nails into her palms to counter her emotions. She’d worried over telling her parents for good reason: because of their love for one another.
“Completely understandable, Lady Volesion,” Cylian said, a serious expression clouding his face. “However, I can say, without doubt, everyone here and at the Winterlands Palace is determined to keep the secret as well.”
“Secrets keep you safe,” her father said. His tried-and-true saying wasn’t wrong. “The more people know, the harder they are to keep. We have more than ample reason to fear a slip.” He’d been angry at Piris for weeks after she’d exposed her magic to Strella, but his love for the sweet, young motherless girl, so lonely yet still so kind and bright, eased his way. She had no idea what might make him feel better about this situation.
“My family has guaranteed her secret and offered their protection.” Jarok paused and said, “Princess Strella is now family, and considers Piris a sister. The Boraus of the Winterlands will do much to protect both now.”
“Even royals can’t always keep secrets, especially when there are so many outside their purview who now know.” Lord Volesion stared at Gem, Cylian, and Darin in turn. It was not completely wrong to think once more people knew her powers, it was more likely to get out, especially as the more people included an Aurora warrior, a lord of the Autumnlands, and a famed Springlands assassin.
“I’m sworn to the Boraus. No words will come from me,” Gem grumbled, irked by his implication. “Besides, I like Piris, even if she’s a lady. She’s a strong fighter with grit.”
Piris warmed at the compliment.
Cylian spoke next. “We’ve had dealings in the past, Lord Volesion, and I can say, without hesitation, my father, Lord-Protector Padalist, would never wish to break those financial bonds, so I will act accordingly. I, as a friend to Piris and the Borau family, also have a personal stake in keeping this secret as well. I will say nothing, to anyone in any court.” Believable, and Piris suspected the lord kept much from his more-than-questionable father, as did Lord Volesion from his accepting grunt.
Darin stared, though his eyes were blocked by the shadow of his hood, only knowable because of the physical scrape across the room. He weighed his words and simply told her father what he’d revealed to her moments before. “I’m a shadow-wielder.”
Shock flitted across the faces of both Piris’s parents, but a hardness her father’s face had carried melted slightly at the news. Someone like Marco, with his own experiences, would keep the secret as best he could.
“There are no guarantees,” Piris whispered into the silence, “but these people, and the royals? I am willing to stake my life on their word in this.”
“You may very well be doing just that, daughter,” her father said. The words weren’t harsh. They felt heavy, sounded weary. Like a man who’d fought a long, hard battle and was watching the tide turn against him.
She went to her parents. Kneeled at their feet. Took a hand of each in hers and spoke in a soft voice. “I am your daughter, always will be. I understand why you protected me as much as you could. Now, however, things are changed, and I am more capable of protecting myself. Making my own decisions.” She loved her parents, always would. Understood completely why they’d taken the course they had taken in regard to her. It was time for her to carry the burden for a while—be her own keeper of secrets and not force her parents into a life they wouldn’t have if she wasn’t who she was.
Her mother put a delicate hand to pink lips, the tremble slight but there, before cupping her daughter’s cheek with the same hand. “Oh, Piris. What have we done to you?”
“You taught me to survive, to fight, to love. I couldn’t ask for more, Mother.” Tears came then, and she didn’t stop them. Didn’t want to because they matched the ones on her mother’s cheeks and shimmering in her father’s eyes.
“A warrior to the core,” her father said, the words strong and true, the shine of pride in his eyes all for her.
“A warrior, yes,” she answered. “Like the others here. Like you.”
“Still part lady, yes?” her mother asked with a little laugh.
Piris was serious, solemn, as she said, “I will always carry what you taught me, Mother. Always.”
The Volesions stared at each other, devastated yet happy, freed and scared all at once.
Jarok cleared his throat, and Piris wiped her tears before standing. He stepped up and offered a hand to her father, who stood to take it.
“I will do all I can to keep your daughter—her magic—safe.”
The men shook hands as her mother swiveled her head, flitting her gaze between her daughter and the young prince before a broad smile flashed on her face. Piris didn’t like the smile, the idea there, but too much had happened in a short time, so she decided to ignore it. It wouldn’t hurt to let her mother have wild, impossible dreams for a short time.