Chapter Eighteen #2
Peering through the window, the shop is packed. One or two tables remain open. There’s a long line, and the chatter, while not deafening, is loud. I would rather not place myself in the middle of a large crowd again. Not after the night at The Lioness.
“I appreciate the thought, but I can eat when I return to the temple.” I pull my eyes to him as he waits with the open door. “Moon witches aren’t paid a wage.”
He smiles. “I didn’t expect you to pay for yourself. I stole your morning, the least I can do is make sure you’re fed.”
I step back.
“I’m okay,” I offer with a weak smile and another shake of my head.
Ryc pauses, glancing into the shop before swinging his face back in my direction. “There’s a table across the street, in the small garden before the art gallery.”
He points.
Turning in the direction he gestures, a small garden with a few empty wrought iron and glass tables sits around the front of a small art gallery.
The gallery itself appears closed, windows darkened.
Confusion streaks through me. How did he know I didn’t want to go inside? Did I wear the thought on my face?
“Grab a seat there, and I’ll be back shortly.” Ryc dips inside the shop before I can argue, the door closing quietly behind him.
Heaving a sigh, I plant my hands on my hips.
With a healthy dose of reluctance, I cross the street and claim one of the seats at the table near the corner of the gallery. Keenly aware of how strange it must appear to be sitting outside of a closed art gallery, I adjust my hood, ensuring my face is well hidden.
Yet no one pays me any attention as they pass, and I lose myself in thought until silver catches my eye. Further down the street, a tall fae male in highly polished, intricate silver armor walks in my direction, a forest green hood bouncing beside him.
The fae holds a rather stoic expression, despite the energy of the person walking beside him.
“Cyran,” Ryc says as he slides into the seat beside me, and my eyes race to the mug of dark coffee and wrapped pastry he sets in front of me.
My face pinches with my confusion.
“He’s the Captain of the Royal Guard,” he clarifies with a small smile. “It looks like he has Lilith with him.”
“So much for ditching duty,” I laugh weakly, wrapping my fingers around the mug.
“She’s not looking for me.” He shakes his head, raising his mug of coffee to his lips.
“How can you be sure?” I scoff a laugh. “Are you not her personal guard?”
He sips his drink before returning it to the table. “I am responsible for her, yes,” he muses. “But she’s just as safe with Cyran as she would be with me.”
“The Captain doesn’t look as entertained by the duty as you.” I arch a brow as I watch Lilith and her chaotic energy set the fae’s face into a scowl.
“That’s just Cyran,” Ryc laughs. “Though, I will warn you, he tends to follow the Sovereign King. He must be in the area.”
I freeze, the mug stopping mid-way between the table and my lips.
My little illusion of living carefree in Ollora shatters and reality crashes into me. Fear-induced clarity sweeps through me and I lower the mug. I’ll never have mornings like this. Not while there’s a Sovereign King, not while Netharis hunts me.
I shouldn’t be here.
I’ve entertained this dream for long enough.
Pushing my mug away with trembling hands, my shadows swirl up around me.
“Ves—”
His voice falls away as my shadows vanish, leaving me and my thundering heart standing alone in my quarters within the Moon Temple.
?????????????
Days later, I open my quarters door.
A young human man with bright blue eyes and sandy blond hair greets me with a smile. He wears black temple robes, but I’ve never seen this man before now.
Confused, I glance down the hall and find it empty.
“Vestaris?” he asks.
He’s holding a dark wooden box.
I shoot him a weary glare.
“Yes.”
Pushing the box in my direction, he says, “This arrived in this morning’s post for you.”
He drops the box into my hands, and it nearly slips through my grasp—it’s significantly heavier than it appears.
Curling it in my arms and clutching it to my chest, the man turns and leaves without further conversation.
Confusion growing, I watch him for a moment before retreating into my quarters, nudging the door closed with a foot.
I haven’t left the temple in days.
Not since the morning with Ryc.
I haven’t heard from him in that time either. Thankfully.
He’s proven a distraction. And even if he is deemed worthy enough to protect Lilith, I can’t afford distractions. Not right now.
He moves too closely within the circle of the Sovereign King, and playing with him is playing with hellfire. One small mistake and everything, everything turns to ash.
Carrying the box across the room, I set it upon my bed.
It’s a beautiful piece.
Swirling silver inlay against the dark wood on the lid, silver clasps and hinges—the box alone is a piece of art.
But who would send me such a thing?
Perhaps something Artemise needs me to have for this upcoming eclipse celebration? The man said it came in the post—whatever in the hells that means.
With pursed lips, my fingers graze over the lid, the highly polished wood barely discernible from the gleaming silver against my fingertips. It lacks any defensive magic—it doesn’t resonate under my touch nor is there the familiar thrum of magic in my chest.
It’s a harmless ornate box.
Giving it a quick shake, no movement rattles from within. I find the latch and prise it open, lifting the lid.
My brows raise.
A black-bladed dagger rests in a bed of dark red velvet.
Immediately, my brows settle into a scowl.
Ryc.
It has to be.
The dagger, darker than midnight itself, acts like a vortex, consuming all the light touching it. It’s not a material I recognize. Clearly not steel—flicking a nail against the flat of the blade it rings, a deep vibrating sound—clearly not entirely silver either.
Tracing my finger along the flat of the blade, it’s oddly cool to the touch. Shifting the box, a rounded and polished moonstone embedded into the pommel shines with iridescent hues in the sun. The black leather wrapped handle shows signs of wear—this blade isn’t new.
Yet the beauty of the dagger is almost obscene.
Opening the box fully to withdraw the dagger, a small folded and sealed note falls out from behind the leather straps secured inside the lid.
Picking it up, I slip a finger under the seal, breaking it open. Unfolding it, I read.
Adventure carefully, little witch. — Ryc
I knew it.
I fucking knew it.
I should have never spent that morning with him. Not only does he plague my thoughts, he haunts my dreams, and now he’s sending me gifts. I can’t say for sure how things work in the living realm, but gifts in the hells never come without strings.
Whatever this is between us, it’s too much, too fast—too distracting.
My shadows vibrate, voicing their disagreement. The near sentient innate thrives when I’m distressed. It becomes emboldened, like a mortal after a night with too much heady wine. And much like a drunken mortal, it’s best to ignore its suggestions. Listening only makes a bad situation worse.
Folding the note, I sigh.
I couldn’t have asked for a better suited candidate to offer a contract. As much as part of me wants to slip away into the shadows and vanish, never see Ryc again, I can’t. I need him.
I don’t think I can find anyone else before the eclipse.
At least, not anyone else I believe can stand their ground against Kassil.
There’s some hidden darkness about Ryc that leads me to believe he’s an older fae—but I don’t know if that’s because the depth of whatever lies between us feels ancient, or if he actually is an elder fae.
If I offer him and he accepts, he’ll be bound in service to me until death. But, in my haste to leave the other day, I never managed to learn enough about him to even begin considering what to offer him. I’ve no power, no wealth, no influence.
I’ve nothing of the usual nature Netharis offers mortals.
Gods, the perfect fae is going to slip through my fingers because I have nothing to give him in return. Would he protect the daughter of Celesta on honor alone?
A demon wouldn’t.
I wouldn’t.
He shouldn’t.
Could I play that plight effectively enough to convince him?
Yes.
I believe so.
Lifting the dagger from the bed of velvet, I reunite it with its leather sheath and strap it to my thigh. It rests just below the ring of glamouring I’d placed in my pocket earlier. Eve mentioned needing to go to the South Ward this afternoon with Cora.
I should go with them.
A certain hooded fae tends to seek me out anytime I leave the temple.
Let’s hope he doesn’t prove me wrong now.