Chapter 6 #2
“It’s nice to meet again under less stressful circumstances,” she said, in her lilting cadence.
Now that I came to think about it, her accent was fairly similar to Renfis’s.
I would have to ask him if they hailed from the same part of Yvelia.
The witch was stunning in a loose, dark blue blouse; a leather belt; and a long, flowing black skirt that swirled around her heeled boots.
Her thick, wavy hair was unbound and red as a blazing sunset.
“I hope you don’t mind that I’ve invaded your welcome-back dinner?
Te Léna invited me. I would have returned home a week ago, but I’ve been put to work here.
I’m surprised to find that I’m enjoying some time away from the clan. ”
She spoke as if she was overstaying her welcome in my home.
Cahlish was Kingfisher’s ancestral seat.
It had been in his family for as long as it had stood.
It was strange to have anyone act as if it belonged to me.
It didn’t. Or . . . sinners, maybe it did now?
Just a little bit. It was all so confusing.
Fuck, I hadn’t had nearly enough time to wrap my head around all of this.
“Don’t you dare apologize for staying. We would have lost Everlayne without you. And you’ve been helping Te Léna work the quicksilver out of Kingfisher, too. There isn’t a person here who resents your presence.”
Iseabail glowed, her eyes dancing as she laughed.
Squeezing my hand, she nodded her head back over her shoulder, raising her eyebrows.
“I appreciate the sentiment, I really do. But I think there’s at least one person who’d prefer it if I were dead in a ditch rather than here, fouling up the halls of Cahlish with my witch’s blood. ”
Lorreth’s hearing was just as good as any of the other members of the Fae in the room.
He heard every word Iseabail said, and from the thunderous look on his face, he wasn’t happy.
Iseabail didn’t seem to care, though. “Don’t worry.
I’m not one for drama, even when others seem intent on causing it. ”
There was a loud clatter from the table; Lorreth had knocked over his ale and was furiously trying to mop it up with a napkin.
Iseabail snorted.
“Why does he hate your kind so much?” I knew Lorreth to be funny, kind, and thoughtful. Seeing him like this around a woman who had helped us all so much was genuinely confounding.
Iseabail’s smile faded. “Ach. It’s probably best if I let him tell you that one.”
Te Léna and her mate, Maynir, wore matching outfits of gold and taupe.
They overflowed with happiness as they spoke to Fisher and me, telling us all that had happened in the past few days at Cahlish.
The light Te Léna cast off only dimmed when I asked after Everlayne’s progress, and she had to confess that Kingfisher’s sister was still sleeping and couldn’t seem to wake.
She brightened quickly, though. “I’ll take you to see her in the morning, if you like.
Hearing your voice might be the final push she needs to wake up. ”
“I’d love that.” I’d spent only a few days with Layne at the Winter Palace before Fisher had swept me away into the night.
With the exception of Iseabail and Te Léna, she knew everyone else in the dining room far better than she knew me.
It was unlikely that I would be the one to break Everlayne’s fugue state, but I was willing to give it a shot.
Danya was last to greet me. The last time I’d seen her, her hair had flowed halfway down her back, but it was short now, cropped to her jaw on the left, shorn to the scalp on the right.
Dressed in fighting leathers and a patinaed silver breastplate stamped with the head of a howling wolf, she was stiff as a board when she came to stand in front of me.
“Alchemist,” she said curtly.
“Danya,” I answered.
“Where’s the redhead?”
“Who?”
“The annoying male with witty comebacks.”
“You think Carrion is funny?”
Danya rolled her eyes. “Never mind.”
“He’ll be here soon,” I said quickly. “He went to the bath house. He was taking longer than expected, so we came on ahead.”
“Okay. I’ll go find him,” she said, shrugging.
“No! No, uh . . . don’t do that.” He hadn’t said as much, but I had a sneaking suspicion that Carrion had gone in search of more than a bath.
The water sprites he had befriended recently apparently spent most of their time down in the baths, and I didn’t want Danya walking in on him in a compromising situation with any—or all—of them.
Why, I didn’t know. Carrion and Danya together would be the kind of living hell that I had no desire to experience firsthand—but he was my friend, and friends watched each other’s backs.
“He’ll be here any moment, and I . . . I wanted to ask you about your new hairstyle. What prompted the dramatic cut?”
She stared at me blankly. “A burning corpse set me on fire.”
Gods a-fucking-live. Perfect. “Oh. Okay. I thought it was some new, edgy form of self-expression.”
“The length of a warrior’s hair is directly related to their skill in battle. Mine was longer than Ren’s and Lorreth’s put together. I would never have cut it to look . . . edgy.”
Whew. I was not getting anywhere here. “I heard that you were injured during the fight. Couldn’t Te Léna have restored your hair when she healed you?”
The female looked at me like she did not understand me one bit.
“There are no shortcuts to glory, Alchemist. For my brother’s sake, I’m glad you didn’t die in Gillethrye.
He already lost enough people to that accursed city.
For my own part, I’m glad you didn’t die because an Alchemist is a rare thing.
” She quickly cast her eyes to the floor, dipping her head in a perfunctory display of deference. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She took up a place at the table opposite Lorreth.
She didn’t seem particularly impressed by his presence, either.
Since I’d splintered her sword into hundreds of shards, reforged it, and inadvertently gifted it to Lorreth, she’d been far from civil toward the other member of the Lupo Proelia.
Not that I’d seen her have a kind word for anybody, ever, mind you.
Across the dining room, I felt the weight of Fisher’s eyes on me.
He stood with Ren, head bowed as he listened to his friend, but his focus was all for me.
He had come to Ammontraíeth kitted out for war, but here, in his home, with his family close, he wore only a loose black shirt and black pants.
The fire behind the two males painted their faces with an orange glow and lightened the waves of his thick hair to a warm, dark brown.
Gods, but he was perfect.
His cheeks were flushed from the heat of the fire, his jaw marked with dark stubble, full lips parted. He nodded, sparing Ren the shortest of sidelong glances, then looked back at me. His burning gaze landed with the force of a blow that would have taken me to my knees if we weren’t among friends.
I can hear you from here, y’know. Fisher’s deep growl brushed against my mind like velvet.
What? I didn’t say a word. I didn’t even think anything.
The left side of his mouth kicked up a touch. You didn’t need to. Your eyes are saying plenty.
Fuck.
You okay, Little Osha? You’ve gone red.
I’m fine. I’m over here, minding my own business. Are you fine? You’re supposed to be listening to your friend, not accusing me of things.
Oh, I’m listening to him. He lowered his eyes to his feet. A weightlessness pulled at my stomach when he looked back up at me from under ink-black lashes. It’s hard to concentrate on camp logistics when I can smell you across the room, though, Osha.
I was going to die of embarrassment. You cannot.
Across the room, I caught the flash of wickedly sharp canine as a suggestive smile parted Fisher’s lips. Be under no illusion, Little Osha. You are all I can smell.
He was exaggerating. But could he exaggerate? Did the Fae consider emphasizing the truth to be the same as lying? I made a mental note to look that up. For now, I found myself growing more convinced that he was telling the truth. Because I could smell him, too.
Bruised herbs.
Citrus.
Smoke.
Leather.
Pine, and cold mountain air.
And underneath it all, the maddening scent of him—the scent that made him unique and made me want to climb the fucking walls. A trace of pheromones that sent electricity zipping up the length of my spine and—
“Dinner is about to be served, mistress.”
Oh.
Archer was standing right in front of me.
The top of the fire sprite’s head barely reached my stomach.
He had no hair to speak of. His skin was made of blackened coal, and thin fissures snaked across his forehead and his cheeks, threads of what looked like embers burning within the depths of them.
I’d never seen him wear clothes before, but tonight he had donned a thick hunter-green vest with gold buttons down the front that covered most of his rotund little belly.
“Wow. You’re looking very handsome tonight, Archer!” I stepped back, making a show of taking him in.
Archer beamed with pride. “Thank you, mistress. We normally have no need for clothes, but sometimes we dress nicely for special occasions.” He tugged at the bottom of the vest—or jerkin—proudly puffing out his chest. “We all consider your return to Cahlish a very special occasion indeed!”
“Well, thank you, Archer. That’s very sweet.”
The fire sprite held out his hands, gesturing for me to follow him as he crossed the dining room.
When I’d first dined in this hall, Archer had damn near had a heart attack when he’d discovered me sitting in the seat on Fisher’s left—but that was precisely where he led me now, as he guided me to the table.
“Come, come. You must sit. It is custom, mistress. The lady of the house should be seated before the food is brought in.”