Chapter 11
Non
Purple was most certainly not my colour.
And to make things worse, the habit I wore was three sizes too small.
Tugging at the high neckline, Jazz swatted my hand away. “Stop fussing! It took ages to get it done up.” Twenty minutes, to be exact, of having to suck in my gut while Jazz buttoned the back.
“It’s cutting off my oxygen supply,” I whined, loosening the buttons at the back of the neck.
“You only have to wear it for a few hours. Rhun works quickly, so he should have one outfit at least ready for you by this evening.”
Jazz’s polished boots clicked on the sandstone tiles as we made our way through the halls to our first destination of the day, Granny’s private dining room.
It turned out she was deadly serious about the six am call time. I felt bad that Jazz had to play chaperone today.
We had both fallen asleep on their bed after only talking for a short while.
The herb they had suggested I mix in my bath had worked wonders; that, on top of the exhaustion from the last few days, meant I’d slept like the dead.
I’d unintentionally curled up at the foot of the bed, and Jazz had sprawled out horizontally by the headboard.
It had been a rush to get out the door in twenty minutes, mainly because of the layered outfit Jazz had to squeeze me into.
It consisted of a long-sleeved cotton shirt followed by a sleeveless bodice that had a high neck and shoulders that tapered to a point.
Jazz informed me that each habit was made with a special fibre that Rhun, whoever that was, could use his power to manipulate.
The only thing that seemed extraordinary to me was that it was keeping my stomach from flopping over my leggings.
Jazz had insisted I wear the traditional clothes of a Wielder lest I anger my grandmother further than I already had by just existing.
Thankfully, they had a spare set lying at the bottom of their wardrobe.
A one-night stand Jazz had during the summer prior had left them behind when rushing out the door the next morning.
Unfortunately, they’d had the sense to take their trousers with them, so Jazz had kindly lent me a pair of their own form-fitting burgundy leggings.
The clash of colours wasn’t easy on the eyes, but they would have to suffice.
Wearing one of Jazz’s habits wasn’t an option as it was a deep crimson.
From the small pieces of information they had shared with me last night, it was clear that Wielders took their Coven colours very seriously.
“Just my luck to get picked by the Coven that wears the most unflattering colour. Tell me again why your Coven can’t pick me so I can wear the sexy red?”
Jazz smirked. “You choose the Coven you want to serve, not the other way around, although sometimes people here forget that.” A crease formed between their brows.
“We’d be honoured to have you serve the Southern Coven, but you’ve poked Bron the Beast a fair amount over the last forty-eight hours.
I think if you showed up in full Southern garb, she might have an aneurysm.
” I wondered if it was possible for an all-mighty Wielder like Granny to succumb to such a mortal illness.
“She’ll probably have a moan about the trousers, but they’re the only spares I have.
The jeans you brought are covered in blood and booze.
” Jazz had been horrified last night at the minuscule amount of clothing I had packed.
I didn’t let on that it was all I owned, save for a few pairs of shorts and summer vests I had left back at the bungalow.
“What colours do the other Covens wear?” I asked as we turned a corner.
“Central wear dark green, the East wear navy blue. If you think purple is the worst, you’re lucky you don’t belong to the West, they wear drab old black.”
“What’s wrong with black?”
“It washes me out, and you can’t deny I look hot as hell in red.” They winked, and my traitorous cheeks heated.
I had to agree with Jazz; red complemented everything about them, from their skin tone to the bronze sheen of their hair.
That, coupled with a sculpted jaw, sensuous lips, and an effortless charm, I couldn’t deny I found them incredibly attractive.
My mouth had gone dry when they stepped into my room this morning wearing their habit that had been tailored to fit their muscled chest and arms to perfection.
Their knee-high boots were doing something for me in a hot commander way that I couldn’t unpack this early in the morning. Gods, I needed a cold shower.
“Why the swan?” I asked, gesturing to the bird embroidered on the front of Jazz’s habit.
“Transformation, apparently.” They shrugged.
I looked down at my own too-tight habit. “And the horse?”
“No idea—ask your Ledr. She’s the one who chose it.”
We carried on down the expansive corridors in comfortable silence for a while; considering I had only known Jazz for less than twenty-four hours, I felt more at ease with them than with anyone else I knew.
“I think I’d suit black.”
Jazz came to an abrupt stop in front of a small black door and grinned, the shine of their perfect white teeth sending a shiver down my spine.
“Oh, I’m sure you would, but I don’t want to be within a hundred miles of Bron if she ever catches you in black.”
Jazz knocked on the door three times and replaced their usual lazy grin with a stern scowl. They clasped their hands behind their back and stepped to one side of the door with their chin raised. My mouth hung open in shock at the sudden change; I almost didn’t recognise the person in front of me.
“Stop staring at me like that,” Jazz whispered.
“Like what?” I said, batting my eyelashes.
“Like you’re eye fucking me.”
The corner of my lips tipped up. “What’s with the serious soldier act all of a sudden?”
The sound of footsteps approached from the other side of the door. Jazz straightened and cleared their throat. “Duty calls.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what came over me in that moment.
Maybe it was the lasting effects from the Passionflower I’d had in my bath, or maybe because I had felt so out of control over the last few days, and I needed something to ground me.
But I stood on my tiptoes and brushed my lips to the shell of Jazz’s ear.
They stiffened for a second before leaning into my touch and resting their hand on my lower back. My pulse pounded in my ears as the footsteps on the other side of the door drew nearer.
“Maybe I want to do more than just eye fuck you.”
No harm in a bit of flirting, right?
Jazz huffed out an arrogant laugh before running their nose across my jawline. The door flung open, and Granny entered the corridor. I quickly stepped away from Jazz as they cleared their throat and snatched their hand away from my lower back.
Granny’s stare bounced from mine to Jazz and then back to me before she curled her lip with disgust and stormed back into the dining room.
I obediently followed Granny, leaving Jazz in the corridor. They gave me a quick wink and closed the door.
“Why do you think I summoned you here this morning, Non?” Granny asked from the top of the obnoxiously long table. I shrugged, feigning ignorance; there were myriad reasons I had likely been summoned.
Granny was flanked by two doors identical to those I had seen when arriving at Llwyn Onn.
It didn’t look like she had much variation in her design taste.
Almost every door, painting, or tapestry had been of D?n and Llyr in various poses and settings.
The corridors Jazz and I walked down that morning had seemed eerily quiet, but I put this down to the ungodly hour.
Although it had made me wonder how many people resided in Llwyn Onn with my grandmother.
I hadn’t seen a soul while walking the corridors since my arrival.
As I opened my mouth to respond, the small black door I had entered through at the back of the room swung open, and two women scuttled in. One of them carried a large silver cloche on a tray; the other pushed a trolley filled with decanters of all different colours.
The older of the two women placed the tray in front of Granny. The other poured her a drink of something that looked like prune juice before they bowed their heads and exited through the same door.
“Did you make me enter through a back door or something?”
Granny ignored the question as she lifted the cloche to reveal her breakfast, which looked like poached eggs that sat on some kind of potato hash. My stomach made an audible groan at the sight.
She motioned for me to sit with her knife, and I followed obediently, sitting in the only other chair at the table, which was at the opposite end to hers.
“Are we expecting guests?” I remarked, trying to fill the long silence as Granny continued to ignore me and eat her breakfast. “How many people live here exactly? Surely this huge castle isn’t just for you and your giant ego?”
Baiting her with petty insults was a tactic I had developed as a child when she would give me the silent treatment.
It usually had an excellent success rate, albeit a little childish now that I was in my mid-twenties.
But Granny didn’t so much as flinch; she just continued eating in silence.
The slip in control over her magic, however, was evident.
The half wall of windows to my left had almost completely frosted over despite the warm end-of-summer morning.
I turned back to her, hiding the smirk on my lips. “Do you always eat in this conservatory?”
She shot me a look filled with contempt. “Belvedere.”
“A what?”
“This is a Belvedere, not a conservatory.”
I slumped back into my chair. “Semantics.”
Placing her knife and fork down, she threaded her fingers together and leant forward on the table.
“There are approximately forty staff employed. Only a handful reside within Llwyn Onn itself. Most live in the local village five miles east of here. We have the capacity to sleep almost eighty guests.”