Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
In the morning, I woke in an unfamiliar space, breathing in a faint, soapy, spiced scent; it clung to his pillow.
The room was too quiet, too soft, too lonely. Lonely was how I always felt when I woke up in this vast nightmare palace instead of our snug cottage, and it had nothing to do with pushing up on my elbow and discovering Fieran was gone.
Clear light filled his room. The bed on his floor was empty and neatly made, even though it wasn’t as if he would need it again, with blankets pulled up to the pillows. I frowned down at it, wondering why he’d put me in his bed.
Why had he cared enough to watch over me in my sleep?
Fieran obviously wanted something from me, and I needed to know what part I played in his plans…and what those plans were.
Wisps of memory came back to me, but only in fragments. He’d called for help, his voice desperate. The memory of how distraught he’d sounded haunted me.
It must have something to do with his plans. He didn’t care about me. I tried to capture any other threads of memories or dreams I could tease into something more, but I couldn’t grasp any of them before they floated away.
I felt rested and refreshed in a way I never felt in the morning. I usually stumbled out of my bed with deep reluctance about the wisdom of leaving it behind.
I stretched and tested out my muscles, felt along my body for the bruises that should’ve ached from Maura’s boots and fists.
But when I pulled up my tunic, my stomach looked flat and unmarked.
My skin was usually bruised from farm chores, from heavy buckets banging into my legs as I staggered along or the antics of asshole goats.
I frowned and let the tunic drop. It fell almost to my knees.
It wasn’t mine.
The black tunic was huge, swimming on me.
Fieran’s.
Why the fuck was I wearing his clothes?
I looked around the room for my own clothes, feeling unamused by the thought of venturing into the hallway wearing his tunic and no trousers. But I didn’t see them anywhere.
Fieran’s room smelled like him, a warm, spicy scent that was far too inviting.
He had his own house, but he seemed to have dug into the barracks like a tick.
Weapons hung neatly on the wall as if swords and knives were decor.
There was a big bookcase, and I eyed the titles.
Dragons of the Southern Realm. Obsidian Dragons: History beyond it, a balcony looked out toward the sea.
The thought rankled more than it should when I imagined the clan spreading through that space at night, laughing and bantering with each other as the stars shone down on the sea, while I was locked on the other side of the door where the other mortal servants were allowed to deliver their breakfast.
Then we were out through the door on the other side and back at the long table mortals had set for breakfast. The door clicked locked behind us.
The air smelled of bacon, toast, and tea, and the clan was seated around the table, but this morning there was a strange, somber air.
My gaze went past all the somber faces to Maura, who looked more frightened now than she had ever been facing down monsters.
“Maura, where were you when our little mortal was beaten close to death?” Fieran’s voice was dangerous.
I froze behind him. I couldn’t even summon offense over that patronizing our little mortal.
Maura stood, her chin rising. Her hands braced flat on the table, the muscles in her biceps curving out sharply.
If I felt like prey—every muscle tense—she looked as if she did just as much now.
“I went for the healer because she was fighting me, and I didn’t want her to hurt herself worse. You found her before I could return.”
“Who hurt her?” Fieran’s broad shoulders were relaxed; there was no tension in his spine, no ripple in the taper of his waist. I needed to see his face, to try to understand him, and so I edged along the wall.
Maura’s eyes caught the movement and flashed to me. Her dark eyes settled on me for just a heartbeat, but it was enough to send tension stiffening my spine. She hesitated as she swiveled toward Fieran, and her jaw thrust forward as if in defiance. “I did.”
Fieran studied her, his eyes suddenly making me think of heated, scalding gold. “Thank you for your honesty.”
Anayla, sitting beside Maura, winced.
“She was talking to Ander.” Maura spoke rapidly, as if she had to get the words out before some dire consequence. “I was trying to find out what they were plotting together.”
“This wasn’t an accident?” Fieran’s voice had turned soft. Silky. Persuasive. It was even worse than when he sounded openly dangerous.
“It was…I didn’t realize she was so fragile.” Maura tossed her head, trying to be blasé, and not quite pulling it off.
If I were a good person—more like Tay—I wouldn’t have reveled in the fear that pulsed under her skin. It couldn’t be as hot as the fear that had run through my veins when she beat me, afraid I’d fall in that empty room and not rise again, and that Tay would follow me down.
Still, my feelings were a mix of satisfaction and shame and something that was just grim, determined and pragmatic. Fieran was a danger to me, but sometimes, he could be dangerous on my behalf.
Could I master this monster of a man and turn him in the direction I needed?
“I told you to teach her how to take a hit.” Fieran hadn’t glanced away from her once. No one else in the clan was watching her, though; they were watching him, except for Anayla, who was stiff, studying her knotted hands. “I didn’t tell you to beat her half-dead. Did I?”
“No.” The word seemed as if it were wrung from her chest. Then, as if that were a dam breaking, the rest came in a rush, “Fear. You can’t trust her. She’s spying on you for Ander.”
“So you thought you would address the problem for me—by hurting her—rather than trouble me?”
“I wanted to bring you answers—”
“Get out.”
She rose to her feet in instant obedience before she glanced around, her eyes wild. But no one was meeting her gaze, so she looked to Fieran. “Where am I going to go?”
“I don’t give a fuck, Maura. Get out.”
She pushed her chair away and moved back, emotions flickering over her face, and her gaze met mine again.
Threat prickled at the back of my neck, and my hands knotted into fists. Right. Because fighting her had worked for me before. I could’ve let out a bitter laugh at my stupid, insufficient instincts, if I hadn’t been entirely focused on her as she stalked toward the door and slammed it open.
Then she was gone, and it was only when I exhaled my relief that I felt the clan’s attention shift.
Every eye was on me, and I was keenly aware of how I was both half-dressed and defended by Fieran. There were obvious conclusions anyone could draw.
I took a step back, but I couldn’t go back through the door to the dragons’ wing. It was locked behind me. I’d have to flee around the table to reach the servants’ quarters. Either past the whole clan or past Fieran. I wouldn’t run from either.
His attention, when it snagged on me, was all-consuming.
“Come on, little mortal,” Fieran told me, once again relaxed and smiling and now, I was convinced, always wearing a mask as Anayla had claimed. “I’ll take care of your training myself.”
“First I want to see my brother.”
“Oh? Are we making demands?” His brows arched. “Clearly, you need my guidance in a special class I’m going to call Ways To Keep Your Flimsy Mortal Life Intact Another Day.”
“You owe me seeing him.” I wasn’t sure how my voice sounded so brash and sure of myself, but I was certainly going to marvel at it late tonight when I replayed the look on his face.
“You got me hurt. You told me you were going to protect me, and I was afraid I was going to die on day one. You told me you were going to prepare me, yet today I’m less ready for the arena than I was when you snatched me out of my village. ”
Every word came out crisp, over-enunciated, maybe because I was keenly aware we were being watched.
He must not have appreciated that fact, because he flicked his fingers in a dismissive gesture, and the clan began to move.
While I dreaded it, I needed him now to prepare for the arena. Maybe I’d entertained dreams of bravely standing my ground in an arena full of shifters who stood head-and-shoulders taller, who were faster, better trained, and far less fragile.
Now I’d seen one of them stalk my way, knowing she might accidentally murder me because I was so flimsy, and the panicked flutter of being prey kept scraping me hollow.
I didn’t want to be the first mortal in that arena, but if I couldn’t escape that fate, I’d like to at least be the first mortal who didn’t piss her pants.
The other shifters were standing, chairs shuffling across the floor, a low murmur of voices filling the air.
They were all deliberately avoiding looking at Fieran and me, but they were listening. Shifters were nosy gossips.
“Come with me,” he growled, stalking toward my room. “We’ll discuss this privately.”
I sauntered after him, trying to play off the tension that had settled over my body at his stern tone, especially after watching him exile Maura.
And must he walk into my room? I glanced at the faces of the clan, scanning for the knowing looks I thought might rise in his wake, but they were carefully blank.
Would he claim me for Clan Bismyth? He must know what the clans would think. I’d been assuming he needed me, but his willingness to cast out someone I’d thought was one of his closest friends left me unsettled.
Fieran seemed unpredictable.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling he was, if I could just unravel his secrets. He had some grand and terrible plan that involved me…and that I needed to understand.