Chapter 6 #2
“I did all of those things. But the situation was not as simple as you say. I care more about her than anyone else in my life,” I counter.
“Most of the time it is that simple. You’re bad for her. Don’t make things worse. Everyone is watching,” he replies, never breaking his cool stare.
It would be a bad look to start an argument with him before I speak with Ada, so I do not let him bait me.
“Is Ada up first?” I ask, motioning a hand over to the lone chair. The unrelated question does not faze him. His hard expression remains in place.
“Yes, even though her testimony falls last in the timeline. Our other big interview today, Ben Garde-Pierre, is here representing himself as well as his mate Cara Bishop so it will be a long day,” Niven explains, the tone of his voice turning strictly business.
“Mayhap that chair needs to be somewhere more comfortable for her,” I suggest, with a tilt of my head toward the long tables. “Like over there where she is part of the group instead of opposite them. She will feel too exposed.”
“Good point,” he agrees, though he gives me a piercing look like he is trying to get a read on me. “This isn’t a questioning; it’s a collaborative effort. I’ll move her.”
By the tone of his voice, it sounds like he is done with me for now, so I say my piece while I still can. “Give these to Ada when she gets here. They are her favorite. Mayhap do not say they are from me.”
He nods curtly as I hand him the bright pink Pearlhouse Pastries bag.
He looks inside, as if checking whether they are tainted, then strides toward the chair and drags it closer to a different table.
He drops the bag onto it. Crossing his arms, he examines the set up.
I leave him to his own devices and walk to the edge of the room where I lean against a wall out of the way.
Before long, he enlists help to move the tables into a friendlier grouping.
I hope the other witnesses appreciate it too.
An older female cervitaur rolls in a cart with coffee, water, and other beverages, along with stacks of paper cups, plates, utensils, and napkins.
She is followed by a much taller golden-blonde-coated centaur with chin length blonde hair tucked behind his ears, maybe a decade younger than me.
His human-like torso is donned in a crisp dress shirt and a vibrant purple tie, the color not unlike Ada’s eyes.
His presence fills the room, even more than his size.
Mayhap they traded in the mayor for a younger model.
The centaur sets down the boxes he carries.
Some familiar pink ones on top of plain brown bulkier ones.
As he helps the cervitaur arrange the table, I take this opportunity to introduce myself.
Get it out of the way since he must know Ada well through their respective elected positions if he is indeed the new mayor.
As I approach, they look over and both of their expressions sour. The centaur’s tail swishes sharply. Ah, my reputation has preceded me.
“Here he comes,” the silver-haired cervitaur murmurs. The centaur snorts and continues unpacking the boxes.
When I stop next to him, he twists his human torso toward me, looking far down his nose to remark, “I’m not going to pretend I don’t know who you are and that I don’t have a very low opinion of you.”
I nod in understanding, looking between the two of them. Both narrow their large, deep brown eyes at me, giving me no quarter. “Are you related to the centaur who was mayor about fifteen years ago?” I ask decorously, not wanting to test them further, though still needing to appease my curiosity.
He jerks his head. “I am. He’s my father, the former mayor. I’m the current mayor.”
“He was Byron Evermane?” I pull the name from the back of my mind.
“That’s right, he is. And I’m Clancy.” He finally identifies himself. “And this is Madge Feverfew, my assistant. She’s worked with both of our administrations.”
“Was it the fae or was it Ada’s misfortune that brought you back here to darken her doorstep? I have my eyes on you. I don’t care if you’re a big shot somewhere. You upset her and you’re out!” Madge shakes her finger in my direction as she dresses me down.
“You’re as bright as the night if you think that’s an empty threat, yeti. Ada doesn’t need you rubbing salt in the wound. I reckon you should keep clear of her as best you can,” Clancy warns me.
“Noted,” I acknowledge. “I am only here to offer her and this council assistance.”
“She doesn’t want your help,” he states with flat finality. Both return to their task at hand, effectively cutting off the conversation.
Walking away from them, I circle the room, surveying the growing crowd as I return to my previous spot.
Another stray, seemingly the dragonkin I heard about, saunters toward an empty space along the wall near me.
The gleaming indigo scales covering his neck and the edges of his face while in his unshifted form give him away.
His long black hair is pulled into a knot high on the back of his head.
He inadvertently imitates my pose, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, though fidgeting a tad too much.
He may be counted as one of the Whispered Folk coming out of the woodwork, as Cyrinda put it last night.
“Seems like a lot of fuss over one fae,” he complains, sounding unimpressed.
“Did your leader send you here?” I guess from his criticism.
“My father. He did not want to lower himself to attend, so he sends a venerable prince in his stead.” He huffs a hollow laugh, flashing his bright golden serpentine eyes in my direction.
“I am here strictly to observe and report back, using as much eloquent evasion as necessary. He forbade me from making any promises that would bind him to this community, but he wants me to do so in a way that upholds his reputation as the dragonkin ruler. Thus, I will stay in the back and let the size of this crowd work in my favor.”
I chuckle, understanding the difficulty of that mandate. “It seems our roles are in reverse. I lead the North Clan and I attend against their wishes. They will be assisting as I see fit.”
“Bold move to go against the ways of your clan. I am impressed. You may have a struggle on your hands when you return,” he observes.
“I welcome it,” I respond, my eyebrow raised in challenge. “At least your father was courteous enough to send someone. Most of my people would not care how this community suffers. They likely believe it is what magick wielders deserve.”
His jaw drops open. “Ashes. I thought we were cold-blooded...” If only my people knew their disregard could shock a dragonkin. He shakes his head incredulously before turning his attention back to the room.
After several minutes, his impatient body language betrays his boredom. “I have never seen such a hodgepodge collection of Whispered Folk in one place before,” he mumbles.
A knowing smile crosses my face. “I lived here for a time and I agree this is… a lot. The nocturnals are not even here. I heard they will be briefed tonight and shown the recordings of today’s proceedings. For the rest of the week these meetings will be shifted around so everyone can attend.”
He sighs loudly. “I should have claimed a sunlight allergy.”
Ada appears well after the tables were reconfigured, none the wiser to their original arrangement.
She spots the centaur, Clancy, and joins him and Madge.
Madge pulls her into a tight embrace, fiercely whispering into her ear and then patting her cheek lovingly.
Ada responds with a watery smile. As long as they are warm to her, it makes no difference how cold they are to me.
Niven joins them momentarily, then motions for Ada to come with him.
He speaks with her the entire time, their faces close, as he leads her to a chair at the tables, now arranged in an oval.
Her seat is still a focal point, but it is flanked on both sides by other chairs.
When she sits, he points to the pink bag.
Taking out the box within it, she opens it on the table.
Her eyes widen and then scan the room suspiciously.
Finally noticing me, her face pinches, but she leaves the open box in front of her.
Someone, probably a witch, brings her a cup of coffee along with a notebook, pen, and box of tissues.
“Everyone, get your breakfast now and then head to your seat. We’ll begin momentarily,” announces another witch standing next to Niven.
He leads this investigation, so I hope he will ensure everyone is respectful toward Ada.
But if anyone starts pestering her for answers she cannot give, and Niven does not step in quickly enough, I will not hold my tongue.
Despite Ada realizing I was behind the croissants, she takes one out and starts eating it with a distracted look on her face.
Nearly fifty have crowded in already. Several others approach Ada, including the rest of her house guests, offering her encouragement.
Hopefully, the pastries along with her friends’ support will provide some comfort this morning.
Niven takes his seat across the oval from her and begins the proceedings.
After thorough questions about her observations of three fugitive warlocks’ actions while on town council, one of Niven’s assistants prompts her to recount her interaction with the fae.
It takes her a moment to collect herself.
She presses a tissue to her face, her eyes unfocused like she is stuck in the memory.