Chapter 28 #4
“If he dies, he will be the first sibling I’ve lost.” Sorrow spilled into her voice and her eyes.
She picked at her pastry while I stared at her, searching for the family resemblance.
It wasn’t as if I hadn’t been presented with diverse family groups before.
Adoption, multiple marriages, relationships that made a child.
A number of situations could lead to it, but this was different.
As if she read the confusion on my face, she sighed. “We aren’t siblings in the same manner ephemerals have siblings. We are created by primarchs.”
That cleared up absolutely nothing. Instead of voicing my snarky response, I merely said, “I don’t know what that means.”
“We were created at the same time, so we consider each other siblings. The primarch responsible for our existence would be what you’d consider our parent.
” Nothing in her voice signified familial emotions, just the being responsible for bringing them into existence.
Nothing about it even displayed liking them, which explained why Cirrian had a difficult time understanding Amelia’s inability to kill Vina and chose to sacrifice her magic instead.
If faced with the same decision, they wouldn’t be saddled with such a dilemma.
“We don’t adhere to the rules of your world or subscribe to its limitations.
Does that answer your question?” she asked in a placid, even voice that discouraged further questioning about the differences in their appearance.
I desperately wanted to inquire why she appeared to be of Middle Eastern descent, Larkin of South Asian, and Cirrian of Greek or Mediterranean.
“How many siblings do you have?”
“Six.”
“Who’s the youngest?”
She blinked several times. “I don’t know.” She fiddled with her food more, I suspected from agitation and not her inability to fully explain their existence.
“What can I do to save Cirrian?” I asked.
“I wish I had the answer. If I knew the rationale behind his behavior, perhaps we can justify it. Diehle has been contemptible for centuries. Our intervention in the affairs of the ephemerals is never warranted.”
At this point, the use of the word was in slur territory. No longer a descriptor but a word to diminish our very existence.
“Diehle tried to kill me,” I said.
I took a sip of the aromatic tea that had been brought with the food, in response to her unsettling indifference to the information.
Her attention drifted around the room. “That doesn’t justify his murder.
” When her gaze returned to me, it was despondent.
“I’m trying to understand his actions. He’s always been difficult to understand.
Larkin can sometimes make sense of his behavior, but even he’s confused.
Cirrian has shut everyone out.” She held my eyes, a slow frown beveling her lips.
Almost everyone had been shut out. I’d spent the night with him after he made it apparent he didn’t want Nahela to stay any longer than to drop me off.
She pushed through clenched teeth, “He won’t talk to me. So how can I help him?”
“He really wants to release the lycans,” I provided.
Shaking her head, another dismissal. “You’re oathbound to him. Diehle could have been handled without murdering him, and he had no obligation to override a collection. That alone is cause for death.”
“He feels an obligation to release them, and your success in the war was because of their aid and Goddess Annessa. You all must believe the same.”
The statue of the goddess was an indicator of that.
Sayier didn’t seem convinced that it supported his actions. “It’s you,” she sighed. She leaned across the table. Heat crept up my neck and over my face at her long assessment and the frown that became increasingly deeper with each sluggish moment.
“Maybe he’ll talk to you if I’m there?” I suggested.
She gave me a long assessing look. “I can’t believe that people who displeased Goddess Annessa so much that she cursed them may be the key to releasing her people.
” She shook her head. “When he discovered your existence, I don’t understand why he didn’t seek revenge instead of an alliance.
” Obviously, she didn’t believe I’d be able to free the lycans. Especially with locked magic.
“Guilt presents itself differently for everyone,” I said.
I realized she didn’t subscribe to human—ephemeral—ideologies. Did they believe erecting a statue in the goddess’s honor absolved them of any further action when it came to the lycanthropes?
“Let’s talk to him. Maybe we can get more answers and create an argument that would grant him some clemency.”
Taking her low grumble as agreement, I quickly ate my food.
“I thought I wasn’t a prisoner, so why am I being treated like one?” I whispered to Sayier as her intense gaze roved over the three guards blocking the door that led to where Cirrian was being held.
“You’re not,” the gentle, familiar voice provided.
Turning, I found Nahela out of uniform, in a high-collared aubergine shirt with a soft framing around her throat.
It was a pleasing complement to her alabaster skin and pale lashes, sharpening her appearance rather than washing it out.
The shirt was paired with slim-fitting slacks that allowed for her fluid, precise, determined movement that she couldn’t shed as easily as her uniform.
The subtle flared cut of the hips and the faint iridescent thread that caught the light seemed like a nod to ephemeral fashion.
She seemed comfortable. More at ease in these clothes than in the formal severity of her uniform.
“This isn’t an imprisonment,” Nahela said mildly, her pale eyes flicking to the guards, “it’s a restriction.”
“A distinction without a difference,” I muttered.
Her lips curved into a poor imitation of a smile that suggested she understood frustration. “Cirrian is barred from visitors.” The subtle hitch in her voice and the glance in Sayier’s direction made me scrutinize her words.
“Barred? The Bavelon barred him from visitors?” I let my opinion of the cruelty of that decision land heavy in my words.
Her eyes drifted from me and barely held contact with Sayier.
“Did the Bavelon restrict his visitors?” Sayier stepped closer, intense eyes scanning the micro-expressions that Nahela had very little control over.
My ribs tightened, making it harder to take the deep breaths I desperately needed.
“He’s requested no visitors,” she finally admitted.
Cirrian hadn’t been taking visits from anyone except me. Nahela had skirted around the real decree: He didn’t want a visit from me.
“I won’t see him before the judgment,” I said, the realization tasting like iron.
Nahela chewed on her bottom lip.
Sayier stepped forward, authority rolling off her like it could bend anyone to her will. “Kara is oathbound to him. Denying her access to him when her life is in jeopardy as much as his is—”
“Respecting his wishes,” Nahela cut in, voice calm but unyielding.
Sayier’s jaw tightened and she sidestepped Nahela, heading toward the guards with a drive that looked as if she was about to give an order.
Still figuring out the hierarchy of Umbryth, I gathered that because Sayier was the person who brought Cirrian in, she held an extremely high rank.
Definitely one that exceeded that of the guards.
The three sentries stayed planted and didn’t move, but the air shifted.
Pressure was building, her animosity heavy in the space.
“Sayier,” Nahela barked, her voice losing its honeyed gentleness.
The command and her posture served as a reminder that she held a higher position than Sayier.
Nahela turned fully to Sayier, poised to challenge her.
“It is his decision, one of the few he may get to make. I will respect it even if I don’t agree with him. ”
The tension drained from Sayier’s shoulders in a slow, defeated exhale. I felt it, too. But pain and emptiness crowded out the defeat.
Cirrian didn’t want to see me.
“Will you deliver a message to him?” I asked.
Nahela nodded, nudging her head at one of the guards. He disappeared into a room, returning with a heavy parchment. Moving to one of the consoles nearby, I could feel all eyes on me as I wrote.
I don’t understand your reason behind restricting visits from me. I know it makes sense to you. That is what matters. I’m here if you need me. We will survive this.
It was a struggle for my hands to write the lie, trembling over the last words. An emptiness was in my chest, devoid of the ability to scrounge up a modicum of hope.
Will we survive this?
I handed Nahela the letter, which she folded without looking at it then extended her hand to me. When I took it, a tingling feeling wrapped over my arm and a flourish of gilded lines ran over the paper, sealing it.
“Your words are for his eyes only,” she said. Then she handed it to one of the guards, instructing him to deliver it.