Chapter 13 Command #2
His harsh gaze, molten once more but subdued, meets mine and again I burn in that inexplicable way.
It’s a panic-adjacent feeling—urgent, but quieter.
Deeper. It starts low in my stomach and travels up, constricting my chest. My heart beats too fast. His jaw clenches, a peculiar look of confusion on his face, but he has the decency not to expose me.
Hopefully a new topic will settle my quickened pulse.
“So… who am I to help you find in the mortal world?” I ask.
“Ah. My mother,” he says, a forced indifference coloring his tone. “She’s a mortal. My father is Sanctuarian.”
“You don’t know her?” I ask. “Or has she disappeared, too?”
“Both,” Brynn says with a small shrug. He deflects. “How do you know Mavick anyway?”
I hadn’t thought about how I would broach this topic.
Good thing I wasn’t Oathstruck—I could lie if necessary.
But I tell the truth anyway when I say, “I stumbled through a passageway as a child… right into Mavick’s cottage.
I’ve been visiting them ever since. They’ve been—they’ve comforted me through a lot of shitty things. ”
Brynn raises an eyebrow but doesn’t ask for specifics. “How do you know they’re missing? How do you know Mavick didn’t go on a trip?”
I chuckle humorlessly. “Over a dozen years and they’ve always been there when I showed up unannounced. This time everything was… well, covered in faerie blood.”
He pales. “You’re sure?”
I nod and see the flash of gold mess—the image burned into my mind. He seems to see it in my eyes, too.
What a fickle thing, trust. A prize that must be earned.
Mavick earned it by being there for me whenever I needed them over many years.
But I don’t have years at present. My gut tells me to trust Brynn—despite hardly knowing him, despite almost slitting his throat with a dagger.
He’s already trusted me with his secrets.
His parentage and his true name. Maybe it’s his desperation fueling him, but it must count for something.
Plus, we both know that if he ever betrays me, I can command him to do my bidding—however uncomfortable it makes me.
Resolved, I reach into my bodice pocket and retrieve the folded parchment. Brynn’s brow furrows as I hand it over.
He unfolds and scans it while I explain, “This was stuck to the passageway in Mavick’s kitchen. It was held up by that dagger.”
He reads it a second time aloud for good measure, the words somehow less terrifying in his low, honeyed voice. “Do you feel it’s addressed to you?”
I shrug. “I think so, at least.”
“‘Are you brave enough to loosen the chains?’ What does that even mean? Are you a prisoner of some sort?” he teases.
“I’m a maid, actually,” I say. I do not dare say for the mortal princess. Less is more when it comes to lying. He stares at me for a breath too long, but I guess he doesn’t find anything suspicious in my guise, because he continues.
“Ah, do you take this bit to mean me? ‘Are you wise enough to request aid? Are you kind enough to offer a trade?’” He chuckles. “Is this what you’ve been puzzling over in your head when you get that look?”
I shoot him a scathing one now.
“I don’t know what look you’re referring to…
but I suppose so, yes,” I admit. “Maybe I’ve been reading too much into certain words.
Mavick taught me to be cautious and to read between the lines.
I had to figure out why it would be wise to trust you…
and the kind part. I could work on that too, I suppose. ”
“You did just try to cut me down, after all,” Brynn says knowingly, though he doesn’t seem all that upset about it, considering.
“Well, that was a… misunderstanding.” I sigh and scrub my eyes, allowing the buried frustration to color my voice. “Another example of me being way in over my head here.”
Brynn stands from the couch without warning and moves to the kitchen. He opens cabinets at random, frowning.
“Where did you stay last night anyway?” he calls over his shoulder.
“An inn around the corner from the tavern,” I reply, not seeing the relevance.
“Well, tonight, I think you should stay here.” I open my mouth to protest but he plows on. “Safer, you know. And I’m going to get us something to eat—so that we can form a plan and strike a deal on full stomachs. That’s got to be a saying, right?”
My jaw clenches. There is little else I’m willing to trade with the satyr innkeeper.
A couple measly pluckroot will likely not suffice to extend my stay.
As though on cue, my stomach growls. I don’t know the first thing about food in Sanctuary and I’m afraid to test my luck on that front.
But I must eat a real meal soon—it’s half the reason I haven’t been able to think straight.
I don’t want to admit that the other reasons are Brynn’s too-pretty face and my own incompetence.
“I see you long to argue, but I can also hear your stomach growling from here. Am I correct in assuming that the promise of a proper meal will be enough to keep you here?” he asks, his hand already on the front door.
I nod—reluctantly. Brynn smirks and is gone.