Chapter 17 Talks #2
“Glo told me that if we’re to work together, I need to apologize. And mean it. You know, the mortal way,” he admits, sighing before continuing, “so, genuinely. I’m sorry I’ve been a hypocrite—I expected you to be forthright when I haven’t been myself. And I’m sorry that I haven’t been… nicer.”
Something tells me that Glo advised him to be nicer to me so that I don’t go blabbing his true name around flippantly. So that I don’t sell that piece of information to the highest bidder.
If I were a worse person, maybe that could be my ticket out of here. But, despite Brynn’s moodiness and secrecy… he has been nice. Kind. Sweet, even…
Why am I thinking about this right now? I am already arguably the worst person. I poisoned my father with a forbidden fae elixir. I committed treason. And for what? Mavick’s grand schemes? Simon’s diabolical plot? Ugh. The knot in my stomach tightens. I much prefer the numbness.
“How do Sanctuarians apologize anyway? The inoffensive, not mortal way?” I ask, attempting to distract myself before the panic returns to suffocate me.
“Well… it’s more… shown through deeds. Handshakes, sometimes embraces—actions, in general.
” The memory of the minotaur offering him a handshake flashes through my mind.
Whatever Brynn said made the minotaur apologize to him.
“The fae distrust spoken apologies. Words alone are… hollow. Actions right a wrong.”
Interesting.
“You terrify me,” Brynn continues. The ache in his tone draws my full attention. He has eyes only for the ground at my boots. “You could lie to me at any moment. Command me at any moment. I was stupid for giving you my true name. I was desperate. I wanted so badly to trust you. It was heedless.”
Despite my reservations, my heart responds to his pain.
It wants to say you can trust me. But my brain knows that’s a fallacy.
That for my self-preservation, I must continue to lie.
And he was stupid for giving me his true name.
For giving me power like I’ve never possessed over another being before.
It was a mistake that could cost him everything.
Apparently, with the way it constricts my chest now at the simple thought of it, it would cost me something, too. I sigh.
“Yes… it was heedless,” I say. “But I did not lie to you about Mavick. I had no idea what they were wrapped up in. I would have never come here had I known the extent of it—would have never made a deal to find them knowing what I know now. I meant what I said. Keep your secrets. Just know that I carry them, too. But I do not keep them from you because I do not trust you. I keep them because they’re irrelevant. You’re safer knowing nothing about me.”
I try to sound confident in my speech, but my voice trembles. Brynn stares at my lips like he’s never heard such words. I shift my weight as my cheeks heat.
“But what if I want to know everything about you?” he asks so softly I almost think I imagine it. He looks… dumbstruck.
“Excuse me?” I ask. No. More accurately, because I’m confident I heard him: “Why?”
“I want you to trust me fully,” he says, his brow creasing. It doesn’t quite feel like an answer to my question, but the words and the puzzled expression on his face, as though searching between the lines, jogs my memory.
Trust. A gamble. A prize that must be won. Earned.
At once, I remember what he said to me over dinner a week ago. Well, fae deals do have… magical properties. Maybe you won’t get the next piece of the puzzle until you’ve agreed to the trade it mentions?
Could the trade of trust between us, enough trust to enter a deal together, suffice?
At once, I tear through my satchel, where I stored the riddle after first showing it to Brynn.
It has been abandoned since, as I can recite it in my sleep, backward, and perhaps even in another language, with confidence.
In a mild hysteria, I drop to my knees to dump the contents of the bag onto the cobblestones at Brynn’s feet.
The vials and the pluckroot tumble out first, then the list of elixirs Jasmeen wrote for me, and finally—with a last violent shake of the bag—the folded piece of parchment.
He drops to the ground too, no doubt bemused by my outburst.
I unfold it with shaky fingers. The new ink appears fresher than the original, like it was just written:
So you’ve chosen to work with the Vir
You put your prized trust in what exactly you fear
But is it enough to reclaim what you hold dear
Or will you simply watch as everything disappears?
My bottom finds the ground, and I shove my head between my knees as the panic crescendos.
Any uncertainty that the riddle was not fated for me washes away—or maybe I made it about me with every deliberate action since plucking it from the door in Mavick’s kitchen.
Maybe it was my fault—much like the kingdom’s certain demise at my thoughtless use of a heavy dose of Yield against my own father.
The King. Treason. Betrayal. Now I can’t even get back to him quickly enough to fix it.
To step in with his counsel, as is my duty in times like this.
I have wasted who knows how much time already.
I am fucked. And I can only blame myself.
Brynn’s warm hands hover an inch from my knees, as though he longs to console me with touch. Instead, he respects my boundaries.
“Thea,” he says, his voice rough with concern, “What is it?”
Without lifting my head, I hold the parchment in his general direction as he takes a seat next to me.
His body tenses as he reads his own name scrawled on the magicked paper.
He folds and places it between us before gathering up the spilled contents of my satchel.
Thankfully, he does not ask about the vials.
He doesn’t speak at all as he collects my things.
After steadying my breathing, drawing on the last remnants of my feeble resolve, I lift my head. Brynn’s worried eyes take me in—his face has paled, but he offers a small smile.
“There must be a way to release you from the deal, right?” I ask, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “I will help you find your mother in the mortal realm, if you want. No strings attached. But I doubt I’m meant to find Mavick—I need to go home.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Thea. I will get you there,” he says, but he looks crestfallen. “I’m not sure if there’s a way to break the deal. We may always be bound.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, searching his face.
“The deal was ambiguous enough,” he says, sounding uncertain, “perhaps it can be resolved by simply locating Mavick and my mother, as you speculated.” On cue, the invisible cuff around my wrist tightens.
Brynn flexes his hand as though experiencing the same.
“I know someone in Royal City who could provide counsel—maybe they can help.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. Bound. Forever. At least until we locate Mavick or his mother.
“Perhaps Royal City is the next best step anyway. Sanctuarians there may be more willing to trade information about Mavick,” he says when I remain quiet. “But, if that’s no longer what you want, we will return to the mortal realm. I will make sure of it.”
I nod and stand, dusting off my pants. Brynn tucks the folded parchment back into my satchel before handing it to me from the ground. I sling it over my shoulder. Without thinking, my hand extends to help him to his feet. He stares at it dubiously.
“Permission granted,” I quip. “Take it before I change my mind.”
He grabs my hand and much like when we made our deal, a soft buzzing sparks from the contact—as though a strong static electricity shifts between us.
He hasn’t touched me since we tied our fates together.
Like a fool, I wonder if our touch will always hum like that.
I shake the thought by pulling him to his feet with vigor. Brynn lets go first.
“Friends? Secrets at a minimum from here on out?” he asks, grinning. My breath catches. I smile back but know it does not reach my eyes.
“I guess it will make the journey to Royal City less miserable.”