Page 65 of Mother of Death and Dawn

Sella and Brayan were lovers for years. Even as a younger man, Brayan generally had only three affectations, and none of them were what I would describe as “warm.” But still, everyone knew that he adored her. Hell, who wouldn’t? She was kind, talented, beautiful, well-bred. My parents approved. She would be a perfect new Lady Farlione. All was well.

Except…

My brow knotted as I followed my broken trail of memory up until it faded. “Up until the end,” I said. “I take it, then, that the wedding didn’t happen.”

He scowled and looked away. “No, the wedding did not happen.”

“Why not?”

“Get dressed. Hide those tattoos,” he said, and swung the door shut.

I did the best I could. I hadn’t had access to a mirror since leaving Ilyzath—part of me wished that was still the case. No wonder Sella looked at us the way she did. Changing helped, marginally, as did shaving. I was careful to button the sleeves and collar to hide the Stratagram tattoos, though the edges of black circles still peeked past the cuffs and collar of the white shirt, and there was nothing to be done about the ones on my hands—nor the mark Ilyzath left on my palm.

Even that earned a disapproving look from Brayan, which I returned with a“what do you expect me to do?”shrug.

Still, I understood the concern. I tried to keep my hands out of sight at the dinner table, but I earned long, lingering stares from the cook as dinner was brought out.

I didn’t like that look. Like he was trying to figure out how he knew my face.

There were few servants here for such a large house, but even a few were too many. Brayan and I exchanged a glance that silently confirmed we were thinking the same thing.

Sella, too, looked as if she understood the implications of prying eyes and quickly excused them, closing the door and leaving us in the dimly lit dining room in uncomfortable silence.

I started eating immediately. Ascended above, I had forgotten how good real food was. Good enough to make the palpable awkwardness of this dinner fade into the background. Food in Ilyzath was something given to you just to keep you from death, and nothing more.

Brayan was, at last, the first to speak.

“Thank you for allowing us to stay,” he said.

“Of course. I wouldn’t turn away old friends. Even after so many years.” Her voice was decidedly frosty as her gaze examined each of us.

“It is deeply appreciated, Sella,” Brayan said, again. The softer cadence to his voice when he said her name made me stop chewing, one eyebrow twitching.

For a second there, I thought I still saw the infatuated teenager.

But immediately following the amusement was a sour note of unease. We were putting Sella at risk by coming here.

“We’ll be leaving early tomorrow,” Brayan said. “We will only bother you for a few more hours.”

“I see,” Sella said, taking a dainty bite of her dinner. “Then we’ll waste no time on small talk.”

Sella was a smart woman. The point to her voice said as much. She meant:I won’t ask you questions that I shouldn’t know the answer to.

Good.

Brayan looked up and down the table—there were enough chairs for several more people, but only three plates. “Will anyone else be joining us?”

Subtle, Brayan.

Sella gave a tight smile. “No, only me tonight.”

Brayan looked as if he was trying very hard to have no reaction to this at all.

Dinner went quickly, with stilted, uncomfortable small talk that I barely listened to. I wasn’t good at it before, and a broken mind and months of isolation and torture certainly hadn’t improved my social skills.

When we were done, Sella rose from her seat. “We can go into the library for tea, if you would like some.”

If I would like some.

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