Page 109 of The Seeker
He didn’t want to lie to her. The ceremony and weight of responsibility were intimidating even if the celebration was a joyful one. The guest list had been the first surprise.
Rhys had been expecting only the scribes and singers already at the haven. After all, secrecy was still essential even if the chief of the Uwachi Toma was going to attend. But his mother and father were being flown in, which would make for an awkward family reunion considering they’d never heard their son mention Meera’s name and they hadn’t seen him in decades. Damien and Sari were flying in from Europe. Malachi and Ava had been invited, but since Rhys was gone, Malachi couldn’t leave the Istanbul house unattended.
Rhys had no idea how many people were flying in from Udaipur. He’d stopped asking questions when the third massive tent went up behind the house.
Despite his nerves, he felt the love and joy permeating Havre Hélène even as he worried about the darkness spreading closer to the haven.
Rhys had called Zep that morning to check on Grigori activity at the scribe house in New Orleans. The news wasn’t reassuring. Zep’s information seemed to back up Roch. Attacks in the city had picked up, and nests of Grigori seemed to spring into existence fully formed. The human news called it a crime wave.
They had no idea what was really going on.
The scribe house in Houston had sent reinforcements, but no one seemed to be looking for the source of the problem. They were tamping down sparks without looking for the source of the fire.
The Fallen was on the move. Bozidar and his sons were pushing their way to the sea, eager to flex their power for some unknown reason.
And where the hell had Vasu disappeared to?
Rhys just hoped he and Meera would be able to finish their mating ceremony and learn and practice the magic they would need before danger reached their door.
Chapter Twenty
Meera stood for the fitting, her arms spread out, the shell of the silk tunic folded and fitted around her as singers fluttered like cheerful birds in her room. Despite the happy buzz of energy, she longed for the quiet peace of her garden off Frenchmen Street, longed for a morning cup of coffee and conversation with the old man on the corner playing a harmonica.
It felt like the beginning of the end.
She didn’t blame Rhys. She didn’t blame anyone really. Her job—the whole reason she had come to North America—had been to research the magic and language of the Uwachi Toma and record as much as possible. She had recorded many of Ata’s songs, studied her language, and agreed to take Ata’s memories after her mating ceremony. After that, her mission would be complete.
She’d been frivolous in New Orleans, spinning out her days of enjoyment and neglecting her duties. Vacation was over.
“Sisters,” Patiala said, entering the room. “May I have a word with my daughter?”
Cora, the seamstress making her dress under the direction of Chanak, their tailor from Udaipur, stepped away from her and removed the remaining pin in her mouth. “I have all the measurements I need, young lady. This is going to be fun. I haven’t worked in silk for centuries.”
The American singer had been an accomplished seamstress and literally worked magic with a needle back in the golden years of New Orleans’s Irin elite. She’d been delighted to create formal gowns and outfits with Chanak and his mate, Bhama. The three artists had been working around the clock to outfit the haven with dresses, suits, and other finery.
Meera adored Cora and had insisted that the haven seamstress make her dress instead of taking Patiala’s offer to have mating clothes and jewelry flown in from the treasury in Udaipur.
All the singers who had been hovering left Meera’s room, leaving Patiala alone with her daughter.
“You’re not happy,” her mother said.
“I’m just a little tired.”
“Is it Rhys?”
“No,” Meera said with a smile. “I am so pleased with Rhys. You were right about him, and I was being stubborn. He is truly a wonderful man.”
“He is yourreshon.” Patiala’s eyes were shining. “Daughter, I would never have even dreamed of this blessing. So why are you still unhappy?”
“I told you—”
“I know you.” Patiala walked over and kissed both of Meera’s cheeks. “I know my daughter.”
“I’m worried about the threat to the haven. Bozidar may be coming. We don’t need to be having a party right now.”
“Do you think we’re any less ready for an attack because we’re throwing a party?” Patiala looked offended. “Daughter, you know me better than that. What’s really going on?”
“Are we going back to Udaipur after this ceremony?”
