Page 7 of Bound
The newcomer nods in a graceful motion, his coiffed blond hair unmoving. His smile is all straight white teeth in his unlined, but handsome face. “Lord Knyt, I presume?”
Bran nods. “To what do we owe this honor?”
Councilman Ralf clasps his hands before him. “I wanted to come by and formally welcome yourself and your party to Lock Lake.” His voice is a nice baritone. Not the smoothness of the Fae, but articulate. Polite. “It is a rare occasion when we have so many of the Fair Folk in our city.”
Bran’s smile is mild. “We rarely venture so far from the Sith, that is true.” Even Renvi lets out a small chuckle at that. “But business is business.”
The councilman grows solemn. “Ah, yes. The trial.” He frowns. “Such terrible circumstances to bring you here.”
“We hope to reside over the proceedings and make our way back,” Bran tells him. “It should be a rather cut and dry affair.”
Councilman Ralf glances around. “Then, if you would, allow me to escort you all this evening. Perhaps to dinner. We have many Fae friendly establishments in town. Areas where you won’t be as suppressed.”
Bran and Jarrah exchange a glance.
Cusnu sits forward. “Bran.” My brother peers over his shoulder. “We may not get another chance to see a human city for many years.”
Renvi nods. “He is right. It could be … interesting.”
The councilman remains quiet, his features tempered into mere politeness.
Branwen turns back to Jarrah. The captain gives a brief nod, the motion little more than a jerk of his head. Bran returns his attention to the councilman. “It would be our honor then.”
Ralf beams. “Wonderful, wonderful.” He peers around. “How many shall I need to send cars for?”
Bran mulls that over before he glances my way. “Amoret? Would you like to come?”
I blink. “Brother …” My voice falters. “I do not know that I would like to see the city.”
For a moment, a touch of disappointment flashes across his face and I want to take it back.
Jarrah claps Bran on the back, but his attention is on me. “It was a long plane ride, my lord. Leave Lady Amoret here with Wena and several of the guards. She can rest and recover from the stressful change. Perhaps, before we leave, she will feel well enough to venture into the city.”
Bran glances sharply at me. I can see the question in his eyes. I had not mentioned feeling unwell. But I cannot call Jarrah a liar. Being in the city is hard, though I would not give up this opportunity for anything.
It takes moments of my heart slamming inside the walls of my chest before I stand and incline my head. “Excuse me for a moment, brother.”
He bows, his gaze tracking every move I make. I slip through the narrow corridor to the first empty room off the hall. Leaning back against the paneling of a small partition wall, I press my palm to my quivering stomach, but it doesn’t help.
The human city seems loud. Dirty. Nothing like the Sith’s quiet beauty. The vast greenery or familiar press of power.
Though I appreciate Jarrah’s interference, I wish he hadn’t.
His attention is one I have noticed for many years. He has never acted on it. Pressed in any way. But I do not view him in the manner he views me.
Sighing, my eyes roam the room before alighting on a sideboard of crystal decanters. I pour a small glass of one of the amber fluids. The liquor scorches my throat, and a new heat scalds my cheeks. It is not as strong or as pure as the meads under the Sith. But it eases the new tension lacing my frame.
“Amoret?”
I turn to find Bran behind me. His golden plait falls over his chest, near to blending in with the sunlit color of his tunic.
“Brother mine,” I breathe.
“Why did you not say something, Amoret?” he asks, eyeing the glass in my hand. His voice is soft, lyrical. As all the Fae voices are.
I glance at the glass too. “With the plane and then being here, brother ... It is a mere headache. Nothing more.” The lie rolls from my tongue.
Though most believe that the Fae cannot lie, that is an untruth. We can lie and rather well.
