Page 30 of The Silver Spider
Must be nice to live in la la land.
Amnan looked as if he wanted to protest, but glanced at her face and nodded. As they approached the door she saw her own reflection in the glass. Her face was pale, as tight as his own, her eyes glassy and bright green. Immortal bright, as if whatever non-human blood she had in her veins was rising to protect her.
They found a table and Amnan returned after several moments with beverages in his hand, a server setting a three-tiered plate of various small pastries, sweet and savory, on their table.
The drink was a frozen coffee. She stared balefully at the insipid, milky color of good black brew that had been assaulted with a flood of cream, flavored syrup, and sugar.
“You need the sugar boost,” Amnan said, eyes wide. Innocent.
He’d done it on purpose, then. He could hide behind a noble explanation all he wanted, she knew he’d gotten her this cloying confection as revenge for her earlier comment about his manhood.
“You fiend,” she muttered, suppressing a gag as she sipped. Cinvarra would have loved it. Persia would have ordered iced tea and pestered the barista about achieving the perfect water temperature for the brew, and wanting to know if the leaves had been grown in a radiation free zone or were contraband.
She selected one of the pastries, a mini quiche filled with sharp, tangy cheese, and ate it in one bite, her appetite awakening with interest. She quickly devoured two more before Amnan spoke.
“What is a geas?”
“You’re Dwyrkin. You’re asking me?”
“What is a geas?”
She should make him drink this glass of sugar suicide. “A magical compulsion. If under a geas, you must fulfill a binding oath placed on you.”
“A binding oath you must have agreed to. Stone and Skies, justdrinkit, Serephone. It won’t kill you.”
“You drink it.” Her hand darted out and she snatched his beverage, took a sip. Shoved hers at him. He stared at the glass, expression dark. When he looked up, her narrowed eyes warned him not to try anything funny. “I didn’t agree toanything,especially not a damn geas.”
“No, but a forebear may promise all kinds of things and drag his offspring into the promise.” He snapped his fingers. “I remember now. Goddamn fae. They have some kind of tether built into their genetics that hails back to the war. The theory was they needed to keep track of all their numerous half-human offspring to prevent any future difficulties. The geas is supposed to keep you close to home, so to speak. I remember my parents talking about it when it happened. The Tribunal almost banned it as a form of slavery, but the fae talked fast and threatened another war, and no one wanted more fighting.”
“That should be illegal.”
His lip curled, his only response.
Serephone glared at him. “So, who is Dawnthorne? The one who controls the geas? And why—”
“Don’t say his name. You speak the name and call the Lord.”
He was beyond irritating. “How can saying the word Dawnthorne—”
“Youarea foolish child, not to listen to your elder.”
They both stilled, Serephone’s head whipping around as Amnan stood, expression blank. Eyes bright, slitted as his dragon rose to the surface.
“Lord Dawnthorne?” he asked, voice a deep, icy baritone.
The fae gestured. “Indeed. May I sit?”
* * *
There wasa subtle shift in the traffic of the cafe. His own people should be used to a fae Lord, and maybe that was why. But a subtle, invisible barrier, a perimeter no one was willing to breach, became apparent. Serephone observed patrons politely ignore their table, walking at least three arm lengths around it to get where they were going. Which was a feat because the floor didn’t boast more than two dozen small round tables. As it was, three people sitting at one was cozy. Serephone held herself still, unwilling to accidentally bump knees with the creature who sat, silently, hands resting on the table in front of him, ignoring the drip of water off the side of her glass that trailed in an insouciant trail towards the tips of his fingers.
“What do you want?” Serephone asked.
Dawnthorne sat almost exactly in between her and Amnan, able to watch both their faces. He glanced at Amnan. Serephone wasn’t sure what the glance meant, and her ignorance did nothing to improve an already souring mood.
“You came to me,” Dawnthorne said.
And why a Lord would trouble himself to wonder why, Serephone wanted to know. There was nothing overtly different about him. He was tall, and he wore his hair long in the fashion of his people—though she’d noticed many cut their hair short. Hair as black as her own, but where hers shone blue, when the cafe door opened, letting in brief rays of extra sunlight, his highlights shimmered emerald. The green matched the undertones of his skin, a pale olive-gold that wasn’t quite the same as human olive-gold. When she met his eyes, they regarded her with the impassive arrogance of someone used to command. And when at first she thought his eyes a deep, shadowed green, they paled, abruptly, gaining a ring of gold at the rim of the iris.
