“Sparkling wine?” Jadren inquired, extracting the bottle and studying the label, then glancing at her. “No, I suppose it would be a bad idea to indulge.” Another message there. He made her a plate, with generous portions, then handed it to her. “Have as much as you like, I already ate. By the way, your things are in that bag there.”
Belatedly she noted the bag on the floor beside the cabinet, her bow and quiver protruding from one side. It made her feel absurdly teary that he’d brought her things, which meant he was on her side. Except the fact he’d been so cozy with Igino Sammael, and now Jadren was taking her to House El-Adrel.
She clutched the plate and staring at it. She was so hungry, and yet her stomach felt too tight to eat. All of this was so surreal. Had she lost her mind again? “I don’t want to go to House El-Adrel,” she whispered.
“Nobody ever said you were stupid,” Jadren remarked, lying back and kicking out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles and folding his arms over his chest. “Eat. I’m going to get some sleep, since I got none at all, trudging all night to recover your petite ass. Do not disturb me. That’s an order, poppet.”
~ 9 ~
Jadren seethed with the anxiety of inaction as he eyed the sentry spirit hovering in the upper corner of the carriage. Feigning sleep, he kept his lids cracked just enough to monitor the thing’s movements. As exhausted as he was, he didn’t dare fall asleep and let down his guard, lest Seliah take it in her head to do something foolish, like trying to escape him. He also wanted to be aware in case the spirit took action or—please, please, please let it happen—left to report to its wizard.
It would be futile to attempt to escape the carriage while it watched. They’d be recaptured immediately and Jadren would’ve lost all of his leverage. No, their best bet was to wait for it to go. Surely the thing wouldn’t watch them all the way to House El-Adrel. Eventually—hopefully sooner, rather than later, so they’d be as far away from House El-Adrel as possible when it happened—it would go and he and Seliah would have a fighting chance of evading these particular coils of doom. He couldn’t quite believe he was so very fucked that he’d been corralled into going to the house of his ill-conceived birth.
To think that he’d been practically begging for an elemental-powered carriage before this. Be careful what you wish for. It would have been nice, he thought to the receivers of wishes, whoever that might be, the capricious sods, if the elemental-powered carriage you delivered hadn’t been permanently set to take us only to the one place I least want to go.
Just in case wishing actually worked, he kept himself awake by adding wishes for the sentry spirit to leave. So far as he knew, it couldn’t report back to its wizard master from a distance. It clearly had been stationed in the carriage to monitor them—he was supremely lucky Seliah possessed the wit to heed his silent warnings not to reveal too much in front of it—so now he fastened his hopes on the necessity of it eventually departing to report back. Otherwise they’d soon be on the doorstep of House El-Adrel. At which point, things would only get worse for both of them—and he wasn’t sure how much more Seliah could take.
I don’t want to go to House El-Adrel, Seliah had whispered in that broken, quiet voice, and he’d been hard-pressed to keep his supercilious, faithful-scion-of-House-El-Adrel attitude. He’d had to feign sleep to stop himself from touching her again, her magic still so deliciously buoyant despite all the hunters and House Sammael had done to her. Seeing her collared and chained, bruised, scratched, and beaten had about pushed him over the edge. Worst of all had been the darkening of those pretty amber eyes at seeing that he’d been drinking wine with Igino Sammael while she’d suffered.
She’d believed him dead—and had been grieved by it. More than being afraid for herself, she’d actually been bothered by his apparent death and that first flash of joy when she’d gasped his name humbled him beyond belief. The guilt was nearly more that he could bear, too.
Especially when she’d caught up to the situation, looking so deeply wounded by his apparent betrayal that he’d nearly given up the game right there. Fierce and determined Seliah might be, but she was far too innocent to grasp the malevolent nuances of the layers of plotting that consumed him. He wanted nothing more than to explain everything to her and regain some of scanty trust they’d built.
Trust he’d had no business indulging in the first place. He didn’t have friends and, even if he did, Seliah couldn’t ever be one of them. It had been irresponsible of him to be anything but awful to her, something he needed to remedy immediately.
It would be far better for her to hate and distrust him, just in case they did end up in the bowels of his birth house—now or later. She’d play her role more convincingly if she believed he’d betrayed her and that the part he’d be forced to act with his darling maman was his real self. In addition, having Seliah loathe him would help him keep track of which self he was supposed to be. He’d lost his compass somewhere in the happy company of the House Phel idealists. No wonder spies in stories were always portrayed as being so enigmatic and mercurial. After a point, it became confusing who he was double-crossing.
In fact, he wasn’t at all sure whose side he was on.
No, wait, of course he knew the answer to that: he was on the side of Team Jadren. Dark arts knew no one else was. He’d figured that out a long time ago and he’d better not lose sight of that singular truth. Seliah was a survivor. If he could help her without jeopardizing himself, he would. Otherwise, she’d do better believing him to be the enemy, just in case he had to be that to save his own hide. Yes, better she remain ignorant and never have any idea how he felt about her.
And how do you feel about her? An insidious internal voice asked.
I feel sorry for her, he replied to himself, satisfied with that answer. She’s an innocent kid caught up in a crap deal she has no frame of reference to understand.
You didn’t think of her as a child when she kissed you, or when she trembled against you just now, the voice pointed out.
She’s terrified and justifiably so. Of course she’s quaking with fear and stress.
You and I know that’s not why she trembled.
You and I are the same person, he bit out. Just great—he was taking arguing with himself to an entirely new level. This was like being back in his maman’s experimental chambers, feeling his mind and personality splinter into fragments. Wonderful.
You like her, the voice said.
I like protecting a valuable resource and thus my own skin, he retorted.
You love her, the voice sing-songed, now sounding exactly like his next oldest sibling, Ozana, back when her cruelty consisted only of childhood taunting. You want to kiss her and marry her.
“Shut up!” he snarled, clapping a hand to his forehead as he did, belatedly aware that he’d spoken aloud. And that—fuck him—he’d apparently fallen asleep. Careless and negligent. Fortunately, or not, depending on how you sliced it, the sentry spirit remained in place. They weren’t free of it, but he hadn’t lost any valuable escape time by missing its departure either.
“Are you all right?” Seliah asked tentatively, gazing at him owlishly, laying a light hand on his forearm.
“Did I say you could speak?” he snapped back.
“You did speak first,” she pointed out, sounding an awful lot like his dream voice before Ozana took over with her infantile teasing.
“Now I’m speaking last. Be quiet so I can sleep.”
