I was stressed enough as it was, but I couldn’t imagine what my parents were feeling. Lord d’Refan was returning under the guise of facilitating healing Bonds between Mages with Mage Sickness and Vessel volunteers, heknewabout the Keeper my parents rescued from the Borderlands, and that same Keeper gave them a cryptic prophecy about my involvement in the shaping of Elyria’s future.
All of that was enough to send a sane person over the edge, never mind the fact that my parents were also trying to finalize my betrothal with Torin and find a match for Peytor. The whole situation had my head spinning.
So as much as I wanted to snap back at my mother for her ire, I bit my tongue and allowed her the space to dump her frustrations on me. It stung, but I hoped I was helping in some fashion.
The day Lord d’Refan arrived was a sharp contrast to his first visit. Where his first visit was characterized by laughter, parties, and general cheer, today was chock-full of drawn faces and whispered words.
Even the weather was reflecting our somber mood with a completely overcast, grey day.
My father called Matteo and Finian to the manor for Lord d’Refan’s arrival and corresponding dinner tonight, and we all gathered in the parlor in much the same fashion as last time. My mother dressed us all in the deep forest green and cream of Hestin, our outfits a show of unity. I wasn’t entirely sure that showcasing our closeness and loyalty to our territory was the best plan—especially if Lord d’Refan reallywaspurposefully targeting us with this campaign—but I kept my mouth shut and thoughts to myself.
I pulled at the neck of my dress, the collar feeling like it was choking me, the thick green fabric laying heavily on my shoulders, causing a small stitch in my back. I absently rubbed it until my mother shot me a warning look.
“Out of sight, out of mind, Ellowyn,” she hissed. I wasn’t even supposed to be here for his arrival, but he specifically requested that I be in attendance.
I dropped my hand from my back and neck, clasping them in front of me. Peytor and Finian were standing next to their fathers, all four with a glass of whiskey in hand, though every glass remained untouched.
The room was quiet, unnervingly so, until the door abruptly opened, Lord d’Refan and his retinue entering.
We all sank into curtsies and bows with a murmuring of “my lord.” Lord d’Refan said nothing in return, he simply grabbed an empty tumbler and filled it with whiskey from my father’s decanter. He tossed it back before pouring a second glass. My eyes flicked from him to the others standing in the doorway.
The Mages were present, again, searching for obvious threats or traps, and they took their previous stations against the walls. The General wasnext, still as regal as the last time I saw him, though considerably grumpier. The third person was a new addition, she was objectively beautiful and unlike anyone I had seen before. She was taller, though still only came to my nose, with creamy brown skin that resembled the toffee Cook loved so much. Her hair was an unruly mess of curls that she had thrown into a bun on the back of her head. She wore a light dress and matching slippers, but something about her movements just screamed uncomfortable. Maybe it was the fact that she constantly pulled at the sleeves and bodice of her gown, her forearms flexing and showcasing a multitude of tattooed runes and various mottled scars.
What is her story?
My interest was piqued as she was the first to speak. “Well, this is undoubtedly uncomfortable. Hello, my name is Faylinn, but you can call me Fay. I’m the . . . acolyte, Bond Weaver, Rune Master. Take your pick. I’ll be the one performing the Bond Ceremonies while we’re here.” Her voice was falsely chipper and there was a definite undercurrent of anxiety, but I liked that she took charge of the situation.
I wish I could be like that. But Mother would flay me alive if I ever spoke out or fidgeted like Fay.
Mother scoffed quietly, clearly picking apart Fay’s actions and words in the presence of people that Mother deemed more important than Fay. The sound was just quiet enough that it could be swallowed by the room, but the suddenly drawn look on Fay’s face said that she heard the derisive noise. Her face instantly hardened, and she shot a look toward us, the friendliness and openness so present just a few moments ago now gone.
Father took the moment to finally speak and attempted to ease some of the tension threading through the room. “Lord d’Refan, General d’Alvey, the news of your visit was...unexpected, to say the least. But we are honored, as always, by your presence.” He bowed respectfully, but there was a stiffness to his words and movements that weren’t there during Lord d’Refan’s first visit.
Lord d’Refan and his General didn’t say a word, they just casually sipped their whiskey, until the former’s eyes swept the room and focused on me. I felt my mother and father tense at his scrutiny, but either Lord d’Refan didn’t notice, or he didn’t care.
“How is your control coming along, Ellowyn?” His voice was a soft purr, danger coated in honey.
I inclined my head lightly.Don’t say too much, don’t say too much.
“It’s coming along well, Lord d’Refan,” I said.
He hummed. “I thought I told you to call me Alois?” His voice was just on the edge of sharp and there was something almost angry in his gaze. “Interesting that you think it’s going well, when those are not the reports I’ve received.”
Everyone in the room tensed at his words, and you could’ve heard a pin drop. Peytor’s knuckles were white where he gripped his tumbler, and Fay started to fidget with her dress and hands again, clearly picking up on the sudden tension in the room.
“Oh?” is the only response I could think of.
“Yes, see Mistress Lautaro is one of my most recommended private tutors. She even helped General d’Alvey back in the day. Her loyalty lies with me.” My eyebrows rose at that confession. “It seems that you haven’t developed the control or focus that is demanded of someone with your power and talents.”
He let his words hang in the air, no one knowing how to respond and my father’s words from the other day rang in my head.
What you say and do will impact not just your future, but that of Elyria.
But there wasn’t any use in lying, he’d know, not just from the information from Mistress Lautaro, but he was a born lie-detector. I was truly screwed either way.
“Yes, Lord d’Refan. That’s an accurate statement,” I finally admitted, quietly.
“Hmm. Interesting. We will talk more about this over dinner. You’ve had a meal prepared, yes?” He directed the last harsh question at my father, but never took his eyes off of me.
