The words sting, but I keep my expression neutral. “I’m here to help.”
“Are you helping? Or are you becoming a distraction? The Council’s watching, Mr. Langley. Best not give them reason to think you’re becoming a threat, or a liability to our Commander.”
Her tone is polite, even pleasant, but her message is clear:Leave. Sooner rather than later.
“I appreciate your...advice,” I say carefully.
Councilwoman Thora pats my arm like I’m a child who finally understands a difficult lesson. “I’m simply looking out for everyone’s best interest. Especially the Commander’s.” With a final pointed look, she continues down the hallway, leaving me with the cold certainty that my time in Clarion is running out.
The corridor blurs around me as I stumble toward Branson’s chambers on autopilot, my thoughts spinning out of control.
I don’t belong here. I’m making Rhiannon’s life worse, not better.
The Councilwoman’s words only mirrored my own doubts. How could there ever be a future for us when I can’t even protect myself, let alone protect her?
No, I need to focus. Find Branson.Every instinct screams at me to return to Rhiannon’s side, but I know she made the rightcall. Someone is behind these attacks, and we need to figure out who before anyone else gets hurt.
I catch Branson just as he’s leaving his chambers, his face set in that same grim expression he always wears.
“Ethan, are you okay?” The words tumble out of him. “I heard about what happened to Rhiannon.”
I nod. “She’s with Dr. Olcan now.”
“Good,” he says, already moving past me. “I’m going to check on Jayme again just to make sure he’s all right.”
“I’ll walk with you.” I step in beside him before he can argue.
The stone corridors stretch ahead of us in silence. Branson slows his long strides so I can keep up.
“Do you think this morning’s attack could be connected to what happened to Haron?” I ask.
He dismisses that notion with a wave. “Shouldn’t be. The Shaman know Jayme is locked up. He and I were meditating in the dungeons this morning.”
“Meditating? In the dungeons?”
“Of course. It will help him cope with the confinement.”
“That’s good,” I reply awkwardly.
“So,” Branson says, “you didn’t come to see me for casual conversation, did you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
He gives me a warm smile followed by a short rumble of laughter. “Well, they’re calling you ‘Truth Seer’ now, so I assume you’re always seeking the truth. What can I do to help you, Truth Seer?”
This is turning out to be easier than I imagined. But then again, Branson has never been hard to read. I don’t think he has anything guarded about him whatsoever.
“Well, I’m curious about Jayme’s health. What he told us has raised some questions about if he’s . . . well—”
“Healthy?”
“Yeah. I suppose.”
“Wouldn’t Olcan be better to ask about such things?”
“Yes, and I plan to. But do you know if there’s anything else? From birth or otherwise, that might affect Jayme. . .cognitively speaking?”
Branson keeps walking, but pins me with a look. “Cognitively speaking?” He says each word slowly, like he’s tasting something bad. “My brother is not crazy.”
