Tearing my attention from him, I followed Sayier into the building where we were greeted by gentle heat from a fireplace dominating one side of the room. Its flames were crackling, filling the room with a slow wave of heat and a woodsy smell that blended with the scents of cinnamon, chocolate, vanilla, and an assortment of spices, making my stomach growl.
Trying not to be distracted by the food, I said, “We don’t have fae, either.”
“You wouldn’t. They stay in their realm usually, visiting us as a reminder that in the event we fail to protect the collected magic, they believe they would be the best successors. No matter how many times we explain that it doesn’t work that way.”
I didn’t remember seeing magic from sirens, tritons, or fae in the Laytherium. Since there wasn’t a reason for it, Cirrian probably omitted them.
“Would they be the best option if something happened?” I asked.
“They believe so. But many things would need to occur for that to even be an option. I don’t think they fully grasp the destruction of the world we know and the catastrophe that must occur that would call for such a thing. I don’t believe they’d survive it if we didn’t.” Her tone placed a definitive end to the subject, but I wasn’t ready to let it go.
“Do they have the same restrictions as you all?” I was referring to the limitation of killing. It felt distasteful to discuss murder so casually.
“That is one of the reasons they believe we are their equal. Where we excel in our power and magic compared to theirs, they believe their ruthlessness exceeds ours, making them better protectors of the Laytherium.”
As if I wore the rebuttal on my face, a sly smile coasted over her face. “Restrictions from killing doesn’t leave us weak, it makes us creative,” she provided, a cold look overtaking her features. I was very sure they were quite creative in their violence and retaliation. “The draveths became a problem. They required more cruelty than creativity. I was confident we would have prevailed without Goddess Annessa’s help. It would have been a long battle that the Bavelon didn’t believe was in our best interest.”
Neither did Cirrian, which is why he requested help from the lycans and now felt indebted to them. We slipped into an uncomfortable silence, my stomach rumbling as I waited for someone to take our order. Occasionally glancing around, I couldn’t tell what the place wanted to be—and that felt intentional. The comfy, inviting atmosphere had wrapped around me the moment I crossed the threshold. Warm stone and dark wood enhanced the homey décor. Burnished thick beams crisscrossed overhead, aged and bowed with time. Lanterns hung low along the walls, casting honeyed light that softened every edge of the space and the cluster of chairs and tables that didn’t provide the level of comfort of the room. The ivy climbing over the walls felt out of place yet fitting.
To my left stretched a bar, long, solid, and well used, scarred by use rather than neglect. Shelves climbed the wall behind it, crowded with bottles of every shape and shade, some sealed with wax, others etched with symbols I didn’t recognize.
Was this place a pub that served food, or a restaurant with an impressive bar?
Before I could comment, a woman carrying a tray sauntered to our table, dropping off creamy soup, a fruit-filled pastry, and a small tray of cheeses, fruit, and a fragrant cup of dark roast. She rushed away and returned with food for Sayier. A similar meal except she was given tomato soup, and her pastry appeared to be a chocolate scone.
“You don’t get many options here. We can trade between each other but that is the extent of the options you get until dinner. Then you’re given a choice of three meals.” From the fragrant aroma of the food, these people seemed to be good at their limited menu. Sayier slid her soup in my direction along with the rest, keeping just the coffee and her pastry.
“If he dies, he will be the first sibling I’ve lost.” Sorrow spilled into her voice and her eyes. She picked at her pastry while I stared at her, searching for the family resemblance. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t been presented with diverse family groups before. Adoption, multiple marriages, relationships that made a child. A number of situations could lead to it, but this was different.
As if she read the confusion on my face, she sighed. “We aren’t siblings in the same manner ephemerals have siblings. We are created by primarchs.”
That cleared up absolutely nothing. Instead of voicing my snarky response, I merely said, “I don’t know what that means.”
“We were created at the same time, so we consider each other siblings. The primarch responsible for our existence would be what you’d consider our parent.” Nothing in her voice signified familial emotions, just the being responsible for bringing them into existence. Nothing about it even displayed liking them, which explained why Cirrian had a difficult time understanding Amelia’s inability to kill Vina and chose to sacrifice her magic instead. If faced with the same decision, they wouldn’t be saddled with such a dilemma.
“We don’t adhere to the rules of your world or subscribe to its limitations. Does that answer your question?” she asked in a placid, even voice that discouraged further questioning about the differences in their appearance. I desperately wanted to inquire why she appeared to be of Middle Eastern descent, Larkin of South Asian, and Cirrian of Greek or Mediterranean.
“How many siblings do you have?”
“Six.”
“Who’s the youngest?”
She blinked several times. “I don’t know.” She fiddled with her food more, I suspected from agitation and not her inability to fully explain their existence.
“What can I do to save Cirrian?” I asked.
“I wish I had the answer. If I knew the rationale behind his behavior, perhaps we can justify it. Diehle has been contemptible for centuries. Our intervention in the affairs of the ephemerals is never warranted.”
At this point, the use of the word was in slur territory. No longer a descriptor but a word to diminish our very existence.
“Diehle tried to kill me,” I said.
I took a sip of the aromatic tea that had been brought with the food, in response to her unsettling indifference to the information.
Her attention drifted around the room. “That doesn’t justify his murder.” When her gaze returned to me, it was despondent. “I’m trying to understand his actions. He’s always been difficult to understand. Larkin can sometimes make sense of his behavior, but even he’s confused. Cirrian has shut everyone out.” She held my eyes, a slow frown beveling her lips.Almosteveryone had been shut out. I’d spent the night with him after he made it apparent he didn’t want Nahela to stay any longer than to drop me off.
She pushed through clenched teeth, “He won’t talk to me. So how can I help him?”
