The leather tie in my hand, I give him my back and wiggle my head in request without a word. He moves behind me, deftly plaiting my hair, his hands lingering on my waist when he’s finished. I lean into him, but then he moves away, and, with a small sigh of discontent, I sit down to eat what he’s made.
The others are already at the table. Locke has another book and is still looking for references to the Kismet. They've still found nothing, and I'm wondering how much longer they’ll keep trying before they decide it's a waste of time.
I would like to know more, of course. Since the alley and the egg falling on Tavish’s head, I've been trying to make things happen on purpose, but nothing has come of it. But I was angry the other times. Perhaps I need to be in a fury. I'll keep trying, I decide, but I have to face the possibility that perhaps I was wrong, that the other times were just flukes.
'Have you found anything in the books?' I ask.
Jak looks up at me and shakes his head. He does seem a bit annoyed that they’re still at it, now that I look at him. Locke, lost in the book in front of him, doesn’t seem to even hear my question.
A plate of eggs, bacon, sausages, fried bread, and mushrooms is put in front of me and, though my stomach is in knots, I try to eat as much as I can, if not for the day ahead, then for Morgan who clearly woke early to prepare it.
'I suppose it's almost time to go,' I say when I’m finished, letting out a small sigh to hide my dread.
'I don't like this,' Morgan growls low. 'This training is for fae who will be sent to the Dark to be part of the network. Even Toriand Soreno weren’t required to do it. And what is Bryn going to learn anyway?’
Locke squints up from the book finally, his lips thin.
‘We’ve already discussed this at length, Morgan. If there was a way out of it, I’d see it done, but there isn’t.’
Locke glances at me and his eyes soften. ‘I don’t want Bryn carted off to the Underhill to sit in a cell for the next however many days or weeks as punishment for refusal, do you?’
‘No,’ Morgan snarls with an apologetic glance my way. ‘Are you all right? We could…say you’re ill. Delay it.’
He means it. He’d chance Voss and Calder’s wrath simply so I didn’t have to go today.
I smile at him and it seems to catch him off guard.
‘Today. Tomorrow. It makes no difference. I'll survive. Besides, though I may not be a fae, I'm not merely a human either. I'm Kismet.’
'But he knows that,' Jak argues, putting down his utensils with a clang. ‘He could use it.’
He glances at the others with a pensive expression, and I immediately know what he’s thinking of. He knows how all my scars really came about, the ways Ogdan punished me and others with Fate. But I don’t want to speak of it now, and I definitely don’t want to see their pitying expressions.
I need strength today, not coddling. Maybe one day I’ll tell them, but why today?
I give Jak a meaningful look, which he ignores.
Morgan's eyes narrow at us.
'What is it?' he asks.
'Nothing,' I say, my jaw clenched tightly.
Jak shakes his head. 'It's not nothing, Bryn.'
I kick his shin under the table, and he yelps.
‘Sorry. My foot slipped.’
I stand quickly, calling an end to this discussion.
'Will I need a cloak?' I ask, changing the subject completely and hoping they leave it there.
Morgan’s eyes move from me to the casement. 'I've been outside. There's not even been a frost overnight. I doubt you’ll need more than your tunic.'
'Good.’ I take a steadying breath. ‘I suppose I'll see you later, then.'
I turn to go, but before I can open the door, Morgan is barring my way.
