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Chapter Three
Concealed
I hadn’t slept at all. I had tried; counted sheep, backwards in Russian, muffled footsteps in the hall. Even my teeth. But all I could do was think of Logan. Of the prophecy. Of the man who’d nearly carted me out the window.
Logan hadn’t slept either, I decided, because though I’d never heard him, I’d seen his shadow pass the open door throughout the night. I’d seen him stop, staring at my still form, and I’d held my breath.
When I’d finally given up on rest, it was before dawn. I walked barefoot across the carpet into the sitting room—opulent in deep shades of blue and creamy white—and saw Logan standing in front of the sofa, arms crossed as he studied the painting. He didn’t turn as I approached, and my eyes traced every line of his form, lingering on strong arms, broad shoulders, and other bits here and there. I stopped beside him, gaze trained on the painting, though I could see, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth twitch.
After a moment, he glanced at me. “What do you think?”
Automatically, my head tilted sideways as I considered the painting. “I like it,” I said. “Very much.”
He smiled then, only slightly, and I got the feeling he’d found my answer amusing. I couldn’t understand why.
“So,” he said, “breakfast?”
“Oh,” I glanced down at my cotton sleep pants, “I should get dressed.”
Logan touched my arm as I moved to go, and I stared up at him, immediately immobilized. “I’ll have them send something up.”
My heart was thundering in my chest, but I managed to nod numbly. His hand fell away and I quickly turned back to the painting, disturbed at how unprepared I was for his casual touch.Pull yourself together, Brianna.
He crossed the room to call downstairs, and the movement caught my eye in the reflection of a small, mirrored frame on the tabletop below the artwork. A sharp intake of breath, and then I was wincing as I moved a few paces sideways to stand where he’d been positioned when I walked in. I stared into the mirror to find Logan, ten feet behind me, smiling. Right about where I’d checked out hisassets.
I closed my eyes for a long, horrible moment, and then put my shoulders back and walked to my room.
When I returned—teeth brushed, hair smoothed back into a ponytail, and fully dressed—Logan was uncovering our breakfast dishes at the table.
He took note of my jeans and boots, but I didn’t explain my logic. I didn’t want to think of the previous day, of that slip-on tumbling gracelessly down from the second story. I would just be prepared.
I sat, draping the napkin over my lap as Logan joined me, and stared at the bowl of cereal in front of me. It was the first time I’d been served anything other than epicurean cuisine and I glanced at Logan’s plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast. He raised a brow, then reached over to exchange the dishes, sliding my bowl with one hand and his plate with the other.
I stopped him. “No, I just,” I glanced over my shoulder at the closed door, “I didn’t know they had regular food here.”
He grinned. “Next time, talk to Ellin.”
“Good to know,” I mused.
“So, I’d like to go to the Council archives today,” I started, hoping I wasn’t under some kind of house arrest since the attack. When he didn’t argue, I continued, “There are a few things I need to research, and I’m guessing that’s the best place to start.”
I’d completely forgotten to discuss it with Aern, of course, because he’d shown up with this … Logan. I shook my head absently. “It will probably take me a few days, but I didn’t know if the security updates were finished yet.”
Logan sat his napkin on his plate. “They’re not. And it’s not the best place for you to stay right now, but I don’t see the harm in going for an unscheduled visit or two.”
I silently breathed a sigh of relief, grateful my protection was not going to be an outright prison. The door opened behind me, and Logan leaned forward.
“Now would be a good time for me to make those arrangements.”
I turned to find Emily, smiling fondly as she passed him on her way to the table, and decided she looked right among these guards. She might have been my twin, but we were seldom mistaken for one another. While I’d been tutored in language and subterfuge, she’d been training eight hours a day, learning hand to hand combat, weaponry, and who knew what else at the hands of my mother and her instructors. Between that and the toll the magic had taken on me, our mannerisms, our very bearings, were entirely distinct. And her hair curled more, which I could never understand.
Emily grinned at my cocked-head as I watched her. “What?”
“Nothing.” I smiled. “You just look happy.”
She shrugged. “I know things aren’t perfect, but they’re better. We’re better.”
She was right about that. Since our mother had died, we’d all but been torn apart, shuffled through the system by some preset arrangements in place from long before her death. I didn’t know how she did it, how many people were involved, but I knew it couldn’t have been easy. And I hoped she’d taught me enough to be able to perform at least some of those deceptions on my own. The last vision I’d had of her came suddenly back, and I returned my spoon to the table. She had died because of Morgan. She had died to save us.
