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Plus, he’d probably say something perfectly political.
It’s my job to protect my citizenswas her guess.
His salt-and-pepper gray hair and dark, almost black eyes were nothing like his son’s, and Bryn wondered what Declan’s mother had looked like. There were not any photos of the woman in his home when she’d visited the governor’s home growing up.
One of Mr. Rafferty’s three hound dogs moved closer, sniffing at Bryn’s boot before trotting off to join the other two of his hounds. Unlike Finian, these dogs never bothered to make friends with anyone. While they never attacked, nor acted aggressively, people gave them a wide berth. It seemed the dogs were fine with that since all their loyalty was solely to Mr. Rafferty anyway.
Finian just watched them, not bothering to lift his large head to greet the other canines.
“I was told I had to be here. Governor’s mandate and all that.” She tried to smile, but it felt forced. She had no idea how to act around the man whose son she had broken up with.
Mr. Rafferty gave his winning-politician smile to her.
“Justin informed me you prefer to stay in your apartment, but is that any way to live, Bryn? Always hiding?” he asked, and something in his words pushed at something in her mind that she didn’t understand. Something that felt familiar, but yet she couldn’t access it.
Perhaps something from her childhood since he’d been good friends with her father before he had died. While she was not particularly close to him, her father had been, and she wondered what kind of friendship there could have been between a straitlaced by-the-books doctor and a politician.
He knew enough about what the town thought of her that it irritated her to no end that he’d all but forced her to come to the celebration, knowing how the town’s people treated her.
As if some part of her traumatized psyche had called out to the enemy she’d learned to avoid at all costs, Aunt Mallory walked past, only acknowledging Mr. Rafferty with a greeting, her eyes staring past Bryn. Her aunt’s betrothed, Daran Balcom, walked next to her and as always ignored Bryn’s existence as well.
The man set her teeth on edge just as much as his brother, Scrios Arioch. Both men were the most verbal in their opinion of Bryn’s perceived witchy ways and would see her dead without pause.
“You can guess why, Mr. Rafferty,” she whispered.
“Say the word and I’ll put a stop to it,” he replied, his voice as soft as hers, surprising her. He knew she wouldn’t let him and figured he knew it was safe to offer help to someone he knew wouldn’t take it.
In the end, she could admit she needed him to stay in his position as governor since he was her only source of protection from being exiled to the desert should the scrios and his brother take it further than words and gossip.
Whispers were better than that fate, and if he took up her side, she could guarantee they’d turn on him as well. No, it was best to protect her few allies in the government that could truly protect her.
Even better would be to keep them safe by not associating with them at all and keeping her distance.
Giving him a small smile, she knew he had been speaking with her for too long already, and the sadness in his eyes surprised her. For a split second, she wondered if he could read her mind or if he cared more than she thought.
Turning, she faced Niamh, who was watching three women who were close enough to see they were talking about Bryn, but too far for her to hear their words over the music.
Unfortunately, she could see the words on their lips without having to hear them.
Witch. Witch. Witch.
“Buzz, buzz, buzz said the busy insignificant little bees,” Niamh growled with a sickly-sweet smile to the woman nearest her. How they heard Niamh over the music, she was unsure, but the quick pace they made at getting away certainly said they understood they had crossed a line with Niamh.
A small laugh without any mirth left Bryn’s lips as Niamh settled herself next to Bryn without a drop of wine spilling. Crossing her legs at the ankles like a true lady, she took a sip as a queen might, watching people she considered peasants, dancing in her court.
“I see Jace found his testicles,” Niamh whispered conspiratorially as Bryn looked to see Sage laughing at something her cousin had said.
“Bottom right drawer. He forgets where he puts things sometimes,” Bryn replied, smiling at her cousin and friend.
Two men stood just behind the dancing couple.
Justin was speaking with Kessler, the town blacksmith and one of the few who allowed Bryn to be around him without having to run to the church to douse himself in blessed water. Justin smiled when he caught her eyes, and Kessler nodded, arms still folded across his chest. She smiled back at the two men, happy to see a small lift to Kessler’s usually frowning lips.
A sudden chill ran over her skin much like the day before. The hairs on her arms rose again, and she felt like something large was just over the horizon.
Shaking her head, she listened to Declan’s tune, trying to shove the ominous feeling to the back of her mind, but her eyes kept moving back to the gate that was supposed to keep them all safe.
Chapter 5
