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“Yes?” He casts us a suspicious look and starts closing the door again. “I’m sorry, my masters have already donated to the Temple and we don’t accept—”
“I’m Kiaran,” Kiaran booms, shoving the door back into the startled servant’s face. “Let me in.”
The servant looks confused. “Apologies, who?”
“I want to speak to my aunt Eara and my uncle Faran,” Kiaran says and strides into the house as if he owns it. “The D’Alerys.”
It looks like sometimes lack of manners has its uses, because the servant is scrambling to go after him, but we push him aside as we enter, hot on Kiaran’s heels, and find his family right there, in a side room.
Yeah, it seems fate has a sense of humor sometimes, because as it turns out, Kiaran’s family are very much alive and kicking.
And very surprised to find him standing there, in front of them, hands balled at his sides, his tall frame filling the door.
“Who are you?” the man demands, standing up with some effort—more likely because of the many cushions on the sofa he has occupied than any infirmity, since his height rivals Kiaran’s, and good gods, the family likeness is impossible to miss, although this man is much older, his beard white, and his face lined with creases of anger and annoyance. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?”
The room is richly appointed. Deep blue and green rugs on the floor and tapestries woven with scenes from the woods on the walls, velvet-covered sofas and low tables laden with trays and jars made of silver, embossed with figures and blossoms. Incense is burning in a corner and pastries and drink have been served, the aroma of butter and sugar almost eclipsing the scent of my mates.
“Your nephew.” Kiaran bows his head, gaze blazing. “I am your nephew Kiaran.”
“Such nonsense. We lost our nephew tragically in a fire many years ago. How dare you come and stir trouble here, in my house—”
“Husband,” the woman says, rising and smoothing her long skirts. “Let me speak to him.”
“You will do no such thing!” He thrusts an arm in front of her, his beard trembling with outrage. “He can’t walk in here and make demands of us! We’re honorable people. He’s not our nephew.”
“Husband,” she tries again. “Please—”
“I don’t care if you don’t recognize me,” Kiaran says slowly. “You help us. And you live.”
The man’s eyes widen. “You threaten us?”
“Of course I threaten you. I could kill you easily. But instead, I threaten you. You should thank me.”
“You...”
“Faran,” the woman says, grabbing the older man’s hand. “Don’t. He’s our nephew.”
“You can’t possibly believe—!”
“Husband, you can’t even lie to yourself. Kiaran survived. And the least we can do is help him.”
He shakes her off, thunder on his face. “How dare you.”
She sighs. Turns her gaze to Kiaran. “Take what you need. Just please, don’t hurt us.”
“Like you hurt me?” Kiaran demands, brows knit. “Are you sorry for it?”
His aunt glances at his uncle and turns her gaze away. “We did what we believed was right. We obey the Emperor’s decrees. When your cousins’ house burned down, we knew it was an omen. We had to do our duty.”
Kiaran growls, taking a menacing step toward them, and I hurry to his side, taking his arm. “Kia, wait.”
“Dammit,” Taj mutters, grabbing his other arm. “They’re not worth your time and energy, my man. Let them stew in their own misery and tea—though I’ll take those cookies, they look good.”
“Taj…” I roll my eyes to the heavens. “Come, Kia. Let’s lock them in here and take what we need. We should be on our way by nightfall and time is running fast when you’re busy.”
“That was easy,” I breathe as we secure the house, rounding up the servants and locking them up in another room, locking the doors and hoping nobody will show up at the door and get suspicious at the lack of reply. “Too easy.”
“They weren’t expecting anything like this to ever happen to them, is all.” Taj is grinning from ear to ear, clearly in his element, twirling a knife in one hand. “Ambushing them like that… brilliant.”
