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“Oh, I’m sorry, am I boring you?”
This question is rhetorical, Argoss. Don’t answer it. Don’t give her what she wants.
She keeps her arms crossed as I shake my head. She flicks her eyes away from me to look out the window. I came here today to express my gratitude for her not putting my name in the papers, and to reward her silence with precious intel. But that’s not enough to get even a smile from Cyella.
“I’ll make sure to burn a lavender candle of gratitude when I get home for your sacrifice.” Cyella’s voice is cool and calculating, meaning normal in all ways as far as talking to me is concerned.
I slide over an envelope. Inside is everything I can remember the night I was approached by the mage who sold me Topside papers. His voice still lingers in my head, which began long before I found him following me back to Greiko’s. Him is a strong word, though, since the memory of the witch between the trees I saw back then didn’t sound like the voice I first heard.
But it was the same mage following behind. Enchantments like this are difficult to master and instinct tells me whoever I gifted three centuries to wasn’t low on other tricks up his sleeve.Or her sleeve,I remind myself.
Once I finally received my immaculately fabricated fake papers, which let me live a life outside of the swamps without fear from the average – or even above average – caster for the council, it was a child who handed it over. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a thin smile, I don’t remember how I got home after being handed my freedom.
Again, I know it was the same mage. A handful of exchanges and never the same face, never the same type of confusion. But always the same sharp, earthy scent lingered every time I encountered this master.
“I appreciate and thank you for your lavender candle,” I try. Pixies burn candles for a number of reasons. It wouldn’t surprise me to know gratitude is one of them.
“Yikes.” Her bored eyes widen as she slaps a hand on the envelope and pulls it toward her. I realize she was being sarcastic as she flips it over and rips the seal. “Maybe there is one born every day.”
“Touche,” I offer, but she’s too busy reading the contents of the envelope to notice anyway.
I fight the urge to narrow my eyes at Cyella, who’s always looking for an excuse to insult my intelligence. I don’t know a thing about pixie culture other than the fact they take pride in truth-seeking. At least their version of it.
Oddly enough, the pixie people, which some prefer to be called, were one of the first to come out to the human world. No doubt because of this principle.
As a result, they’re some of the most ingratiated races Topside when it comes to mankind. Pixies have it made in almost every community overall, making the second fact I learned about them easy to explain. They’re smug little do-gooders used to being called right.
“Huh,” she finally says.
“What’s huh?”
She shushes me. “It means I’m still reading.”
I grit my teeth and wonder whether Felicity is having second thoughts. Again. So third thoughts.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” She gestures to my peace offering like it’s the dinner bill for a party of five.
“I thought –”
“I didn’t ask what you thought!” she snaps.
“Technically, you –”
Her eyes close slowly, telling me I should stop and do so now. Rather than point at all the reasons she is clearly wrong, I choose the warrior’s way and let my match have her moment.
I don’t have to enjoy it. I just have to manage not to insult her in the next thirty minutes and I’ll really be the brave one in all of this.
That’s nothing I can’t swing. Who does she think she is?
“You’re better at transparency than you are ass-kissing,” she says, pulling out another sheet. “And you’re horrible with transparency.”
“I was being polite,” I explain, using her own definition of the word.
“Which is the same thing to you. What do you want?” She raises her hand to the waitress as she approaches. “I won’t be staying, thank you.”
“One –”
“He’ll take your oldest coffee,” she interrupts.
