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Her eyes widened like a spider had landed on her cheek. After a few loud breaths, she said, “What’s going on here? Please tell me. I have the right to know.”
“You must stay away from that man.”
Her exhale sounded rather like a growl. “Then explain what that thing was that made all three of you turn ghost white.”
Eyeing her, I made a snap decision. Maybe if she knew a little of what was at stake, it would keep her from saying or doing something foolish. “A whistle that summons the Wild Hunt.”
She emitted a small choked sound that sank deep into my chest. I stepped closer. “Fabian, my twin brother, has been leeching power to the Hunters in exchange for using them to torment me when I step out of line according to his plans for me. But that man will not have reason to use his whistle.” At her expectant gaze, I added, “I will not allow him to bring you any harm.”
Her eyes softened. Stars, I’d blundered twice in the last minute. Everence was right. Human weakness pushed mortals instinctively toward that which would keep them safe. I wasn’t accustomed to this and would need to tread more carefully. If the high fae hated vulnerability, they hated the idea of needing protection even more. To us, needing anyone or anything was an abomination. Need was weakness.
And Talia’s need blossomed in the redness on her cheeks, the perspiration on her brow, the quick breaths moving her chest. I had to intervene, to cut off this inevitable leaning which might place her affections in the wrong place—on that which would kill her.
She might be a frail mortal, helpless in the face of the Wild Hunt, but she was no grass reed to be pushed down by a strong gale.
I ground my teeth, trying to think of something to say to murder that hopeful look in her eyes, but I thought of nothing, so I turned and continued marching down the hallway. She followed. A dove chasing a fox.
I led Talia to the beehive room where she had been staying. “You should change before dinner.”
She walked halfway across the room before whirling to face me again.
“There is much I wish to know,” she said, her fists clenched at her sides.
I nearly smiled but guessed this would only offend her, so I kept my face rigid and said nothing.
“You bring me here, giving up one of your horses—which I know you value—and then you proceed to ignore me. Except back there in the library—what was that?” Her arms waved like windblown willow branches. A mighty little storm.
Feeling my resolve faltering again, I turned away. She deserved the truth, but she would loathe me forever if she knew the real reason I’d bargained with her. The horse—and her life—had seemed a small price at the time.
“There are dangers here you do not understand,” I said evasively. “I only aim to protect you from them.”
The fight in her eyes softened, but only briefly. “Why bring me here, into danger, if you so admirably desire to protect me?” Her arms folded across her chest. “I know you can’t lie, but I’m not sure I believe you.”
Smart one, this little storm cloud.
“Talia, I—”
She marched forward, momentarily silencing my words. When she was an arm’s length away, she paused. “Yes?” She cocked her head sideways and eyed me narrowly as I backed away, my hands raking through my hair.
I had to push her away. She was in dangerous territory and didn’t know it.
Shuttering my expression, I said, “I made a mistake. You are not what I had hoped for.”
Her face fell, and my useless heart blackened a little more. The worst part was that she knew I couldn’t lie. She heard what her experience had taught her.
“I will send Ev to assist you. We dine at ten bells. And Talia,” I said, urgency on my tongue, “you only need endure this to the end of the month. Then you can return home and find a man who can love you.”
I strode from the room, my chest aching in ways I hadn’t felt in a long time.
* * *
The formal dining room dwarfed the long table and tall chairs, a mountainous display of hydrangeas—hastily put together by an aloja on my staff—and the tree-like candelabras throwing flickering candlelight over the crystal. I sat stiff-backed in the head chair, flicking my gaze between the twin sets of double doors at the back of the room.
I hoped Talia would enter first, so Sinsorias couldn’t scrutinize my observation of her arrival; he would merely happen upon us already seated together, quietly ignoring each other. But when the left doors opened, Sinsorias strode in first, looking like he owned the place. His suit was now deep blue and woven with the annoying glowing threads my brother’s court loved so much. Sinsorias’s pale neck and chin took on a sickly pallor when lit from beneath. His eyes, which sat back in his skull, hung in deep shadows, untouched by the glow of his suit. He looked like a child holding a candle under his chin to tell fables of the Wild Hunt.
The bells chimed from the massive clock in the mostly empty grand ballroom. Sinsorias stopped in front of the chair to my left, bowed curtly, and stood there, waiting for Talia’s arrival like he was some splendid gentleman. I offered him a lazy lift of my brows, nothing more.
“Your manners have become rather animalistic, Romero.”
