Cyran canlaugh?
How is it I’ve seen more personality from this fae in the last five minutes than I have in the last five months?
“In that case, I pray your tasks are neither treacherous nor tedious,” Gladir says, his voice a warm rumble. “Embala worries about you.”
I pause, focusing my incredulous stare upon a white-winged butterfly pinned against a colorful hand-painted rendering of the night sky.
“How is she?” Cyran asks, the words soft and low.
“She misses you still,” Gladir answers and there’s a poorly masked note of hurt.
I become statuesque.
I dare not move.
I dare not breathe.
I dare not blink.
After spending months knowing little to nothing about this fae, hearing this—hearing he may have been involved with Gladir’s daughter—it feels like a violent invasion of privacy. What I would give to be able to ferry into the street and let them have time.
I glance at the door.
There’s no way I wouldn’t be noticed.
“But she understands,” Gladir adds with a sigh. “She’s in Ebongard currently. Procuring consignment agreements with first-time clients.”
The day I visited Cora…
His wordswerepersonal.
Did he and Embala experience the same kind of cruelty as Cora and Eve? Cyran romantically involved with a demi-fae… Gladir makes it sound like whatever stood between them has ended. Was it because of perceptions and unsolicited opinions?
“She’s due to return this evening if you’d like to join us for dinner,” Gladir offers.
Cyran heaves a quiet, long sigh. “Unfortunately, I am unavailable. Please accept my regrets.”
“Of course, of course,” Gladir says, disappointed. “Forgive me Captain, I’ve stolen enough of your time. What brings you in?”
Boots scuff on the wooden floor as Cyran turns. “Lady Ves has prompted our visit today,” he answers.
Reluctant to turn for reasons I don’t know how to explain, I forcea practiced smile upon my face. As I turn from the shelf, away from the collection of pretty insects, I lower my hood, careful not to lose my newspaper.
“Oh.” Gladir’s brows raise as our eyes meet. “Forgive me, I didn’t even see you come in.” He pauses, his eyes narrowing as I approach. “You… you had the peculiar glamouring ring.” He points a finger at me.
“I did,” I reply with a nod.
I’m more impressed he remembers the trinket than my face considering I’m a walking clone of Celesta. I’m inclined to think the latter more memorable than the former, especially in a city with a temple dedicated to her.
A charming smile sweeps across his face. “Tell me,” he says, the sound breathy. “Did you ever use it?”
“I did,” I repeat, with a laugh.
“And were you changed? How were you changed? Did it grant you any other abilities or bestow a blessing or curse?” He pitches himself over the counter, leaning in my direction as I stop beside Cyran.
Wild, burning curiosity flares in his brown eyes as he waits for my answer. I can’t help but laugh.
“I was changed. Though I can’t say to what degree aside from dark hair,” I answer, letting my fingers curl over the ledge of the counter. “I never had the opportunity to peer at myself while wearing it. As for blessings or curses, neither—that I’m aware of.”
