“Sit. Down.” Not a request. A command, wrapped in silk and backed by centuries of authority.
I stayed exactly where I was.
For a long moment, we stared at each other across the table, the tension between us pulled taut as wire.
Then Varyth sighed, actually sighed, like I was a particularly troublesome child refusing to take my medicine. “There are things you need to know. But this is neither the time nor the place?—”
“Then when?” I demanded. “After the next attack? After someone else gets hurt? After my children?—”
“Your children are safe. They will remain safe. That is not negotiable.”
“You don’t get to decide what’s negotiable for my children!”
“I do when you’re living under my protection, in my territory, eating my food.”
Silence crashed down, absolute and suffocating.
Somewhere down the table, I heard Darian mutter, “Oh, fuck.”
Varyth’s jaw worked, his composure finally cracking at the edges. When he spoke again, his voice was softer but no less firm. “I understand your frustration. Truly. But there are complexities to this situation that require delicacy.”
“I don’t want delicacy,” I said, and I was surprised by how steady my voice came out. How cold. “I want the truth. And if you can’t give me that, then we’re done here.”
I straightened, stepped back from the table.
“Isara.” Varyth stood, one hand raised like he could physically halt my exit. “If you would just?—”
“Goodnight, Lord Varyth.” I turned on my heel, heading for the doors. “Thank you for dinner. It was lovely.”
“Where are you going?”
“To check on my children.” I didn’t look back. “Since apparently that’s the only thing I’m allowed to control in this place.”
I made it three steps before his voice followed me, low and edged with anger, or perhaps desperation.
“Running away won’t change what you are.”
I stopped. Turned back slowly.
“And what am I?” My words were ice and iron. “According to you?”
Varyth’s expression shuttered completely. “Someone who needs to trust that I’m trying to keep her alive.”
“Trust.” I tasted the word, found it bitter. “You want my trust while keeping me in the dark. While making decisions aboutmy life, my children, mymagicwithout including me in the conversation.” I shook my head. “That’s not how trust works.”
“In my experience, sometimes it is.”
“Then your experience is wrong.”
I walked out.
Behind me, I heard the scrape of chairs, low voices rising in what was probably going to be a spectacular argument. Part of me wanted to stay, to fight, to demand answers until someone finally broke and told me the truth.
But I was tired. Bone-tired. Soul-tired.
And my children were sleeping down the hall. I needed to see them. Needed to press my hand to their doors and feel the wards humming, needed to know they were breathing, safe, mine.
So I kept walking.
