Complaining about costs wouldn’t help. Rowan wanted me to take Xan’s job, and if I kept going, he’d lay into me again… my friend didn’t understand.
“Being inside his walls feels like I’m back in the compound.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. I didn’t want to talk about this, but I equally felt like I would explode if I didn’t.
Rowan blinked at me, but it was too late to take it back. I picked up my fork and stabbed a fried mushroom.
“The castle doesn’t look anything like your compound.” Rowan shoved an entire sausage into his mouth.
I forced myself to stay calm. Quinn liked his stupid ass, and at moments, he’d grown on me. No. It wasn’t just moments. When had I gone from being forced to talk to Rowan, to joining him for breakfast at a moment's notice?
Rowan swallowed. “And it’s not run anything like your family either.”
“It’s not how it fucking looks, dumb-shit, it’s how it feels.” I wasn’t sure whether anger or desperation fueled my words. “This place is run by one man who controls everything inside his walls.” I started shaking so hard my fork threatened to take flight. I dropped it and clenched my hands together like I’d seen Quinn do so many times.
God, I needed Quinn. She always understood.
Rowan’s chair scraped against the floor. “With me, Cay.”
My instincts tore. Of course, they fucking did. Half of me wanted to obey, and half of me wanted to deck the asshole trying to make me.
Rowan didn’t give me time to think. He sauntered to the bar. “Back in fifteen, tops. Don’t clear our table.”
The man and the bar nodded, and I finally forced myself to stand and follow the giant elemental mage into the thinning fog. Two minutes later, I stepped into Xan’s office, who looked up with confusion, glanced at me, and then let his gaze come to rest on Rowan.
“Xan, what’s on the shelves beside your desk?” Rowan demanded.
No pleasantries, no apologies. Whatever he needed to show me overrode even his constant need to place the Architect above us.
Xan looked just as surprised, a single eyebrow arching into his messy baby-blue hair.
Although I’d seen Xan’s office before, I hadn’t really looked at the details. I assumed the shelves Rowan talked about were the three tiers bolted to the wall with wide mesh baskets. Scrawls, mostly of one color, filled each basket.
“Reports, I think. I literally just sat down.” Xan scowled. “Didn’t get to Valentino’s box yesterday.”
“He’s got no idea what’s on those shelves,” Rowan said, turning to me. “The bottom row is Ezra’s five. My basket, which used to be empty, has become Brit’s basket.”
A handful of moss-green scrawls, days old, by the look, glowed in said basket.
“I mean, that’s harsh, considering how much you’ve been at my side the last two days, Rowan,” Xan mumbled.
Rowan ignored him. “Middle shelf: Hope and housing.” Every basket overflowed, and now that I looked, a few orange scrawls even peeked out from the floor. “Top shelf: everything else. Jobs, strays, anything needing Xan’s direct say. Even his new mental-health branch has rotted up there since it started.”
“It’s not like someone infiltrated my castle,” Xan mumbled to his desk. “Or my girl was kidnapped. I’ve had all the time in the world.”
I didn’t acknowledge his words, especially the “my girl,” as I studied the top shelf. Four baskets, both stacked high with scrawls, many of them in Xan’s baby blue, sat with a glass bottle of what looked like liquor.
“What’s the bottle about?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
Xan turned bright red. “It’s an inside joke, because, you know, it’s on the top shelf, and it’s liquor, so top-shelf liquor.”
I looked at Rowan, who shrugged and then looked back at Xan.
Xan scrubbed his eyes. “It’s fermented peas. When I took over this castle, we couldn’t afford liquor, so Ezra and I tried to make some. It’s horrible. The best liquor is usually kept on the top shelf, so we ironically keep it on our top shelf.” Xan ran his fingers through his hair. “Which sounds so dumb now that I’ve had to explain it.” He stood and crossed his arms defensively. “Are you here for a reason other than to point out I’m not doing my job?”
I cracked my neck, already starting to get an idea of what Rowan was doing, but I was not ready to let go of my anger until I saw this through.
Rowan stepped to the desk. “What is this?” He pointed.
“You know what that is,” Xan huffed. “It’s my schedule.”
