He glances at Nephele, so brief I almost miss it. I slip a look at my sister, easily reading the irked expression on her face. She would throttle him if we didn’t need him.
“Guard dog?” Zahira asks Alexus.
“Not at all.” He watches the Icelander with a sharp eye. “Water witch. Bowyer. Jackass.”
“Ah,” Zahira says, as though that’s the only explanation needed. And I suppose it is.
Yaz motions for the young woman to join her. “This is our friend Mari. She helps tend the house. Mari, this is—” She pauses, as though reconsidering her words.
“It’s all right,” Alexus says. “If you trust her, so do I.”
Yaz lets out a breath. “This is our friend Alexus Thibault, and his friends. They’ll be staying with us for a few nights.”
Mari bows. “Nice to meet you, my lord.”
Alexus dips his head in greeting. “Nice to meet you, as well.” He turns to Zahira and Yaz. “There are ten of us. A few are helping Harmon and his sons with the horses. He looks at me and holds my gaze for a long moment. “I can take the lighthouse as usual, of course.”
I feel a question vibrating along the bond. It isn’t spoken, not something audible I can hear. But a knowing. He’s asking if I want to stay with him now that we’re here. In the lighthouse. Separate from the main house. Private.
A tender chill courses over my skin, and I respond, squeezing his hand. Yes. Yes, yes, yes.
Alexus’s mouth quirks up, and his dimple appears, as if I just made his day a thousand times better. And that makes me happy. I must think about us right now. What we need in this sliver of time we’ve been given. I can’t worry about Finn’s feelings forever. He chose to come along on this journey, knowing my situation. He won’t like the arrangement, but he will have to accept it.
“Of course,” Zahira says, glancing between us with a subdued grin. “The lighthouse it is.”
“Mari, can you prepare the rooms and baths?” Yaz asks.
Mari stares at Alexus for a moment longer, then turns a second look over her shoulder at Joran who stands near a ledge, leaning his weight on the stone, the wind playing in his silver hair. I sense hesitance in the woman, especially when Joran turns his head and meets her gaze.
She breaks the stare-down between them and nods to Yazmin. “Certainly. I’ll be quick, my lady.”
When Mari vanishes inside the house, Zahira heads toward the main door. At the threshold, she smiles at our weary crew and sweeps an arm inside. “Welcome to the city by the sea, everyone. And welcome to Starworth Tor.”
20
RAINA
The inside of Starworth Tor’s main house is just as impressive as the exterior.
Decorative bronze sconces and candle chandeliers illuminate the home with warm and inviting light, showcasing the high ceilings, elaborate staircase, and exposed wooden crossbeams above. I don’t mean to gawk, but the entry and sitting parlor are larger than the cottage I shared with my family. There are more candles in this single part of the house than I’ve probably burned in my entire life. They aren’t tallow either. The smell of beeswax permeates the air. Honeyed. Sweet. A little musky.
It reminds me of Alexus’s magick.
Zahira guides the rest of us deeper inside the house. She doesn’t so much walk as she glides, her footsteps soundless on the slate-tiled floor. As we enter, I cling to Alexus’s hand while, on his other side, Yaz links her arm with his.
Hesitation fills me and lines every face around me when we reach the great room. It isn’t the size of the space that gives us pause, though. It’s massive enough to seat us all, even if a few must take the floor.
But the fine furniture and rugs… They’re more exquisite than anything I’ve ever seen, even at Winterhold. Each piece is unique and exotic, made from pale, smooth woods covered in lush fabrics and pillows.
Far too lovely for a bunch of filthy travelers.
We crane our necks to take it all in. Artwork and tapestries hang along the white-plastered side walls, while packed bookshelves line the back of the room. Each cracked, gilded, and pristine spine beckons.
Windows make up much of the wall that houses the stone hearth, a stately affair that—like the bookshelves—reaches the ceiling. A low fire burns to ward off the slight chill from the sea wind, but the air here is far warmer than what I’m accustomed to this time of the year. A refreshing change.
“It’s all right,” Zahira says. “Come in. Get off your feet. Let those glamours go. Yaz and I will bring food and wine while you wait for your rooms.”
How did she know?
