“I’ll bring coffee and snacks,” I said. Happy to be busy, if nothing else.
“Tea,” Xavier corrected.
I flinched. Xavier hated tea. “Right away,” I agreed as I nodded to Keanan, gave the envoy a slight bow, and raced to the kitchen to turn on the electric kettle and gather up snacks.
I shoved a tray of shortbread into the oven to warm, hoping the smell would ease any tensions as dealing with the greater fae was never a pleasant experience. The electric kettle hissed like a pissed-off cat as I arranged tea on the tray. Not that Xavier had a lot of options beyond Earl Grey or Chamomile.
“Fucking fairies,” Sylas muttered from his post between the office and kitchenette.
I paused. “Uh… which kind?”
He shot me a withering look. “Greater fae. The kind who think riddles substitute for conversation.”
“Right.” ‘Cause I had a lot of experience with those? The timer dinged. I grabbed the shortbread, sliding one to Sylas, hoping to ease his grumpy mood. His twin watched from outsideXavier’s office doorway, silent as a shadow. I offered him a cookie as I passed with the tray.
He took it without blinking. “They’re arguing,” he said. “As if the fae have any power in Xavier’s territory.” He opened the office door for me. “And to arrive in the offseason of their power shows disrespect.”
Inside, the air hummed with tension. The envoy’s wings flickered at the edges of my vision, like a film reel glitching. I fixed my gaze on the teapot. Professional. Polite. Don’t stare at the goddamn wings.
Xavier leaned against the front of his desk, radiating disinterest, ankles crossed, arms folded over his chest, gaze above our heads. The fae paced the room. The painting leaned against the wall, no longer wrapped, a vibrant ocean at sunset scene. My gaze fell to it as if drawn by magic. I’d always been a sucker for bright colors and pretty art.
Molten gold bled into deep plum, the kind of sky that belonged to a world where the sun died after a heroic tale of vanquishing demons. Below, the ocean churned in a secluded cove, waves lashing at jagged rocks like they were trying to carve something new into the land. Memories, life, or consequences perhaps, as the stormy sea glowed an eerie dark teal of a deep-sea trench.
The brushstrokes sculpted with texture and movement, curled the waves in white foam crests, dark depths gaping between like a giant mouth swallowing all the secrets beneath. My younger days of art classes, hidden from parents who wanted a son more focused on business, reignited a passion to study the lines in the span of a heartbeat.
My breath hitched, hands tightening on the tray, and I couldn’t drag my gaze away from the scene. The waterfeltreal. As if I listened hard enough, the sound of waves crashing wouldfill my senses, and something beneath, calling to me, like a siren song whispering to my soul.
“Luca.”
Xavier’s voice shattered the trance.
I gasped and swallowed hard, yanking my focus away from the art and to my boss. “Sorry!” I said, and rushed to set the tray down on the top of the desk.
Neither of them sat, though the fae stopped pacing.
Xavier waved at me to leave. I rushed for the door, half tripping over my own feet as I passed the painting, thinking I caught a glimpse of something in the water. Perhaps it had been a change of direction revealing a new detail?
“Consider it a token,” the envoy said. “A reminder of… shared visions.”
“I’m not certain our vision aligns,” Xavier said, his voice cool. “It feels more like a warning.”
The envoy sputtered. “Of course not. My Queen would never…”
The office door clicked shut behind me, sealing away their argument. In the kitchen, I cleaned the counters and restored the area to magazine-cover perfection, the memory of the painting’s detail and blazing color burned into my mind. Something about it felt… sad? Was it the sunset? Perhaps the distant hint of storm clouds rising?
The meeting ended abruptly only a few minutes later. The envoy swept past the kitchen without a glance, his form flickering from human back to something more bug-like the whole way. As if his agitation made it hard for him to hold his shape, or perhaps his glamour, as I knew fae were famous for that.
He didn’t take the painting with him.
Xavier stood in his office, towering over the painting, expression grim.
“It’s pretty,” I told him.
“On the surface,” Xavier said, “a lot of things are pretty.”
I stared at the painting, again drawn to the strokes defining the waves. The entire painting felt like it was moving, as though staring long enough would rock me to sleep. Or with the storm hinting in the corner, perhaps it would drown me in violent turbulence.
“You used to paint, didn’t you?” Xavier asked after a long moment, tearing my focus from the art.
