I hadn't spoken a word of what took place to anyone, until now. Until I sat across from Merle, that familiar gaze soothing and softening the raw, jagged edges of my fragmented heart.
Bran had been angry as I recounted the story. I could feel it pulsating from him in waves, battering against me as his knuckles popped beneath the table, but he did not interrupt. The only other sound from him was a low curse as my voice cracked upon Mirabel's name.
When I finished, silence swallowed the room whole as Merle pursed her lips and studied us, her eyes drinking in our tired faces.
She glanced at the paper laid on the tabletop before her, the signed copy of my requests that the prince had promised. The sigil of the Crown of Tavari was sealed at the bottom.
"Do you trust them?"
The question caught me off guard. My thoughts instantly went to the man I knew was waiting in the potions shop below.
Prince Kairen had sent Roan to escort us to Merle's, to answer any questions that she may have. He had mentioned he wanted to come himself, to assuage any concerns, but since he would be stuck in meetings and preparing for the quest nearly all day, he sent Roan in his place.
I had asked him to wait downstairs, thinking it best to treat the initial conversation as a family matter. I wanted Merle's honest reaction, without the distraction of a stranger influencing her responses.
Perhaps it was for my own selfish reasons as well. I had not spoken a word to Roan since the trial, since I had cried in that little room after. I had been feigning ill for any of the training we were supposed to be doing, not quite sure how to face him. Not even sure if Iwantedto.
Picking subconsciously at my nail beds as I thought over the question, my gaze locked on the table and the marks scarred upon it over years of use. The pad of my finger ran over a little jagged crevice I knew was from the tip of one of my daggers. One of the few nights Merle and I had fought and my blade had been slammed into the wood in frustration.
I couldn’t even remember what the cause of the argument had been.
"I don't know." I wilted beneath her scrutiny. "I want to, but l'm not sure if I do. Prince Kairen's promises are pretty, Rena is kind, and Captain Delmar..." Hesitating, I thought about Roan and all the things I had learned over the few weeks I had known him. “He is different than I thought he would be. I want to trust them, to trust their motivations for finding this cure, but can we truly trust anyone in this world that we live in?"
Merle let out a long, heavy sigh. Reaching across the table she grabbed both our hands, the calluses from years of mixing potions rough against my own. "I have always known I would not be able to keep you two home forever, as much as I wish to. I have raised you to be smart, to trust your instincts, and to trust each other," she said as she glanced between us, her gaze hardening. "If you must go, you must swear to look after one another. There is nobody in this world who will look after you like you do each other.Trustin that. Do not falter. You are family and you always will be. And most importantly,come home to me."
"We’ll be fine, Ma." Bran insisted, that lazy grin spreading across his lips as he dipped his head to press a kiss to the back of her hand. "Besides,if anyone tries to harm us, they'll have my sword at their neck and her daggers at their back.”
His wink had a choked laugh falling from my lips as I blinked back tears. Merle simply patted his hand. "You get that arrogance from your father."
I didn't miss the light that dimmed in her eyes for a moment at the mention of Bran's father, as if her mind had taken her back to a time in the past. Seeing a man long since dead in the face of the one now sat before her.
It was my turn to make her promise. "I'll make sure he comes back to you, Merle."
Her eyes caught mine, seeing what lurked there in the depths, and she held it before she gave the slightest nod.
"Can you give us a moment, Syra? We’ll be down shortly, that Captain of yours has a few promises to make as well.”
Roan Delmar was a picture of brutal elegance as he leaned against the counter of our little shop, his arms crossed over his chest as his eyes roamed over the shelves. The golden armor he wore was forgotten today in favor of that black cloak he seemed to like. His white hair was pushed back and slightly tousled as if he had been running a hand through it, and my breath hitched when that two-toned gaze immediately swung to me as the steps creaked beneath my weight. I hesitated, clenching the railing all the tighter before taking the last few steps.
He pushed off the counter, his movements easy and relaxed. “Where’s the overprotective cousin?”
“Still upstairs.”
My arms crossed at the tension that wound through the air—theawkwardnessthat seemed to suffocate us. We had never been awkward before, spiteful and sharp, yes, but neverthis.
My eyes flitted to the potions along the wall, nails picking at my skin.
“Nervous?”
My hand stilled, catching his attention on the motion. Dropping my arms, I leaned back against the railing. “Not at all, why would I be?”
He stepped closer, watching,hunting.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I have n—”
“Then why won’t you look at me, little menace?” My attention snapped up, breath coming short.
