by May Sage
Mel opened her mouth and he knew what she was about to say. She’d send the boy to him and take the far seat.
Caim should have been glad of it. Should have let it happen.
“Melpomene,” he called, loud and clear. “Hurry now. We do not appreciate delay in these parts, and all are famished. Sit.”
“Well, someone is going to have to tell us where we're supposed to sit before we embarrass ourselves," she stated unabashedly, making most of the assembled gentry smile, some kindly, others wickedly. She'd announced her confusion, her helplessness, and her vulnerability. It was in a fae's nature to take advantage of weaknesses, and she wore hers on her sleeve.
Caim gestured to the chair to his right.
If she was honest, Mel wasn’t as indifferent to the stares and whispers as she pretended. She could feel the eyes of every single diner in the hall returning to her sporadically. She was glad that Caim had sent the mysterious tailor to her; at least she could consider her intimidating dress as armor.
“How did you like the gardens, Melpomene?”
“It’s Mel,” she reminded Caim. “And comforting to know you still stalk my every move.”
The man seated next to her, a bulky, muscular, handsome redheaded giant with the grace of a ballerina, snorted. “Come, Mel. You cannot possibly expect we’d let you roam the keep on your own. There are many dangers in Argentas.”
There was an edge to his tone. Something told her he didn’t like her much.
A feeling she reciprocated. Mel didn’t often take an instant dislike to people, but there was something disturbing about him. His presence, his tone, his gaze. She couldn’t pinpoint it, but she wished he was a lot farther away.
“Meet Red, my advisor,” said Caim.
And, she gleaned, one of those who believed she was here as a spy.
“Lovely to make your acquaintance.” She was glad she could lie. Mel turned back to Caim. “And I loved the gardens, thank you.”
Small talk. It was all she could do to prevent herself from grimacing.
To her relief, Caim put an end to it, directing his attention to the woman on his other side, a beauty with the same mane as Red, and eyes of fire. “Have you had a chance to see the gardens since your return? The apple and cherry trees planted last year have thrived.”
The other woman was eager to keep his attention. “Not yet, but I’ll certainly go soon! You know how I adore cherry trees. Are they flowering yet?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve not been at leisure to walk the outer gardens in some time.”
“In that case, you must accompany me! Tomorrow, mayhap.”
Mel thanked the servant who placed a delicate plate of roasted meat and foreign fruit in front of her. Immediately, she felt more eyes returning to her. Talking to the staff was apparently not the done thing here.
Oh well. She’d certainly not let that stop her.
“Wine, my lady?” the fae asked, the delicate wings at his back fluttering.
Mel knew not to stare at them now, though she itched to. “Please.”
He poured a black substance that seemed a little too thick to be wine.
Caim’s attention snapped back to her, going from the servant to Mel, and back again. “Bring her pale wine, too. Our lady isn’t used to our customs.”
She chose to take umbrage. “You know, I am old enough to drink what I want where I’m from.”
“Do they serve blood in their wines where you’re from?” Caim asked.
Oh, shit.
Her eyes returned to the wine, utterly revolted. Blood? She was into tartare, blue steaks, and boudin, but drinking it?
Still, she took the stylish golden goblet filled with black liquid, and brought it to her lips. She smelled it first, finding a fruity scent that she couldn’t place.
Mel closed her eyes and sipped, because giving in would have felt like losing a challenge of sorts.
She smiled as it hit her tongue. It did taste like wine, almost. Fermented fruit juice—though she would be hard pressed to guess which fruit had been pressed.
Mel turned to Caim, beaming. “Delightful.”
He was staring at her with a strange expression. She should have felt uncomfortable. The Aos Si seemed darker, wilder. Hungrier.
The woman on his other flank cleared her throat, demanding his attention again. “Well, I wouldn’t mind pale wine. If you ask me, bloodessence doesn’t go with a light supper.”
No one had asked her, but Mel was actually glad for the interruption.
Finally, everyone was served wine and starters.
She understood enough of manners to wait and see what everyone else was doing; they weren’t eating yet, and she wouldn’t conduct herself like a savage by starting before everyone else, though the smell emanating from her plate was making her dizzy, starving as she was.
She’d eaten well the previous day at the banquet, but after weeks upon weeks of being fed nothing but scraps, and those only occasionally, she was salivating.
At long last, everyone had a plate. Caim got to his feet and lifted his glass in the air. “Friends of old, new acquaintances, I welcome you and wish you a pleasant dinner.”
On that note, everyone seized their utensils and dug in. They were given little tridents that worked as well as any forks, and knives so sharp Mel felt like she could have cut through the pearly sea-green plate with hers if she wasn’t careful. It sliced the meat like butter.
Bringing a bite-size chunk to her lips, she couldn’t help but moan in delight.
What creature this meat had come from, she couldn’t say, nor did she care. It was delicious, and she wanted more. She attacked the food with the enthusiasm of a starving wolf. Only uncounted years of etiquette allowed her to eat without making a mess, but she realized her hunger was nothing close to ladylike. Before she knew it, her plate was empty.
A glance at the rest of the table showed everyone else had only just started. Way to pass for a barbarian. She stared at her plate, willing it to refill itself.
To her left, a laugh caught her attention.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such pitiful eyes. Here, puppy, don’t be sad.” Caim was lifting his fork up to her mouth, grinning.
Mel wasn’t fond of being made fun of. But she liked the food too much to waste it, so she wrapped her lips around it.
His cut was even more delicious than hers had been. Of course it was.
“Good?” he asked.
She nodded enthusiastically. “What is it?”
“Vlarkesh. A form of deer, I suppose. Red shot that one today.”
She wasn’t surprised; Red did look like the sort of man who enjoyed shooting things in his spare time.
“It was very good, Red,” she said. “Thanks for providing our meal.”
“I shot half of the golden pheasants for the second course!” The female redhead was not to be outdone.
Caim didn’t turn to her. “Ornela is Red’s sister. They return to us after a hundred years of service on the eastern front, overlooking the Iron Circle.”
Mel blinked. “You’re military?”
“Indeed. There’s long been a feud between our realm and theirs. Hence why traveling there without a proper guard was…” His eyes darkened and twitched. Red was seething, but he interrupted himself, searching for a milder term than whatever he’d been thinking. He was criticizing his lord’s actions, after all. “Less than advisable.”
“He means stupid,” Caim translated.
Red nodded. “Well, you came back in one piece. And without too many complications.”
No doubt, one of the complications he was mentioning was her presence. Mel wasn’t going to apologize or justify herself.
Instead, she ate some more.
Blood for Blood
Mel woke up after the best sleep she could ever remember having. Likely because she had issues remembering her life before. Her actual life. What she used to do, who she used to be, before being brought to this strange world.
> She could close her eyes and see her shop, see Julia and Urania, Paris, Aeaea, everything and everyone she'd ever loved. But it seemed to belong to someone else's memory. She observed it as a stranger looking in. Lessara’s torture had broken part of her, changing her, redefining her priorities. Who she was after living through it wasn’t the same person as she’d been before.
She must have slept well back then too. She must have enjoyed food. But everything was more vivid now, more real. Maybe because she'd believed, deep down, that she would die in the Iron Circle dungeon, at the hands of Lessara, and she’d survived despite the odds.
Now resting in a place where she felt at peace seemed a luxury. She knew how to appreciate it, whereas she’d taken it for granted in the past.
"I will give you one chance."
Lyr hadn't lied. He'd made it possible for her to escape his grasp, even though it had taken the slaughter of dozens of people for her to get out of her imprisonment.
She didn’t regret it. It wasn’t her fault; they’d demanded blood, and she’d chosen to survive. It was on their hands. She refused to let the dead haunt her when Lyr was the one who’d requested their heads.
When Caim had gotten her out of the Iron Circle, he’d offered her a chance, and she intended to capitalize on it. Appreciate every day, now that she realized how easily her life could be snuffed out. She wasn’t an immortal here. There were things strong enough to kill her. Strange that the reality and finality of death had only served to make her more appreciative of life.
Her stomach growled, begging for her attention.
“Really?” she grumbled at herself, far from amused.
She’d eaten so much the previous night, and when she’d believed herself completely full, Caim had lifted strange little sweets to her lips. Candied violets, he’d said, bittersweet and delicious.
“Why don’t I have any of those?” she had demanded, outraged, as she stared desperately at her empty plate.
"Because you said you were full." Caim pushed his bowl before her and let her finish it, too.
She’d been full before, and bursting at the seams after his dessert, so she should not be hungry now. But she was. "I might actually get fat."
When had she taken to talking to herself?
"Now, that might be an interesting development."
Her eyes, half-closed and hazy, flew open and she sat up, suddenly wide awake. Caim was on the far side of her room, close to the secret entrance she'd never locked, leaning on the doorway.
She rushed to lift her duvet to her chest. She was wearing a top and underwear, but his gaze made her feel completely naked. "Were you watching me sleep?"
"I just arrived. In my defense, I did knock."
Which might have been what had woken her up in the first place. She sighed.
"I forgot we never got around to discussing your new employment."
Annoyance and embarrassment made way for curiosity. "Oh?"
"I did ask for a ballpark figure when it came to salaries. You wouldn't believe the difference in pay between gentry and commoners, by the way. The entry salary seems to be around a hundred silvers per week. Given the confidentiality and demanding aspects of your position, I will pay you one-fifty."
She had to point out, "You realize I have no idea what that means, right?"
Caim lifted a brow. "Well, a loaf of bread would be about five coppers—a tenth of a silver. A sword, between ten and two hundred silvers, depending on the maker. The dress you wore yesterday, perhaps a hundred silvers or so."
"Got it. You're overpaying me. Put it down to one hundred. It's one thing if they believe we're fucking, but I will not be made to look like a whore."
Her response amused him, she could tell, though his expression barely changed, as always. His eyes danced when he thought she was funny.
"If you insist. You're to join me at ten in my office, seven days a week. The remaining days are yours to do with as you will."
Right. They had ten days per week. What a brain fuck.
"I believe you know the way."
She rolled her eyes. "The big, obnoxious doors on the first floor. Got it. Now if you would excuse me, I'd like to get dressed."
He inclined his torso in a half-assed bow. Mel doubted he'd ever had to defer to anyone. "As you please."
"How long until ten, by the way?"
He stopped at the entrance to the passage, turned on his heels, and crossed the room. She was ashamed to admit her heart skipped a beat as he neared.
Caim was removing a device from his belt, a gold pocket watch with a blue screen that seemed so very human.
"You may borrow this for the time being."
She observed it with curiosity—forty-five hours per day. Only twenty were on display, so presumably midday was the twentieth hour.
"That's a loan," Caim told her.
"Of course. I'll get myself one—"
"No need, as you're not staying long. I will want it back before you return to your world." He marked a pause. "This belonged to my sister."
She just knew from his tone and the darkness in his eyes. "How did she pass away?"
Caim's eyes went to the window, looking beyond this room, this time. "Your friend Lyr. We were at war; these things do happen. I understand. But I do not forgive."
She hadn't imagined the animosity she'd seen when he'd looked at her former captor.
"No, I can't imagine one might easily forgive that."
He retreated without another word.
Sometime while she'd been sleeping, someone had reorganized the closet, replacing the mess of various sized outfits with couture made to fit her, and suit her, too. Whether she felt like looking dark and intimidating or like a flirty princess in pink mesh and taffeta, she had options. Hundreds and hundreds of options. Apparently, no one had seen fit to tell The Tailor that she was only staying for a short time.
Her eyes on the pretty watch that was too precious to keep and too valuable to put away, she took a bath in her pool of golden water that smelled like flowers she couldn't recognize, brushed her teeth with a strange device that looked like a toothbrush and definitely did not behave as one. The brush moved like tentacles inside her mouth, cleansing every corner and making her feel dirty all the same.
Nine thirty.
She found a white suit with loose pants that floated around her legs like a skirt and a top with a square neckline. It might have passed as office-wear. Loosely. For a female CEO striding through a city with the aplomb of a queen.
Straightening her spine, as she worried what The Tailor would do to her if he suspected she slouched in his design, Mel headed downstairs for her first day on the job.
The office had considerably changed in a day. The dreadful desk was still there, by the window, but right in front of it, another, smaller table had been added. It was buried underneath leather-bound books with yellowish, foxed pages. She grimaced, already regretting she'd worn white.
"Ah, yes," said Caim, reading her disgust accurately. “I’ll have gloves brought up for your use.”
“No to the gloves. They’ve fallen out of favor in archival work because they inhibit the dexterity of the fingers, which increases the risk to the already fragile manuscripts. So the preference is to wash one’s hands before handling each book.” She managed to stop herself from rambling. “Just an apron, please.”
“Very well. You'll be working chronologically. Some of the older volumes are rather damaged. You're to read each and every one of those and bookmark any mention of the tree of life, the circle of life, or the curse binding the fae. Understood?"
Mel nodded, and after a moment of uncertainty, she asked, "Is there a way to make this room cooler?"
He glanced at her. "The heat isn't unpleasant to us, but I'm afraid the books may disagree. I suspect they were kept in a secure environment in the archives."
Though she couldn't read his expression, Mel blushed, feeling like he was seeing far too much when those gray eyes focused on her.
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"I would usually get preservation spells cast, but I would rather not be disturbed while you work on these."
Ah. He took his confidentiality clause seriously.
Mel hesitated. "Well, I could try. I can perform elemental magic. This place is different, but…"
"Please do," said Caim, indifferently, before picking the top parchment from a pile of paper on his desk.
Mel sighed. Air and water were the most efficient elements to cool a room. On Earth, it wouldn't have been a problem at all. Instead she was here, in this strange place where nothing made sense. Where the waters were green in the oceans, and gold in the lakes. Waters that watched and judged, but did not obey.
She closed her eyes.
Here goes nothing.
Having her work here, right under his eyes, was logical. The books she was to skim through for him were infinitely precious to him, and for the foreseeable future, he wished to keep his interest private. She might have been observed, spied on, elsewhere. Would have been. By Red and Vlaryn, at the very least.
Caim had told himself he could do it. Have her in his office and concentrate on his work. He'd even reasoned that being close to her might be useful, allow him to become acclimated to her presence.
Then she called to her magic.
The folk of Sidhe had magic embedded in their very core. Every word could be a hex or spell if they wished it to be. They could lull mortals and immortals alike until they were under their power.
Caim might have read about it, but he'd never seen this. Magic, not internal, but called from without. She drew energy to her, like a witch.
Or a god.
And she changed. Showing what—who—she truly was, for an instant.
Skin not merely golden, but bright. Hair blue as the clearest Earthen sea. So stunning she was almost painful to look at, and impossible to look away from.
She grimaced, apparently frustrated with herself. Why, he couldn't tell. The room was cooler, as she'd intended.
He wanted to ask what was wrong, have her confide in him, to push at the little frown between her eyebrows until it disappeared. Tell her that she was remarkable. That he didn't think he could ever tire of watching her.