Sitting in the Solbourne’s private booth, Camille looked away from the dome to glare at the appetizer that had been laid out on the table. She wasn’t and hadn’t been hungry in weeks. The pull stole appetite, but so did stress.
And she was, if nothing else, stressed.
“Gods, Cammie, I’m so sorry I’m late!”
Camille turned her head to see Theodore’s consort hustling toward their table, her cheeks flushed and a frazzled looking maitre d’ trailing after her. A few steps behind him, two glamoured guards stalked between the tables of gawking onlookers. There were other elves scattered around, too, but they at least were smart enough to avert their eyes from the black-clad figures. Unlike the average diner, they knew how deadly the guards could be.
Instead, their eyes found a safer target: the sovereign’s consort.
Margot Solbourne née Goode was pretty in a delicate sort of way. The fact that no one clocked her as a halfling didn’t surprise Camille at all. Petite and fine boned, with red hair that leaned toward gold and eyes of a striking copper, she hardly looked elvish. Her features were almost vulpine — the look in her eyes cunning, distinctly witchy, but softened by that vulnerability that all healers carried with them.
If it weren’t for the small points of her ears and the distinctly elvish note in her scent, it never would have occurred to Camille that the healer sliding into the chair across the table was anything more than a witch.
Margot cast her an apologetic smile before she gave the sweating maitre d’ her order for a cup of tea. “Oh, and please bring some coffee as well. We have one more guest coming.”
The wire-thin fey nodded twice, eager to please, before he hustled off. His wings, mostly vestigial, twitched with unease against his suit jacket. Camille had no doubt that Margot would have her order in moments. No one would dare keep the sovereign’s consort waiting.
“Who are we expecting?” Camille asked, flexing her claws in her lap. Anger, fueled by betrayal, bubbled through her veins. “If it’s Teddy, I’m not making any promises that I won’t make a scene when he gets here.”
Margot shook her head. “No, he’s busy.” Her lips twisted in an aggrieved grimace. “So busy, in fact, that he didn’t bother telling me I had a lunch date with you until approximately half an hour ago. After I made plans with another friend of mine.”
Relief mingled with a small splash of disappointment. It would have been nice to really lay into Theodore for betraying her to Viktor so quickly, but she knew that it would do her little good in the long-run. All the anger did was slap a bandage on the hurt. It didn’t actually fix anything.
“Well,” Camille began, happy for an excuse to escape, “I’d hate to ruin your plans with your friend. You can tell Teddy we had our lunch and go—”
“Oh, no, Cammie. I’m not canceling on you. I just invited Petra to join us.”
Camille was already nearly out of her chair. She sank back down with a barely disguised scowl. “I see.”
Margot gave her a sympathetic look. “I know you don’t want to be here. Theodore thinks we need to be friends, but I’m not exactly the most social person myself.” She shrugged, her dainty shoulders rolling under a soft white sweater. Just behind her, the two guards stood, their heads turning every few moments as they scanned the room. “I’ve never really had friends before, but I’m trying to get better at it.”
Right, Camille thought, because your family kept you in isolation your whole life.
Empathy pinched her. Neither of them wanted to be there, so Camille didn’t feel right taking her anger out on her new kinswoman. “I’m not great at making friends either,” she replied, looking down at her cup of coffee to avoid staring at Margot’s marriage sigil. She licked her lips. “My… mother didn’t want us socializing with the family, so I grew up mostly on our estate in Napa.”
Camille swallowed hard. Trying to cover up her awkwardness, she lifted her porcelain teacup to her lips and took a long, bracing sip of unsweetened coffee. She wasn’t used to being open with people, but she was also a loyal sort of person. Margot was family. The least she could do was make some small effort to connect with her.
“Then you understand how overwhelming it can be to suddenly have people pushing you toward strangers. Feels a lot like punishment, doesn’t it?” Margot replied, crisp and to the point. Camille glanced up in surprise and found the healer’s coppery eyes glowing with an exasperated sort of humor.
“Yes.” A smile quirked the corners of her lips. Setting her teacup down, she announced, “And I’m sorry for… for how we met. I wish I could have made a better impression on you.”
Margot’s expression softened. “Don’t worry about it. I would have reacted the same way in your position.”
That was probably true, but Camille still wished Margot hadn’t seen her at her worst. She’d been thrown into a frenzy when Valen showed up at their estate, demanding to see her mother. When she refused him and his Patrol squadron entry without explanation, things only got worse. But what was she supposed to do?
They wouldn’t tell her why they wanted her mother, so she wouldn’t tell them why they couldn’t see her. Simple as that.
Camille never promised her mother that she would hide her illness from the Solbournes, but she did it out of respect for Marian’s fierce pride. If the main branch of the family knew she was ill, they would have tried to step in, to help, and the humiliation would have killed her that much sooner.
So Camille refused them entry, and for that she and her brother were dragged to the Summit. Valen figured that Theodore would be able to get to the bottom of what was going on and where Marian was hiding away. However, the truth was that if he’d simply explained that their mother was the only suspect in the bombing that had shaken the entire EVP, Camille would have caved.
Not that she blamed them for suspecting her mother. The main family was well aware of the fact that Marian tried to plot their demise on numerous occasions. It was part of the reason they were fine with her self-imposed exile in Napa. They thought it kept her docile.
Camille would never tell them just how many of her mother’s plots she had foiled before they ever got off the ground. What they knew of was only a tiny fraction of Marian’s machinations. Never once, not even in the throes of her rapidly deteriorating health, did Camille’s mother let go of her hatred for the people she blamed for her consort’s death.
The bombing, however, was not her mother’s doing. By the time Margot’s Healing House was destroyed in a brazen attempt on her life, Marian slept more often than she woke.
And when she was awake, she wasn’t lucid.
Margot first encountered Camille when she was confronting Theodore for the accusation against her mother — and, unknowingly, when she was thrown headfirst into the pull once more.
Viktor was in that room. The scent of him, the feeling of his eyes on her, had nearly driven her insane.
It wasn’t a good look for anyone, least of all for a woman who knew better than to lose her cool in a room full of predators.
Camille cleared her throat and watched, thankful for the distraction, as a server came with Margot’s tea and coffee. When they’d bustled off again, she changed the subject. “I heard that you’ve been accepted as a junior healer at Solbourne General.”