At the corner of the Meister’s study, Nehelon halted, turned around, and let Gandrett catch up with him. He locked her to the spot with a cold gaze the second she stopped, in a movement like a shying cat, and said, “You don’t speak. You don’t even open your mouth. All you do is nod and bow until we leave this gods-damned place.”
Chapter Seven
Row after row after row of books. The Meister’s study had always fascinated her. All the knowledge tucked away onto feeble, aged pages. Today, her interest in them piqued. She noted every tear in the spines, every blemish in the leather, every cord that dangled down over the shelves, emerging from the books where they marked pages. Blue and purple and brown. The thundering of her heart hadn’t changed. And after she had almost bumped into the Fae male, she could hardly control the shaking in her body.
Where was Gandrett, the cunning fighter? What impossible corner of her mind had she withdrawn to?
The sound of the Meister clearing his throat called for her attention, and she set one weary step forward from the threshold where she had yielded. She bowed.
Nehelon, on the other hand, was already lounging in the cushioned chair across from the Meister, who sat at his carved desk, a pen between his slim fingers.
“Sit, Brayton,” the Meister ordered and, to Gandrett’s surprise, beckoned her to the vacant chair next to Nehelon’s. She swallowed for two reasons. First, never in her time at the priory had she been invited to sit in the Meister’s presence. Second, the chair was less than a foot from Nehelon’s. She couldn’t find it in her to sit so close to the predator.
It’s all right, she wanted to say, I can stand—or, I’d rather stand. But Nehelon shot her a look that promised violence if she didn’t obey. And for a moment, she considered whether it was worth it. If defying him and losing her life then and there wouldn’t be the better option. But her survival instinct was still in full blossom, and so she took a quick step toward where she’d been ordered and stiffly sat down.
“It has come to my attention,” the Meister opened, “that your particular skills would be of value to my friend Nehelon.” He smirked at the Fae warrior next to her, giving no hint he was aware that he understood in whose presence they sat. “We have agreed—” he gave Nehelon a nod, to which the Fae replied with a brief drop of his chin, “—that you will venture on a journey with Nehelon to assist him with a particular issue that has demanded utmost secrecy.” Another look was shared between the two men. Not men. One man and a male. Gandrett swallowed the words that were rising in her own throat, the scream for help that had been building in her lungs since that first moment she had spotted the ears. Her eyes darted to the right, examining Nehelon’s hair where the anatomical detail which had given away his secret lay. And once more, she entertained the thought of selling him out. Telling the Meister. Screaming it from the top of the citadel. Nehelon surely couldn’t take on the entire order at once: the priests and priestesses, the warriors, the water mages, and… she noted Nehelon’s raised eyebrow as if he was following her train of thought… and children. Most of the people here were children, and she couldn’t risk their lives. Not to save her own.
Nehelon’s eyebrow lowered. “I have informed Miss Brayton of our deal.” He took the opportunity to keep his reply short to get out as quickly as possible, Gandrett was sure, to not waste any time or give her any spare moment to escape blind panic and make up her mind.
“And what does Miss Brayton—” he spoke her name with bemusement, as if putting the little word Miss in front of it made it a well-told joke, “—have to say to the offer?”
She hadn’t been aware it was an offer, Gandrett wanted to say, but the muscles in Nehelon’s thighs tightened, and the hand resting on the cords of steel curled into a fist, demonstrating how easily he could crush her.
“Miss Brayton accepts,” he said with a voice as bright as the sunshine that filtered in through the stained glass windows. “To all the terms of the deal,” he added.
All the terms. Gandrett wished she knew what that meant other than her being a slave for however long Nehelon needed her for whatever task. But she didn’t dare ask. Not now when his deadly Fae hands were less than a foot from crushing her if he felt like it.
It made Gandrett’s hair stand, but as he shot her a warning look, her chin jerked down in a shaky nod.
“Then it’s settled,” the Meister clapped his hands once. “You will fare with Nehelon to the East of Sives where you will become part of Lord Tyrem’s—” he paused for a moment as if searching for the right words, “—special guard,” he finished with a smile. A smile that, especially when returned by Nehelon with an equally feral one, couldn’t mean anything good.
Gandrett felt herself inching toward the door in her chair but, at Nehelon’s attention, dropped her head again in a bow.
“And it will be an honor for Miss Brayton,” Nehelon added, his gaze now boring into hers as if saying, you know what will happen if you don’t play along.
“An honor, indeed,” she repeated and inclined her head at Nehelon, everything in her body burning with helpless rage and fear, and was eternally grateful for the years and years of practice that had gained her control over her features. At least control enough to be able to look like she meant what she was saying. And what she meant was that it would be an honor. An honor to give her own life in order to protect the innocent in this priory.
Nehelon didn’t speak as he led the way to the stables at a speed that made her stumble on the cobbles, and she wasn’t a clumsy maid but a trained fighter—even if she felt like one less and less as they put distance between them and the place where the Meister had taken a heavy-looking, coin-clinking, velvet bag from Nehelon’s hands as payment for the lost vessel to Vala.
One more year. It would have been only one more year, and she would have had a chance to get out. Even if still a lifelong member of the Order of Vala, but still, away from the desert, away from the limited space to move, the limited faces to greet and the questions of what else lay behind those barren lands.
One of the younger acolytes was waiting at the stables, a smile on his face, and informed Nehelon that the horses were ready, which triggered Nehelon to flash a smile and lead Gandrett right past the stables to the wooden bars behind, where horses were usually readied for messengers or the rare visitors of Everrun. It was something Gandrett had learned very soon—that no one came to Everrun without an agenda. There were no tourists here.
As Nehelon pointed at a well-fed bay horse, beckoning her to get on while he mounted his black mare, the bells of the citadel announced it was time for the daily prayers. When Gandrett glanced back over her shoulder, the boy at the stable doors was already running toward the sound as they all were. Everyone in the priory took part in the morning prayers. Even Nahir. And as Gandrett watched them all bustle into the citadel where they would fill up the temple rooms, her heart emptied. Her hope, slight and brittle as it might have been, crumbled. This—the timing of when to hold that meeting—ensured no one would be outside to witness how she and Nehelon vanished from the priory, and when the prayers were over, they would be long gone and too far to catch up. Especially with no one knowing where they were headed.