Page 77 of Twisted Bonds
“Here,” he murmurs, pressing on a seemingly random spine. A section of the wooden shelves creaks and gives way to darkness. He ushers me into the alcove with a gentle but firm nudge. “Stay quiet.”
The space is narrow, the scent of old paper and dust brushing against my senses. Tension clouds his features as the hidden door swings shut, cloaking me in shadows.
“Yes, I’m here,” Tairyn replies, straightening up and moving away as if the distance could erase the intimacy of moments ago. I can hear the subtle shift in his voice, the indifference sliding into place.
Who is he talking to? And how?
I press my eye to a tiny gap above the books, peering out into the study. A beautiful woman appears in the firelight. The pointy ears of the fae peaking through her long white hair. I hold in a gasp at her purple skin. My stomach twists with jealousy and fear. Am I the other woman?
She glares out, every inch a menacing figure of authority in the way she holds herself, yet there’s an air of civility about her that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Malicryn,” Tairyn greets, his tone even—too even. I gasp in my alcove and quickly cover my mouth. “To what do I owe this delightful surprise?”
“Merely checking on the state of affairs. Have you given any thought to our previous discussion?” Malicryn asks, her gaze sweeping the room with predatory precision.
“Nothing has changed. We are in the same predicament, you and I.” Tairyn taps his fingers against the desk, a frantic rhythm betraying his tension.
“Indeed.” Though her displeasure is clear even to me. “And where is the dear Vessel? Are you ready for me to retrieve her, or are you still playing your games?”
Tairyn is working with Malicryn. He agreed to turn me over to her.
“Two or three more days, and I’ll have what I need.” Tairyn’s words are casual, but the undercurrent of disdain is hard to miss. Two or three days until what? I want to scream at him.
“Good,” Malicryn drawls. “Let’s hope she’s not too taken with your eel-like charms. And what of the Fourth? Still a broken worm crawling around your dungeon?”
My heart hammers against my ribs, echoing the rhythm of Tairyn’s calculated words. Each syllable he exchanges with Malicryn is a chess piece moving across the board—a board where my friends and I are pawns at best. My mind whirls, attempting to stitch together the scraps of their conversation into a tapestry that reveals the full picture. But it’s like trying to read a book by the flicker of a dying candle.
“I assume so. I don’t make it a habit to go chat him up,” Tairyn replies smoothly. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I have matters to attend to.”
“Delicate operations require delicate handling,” Malicryn purrs. “Are you sure you’re up to the task? We wouldn’t want any mishaps.”
The subtext is clear. She doesn’t trust him, and for some reason that makes me even more nervous than if she did.
“Rest assured,” Tairyn says, his tone crisp like autumn leaves. “I’ve handled more fragile things than this.”
I stifle a laugh, an edge of hysteria threatening to bubble up. If only she knew just how ‘fragile’ the situation was, with me tucked away mere feet from him.
“Good,” Malicryn replies. “Because we can’t afford distractions. Not now.”
“Distractions.” Tairyn’s voice doesn’t waver. “They’ve been dealt with.”
“You seem confident,” Malicryn muses.
“Confidence comes with preparation,” Tairyn retorts, and I imagine his green eyes glinting with the challenge. “Something you of all people should appreciate.”
“Indeed,” Malicryn says, drawing out the word like a blade. “But overconfidence, dear Tairyn, is the harbinger of downfall.”
“Then it’s fortunate I’m merely confident,” Tairyn replies.
There’s a pause, and I hold my breath, willing myself to become part of the shadows. My mind races, piecing together the dangerous dance of words and wills occurring beyond my wooden refuge. Tairyn’s alliance with Malicryn — what does it truly involve? What plans have been set in motion, and at what cost?
Through the bonds, I tug on Bobble, Callum, and Sunder. Willing them to come to me. Praying they feel me.
“Very well,” Malicryn finally concedes. “Keep me updated. And don’t forget who you serve.”
“Never,” Tairyn says, and though I can’t see him, I feel the weight of his gaze as if it’s on me. “I serve Master Yurghen. Now and always.”
“It seems that we will.” The finality in Malicryn’s voice sends shivers down my spine.