Not like she was brave enough to ask. She was still a halvsie. She couldn’t raise a fuss yet. She couldn’t ask questions that got squints and tight shoulders. Not yet.
“Then there are the wolves.” The Second leaned back and rested his arms on the armrests, a sign he was settling in for a longish visit. It struck her that she’d been sending the wrong messages all day. “Their synchronicity is…”
He let his body language finish the sentence for him, leaving Charity in the dark.
“Translate?” she whispered to Devon.
“Spellbinding,” he supplied.
“And it is something we can learn from.” Her father shifted, and Charity was too tired to keep trying to read his cues. She leaned against Devon’s arm. Her father saw it—he saw everything—and smiled benignly. “Forgive me. I forget that the human lands have a much more…vocal way of communicating. Why, I was scarcely understood when I was there. My dearest—” Affection took over his features, and an answering warmth filled Charity’s middle. It had come as a relief to hear he’d genuinely loved her mother—that he still loved her. “Your mother, I mean. She had to speak for me half the time. I’ll never forget. She always said, ‘Use your words, darling.’”
Andy laughed, and his shoulders lost their tension again. He never had been good with authority figures, but clearly he was a little more relaxed around Charity’s father. “That sounds like something Charity would say.”
“Yes.” Her dad gave her a fond look. “They have similar mannerisms. Sometimes I am transported to the past.” Sadness took over his expression. “I wonder how different things might have been had I stayed just one more month. I regret leaving, now more than ever.”
“It sounds like you couldn’t have known,” Charity said, shrugging it away. This talk of the past made her unbearably uncomfortable. She wanted a fresh start.
“Yes, of course,” her father said, thankfully reading between the lines. Or he merely read her body language, which was probably broadcasting her feelings. “As I was saying, I am exceptionally impressed with the Wolf Shifters’ synchronicity. They move together with a sort of…flowing grace. Halvor agrees, though he is reluctant to admit we could learn something from another magical species.” The Second laughed as though that were a great joke. “They are as we strive to be, and I am not too arrogant to admit it. It has given us something to think about.”
He nodded slightly to Devon, who rubbed his thumb along Charity’s finger, his version of elated. Charity stopped herself from beaming in pride—she’d ruin Devon’s confident nonchalance.
“Now. Charity. There is something I must speak with you about.” The Second—her dad! When would she start thinking of him as her father?—paused for a moment, and Andy leaned forward to get up. Devon looked over at her.
Ah, apparently her father was asking to speak with her alone. She barely stopped herself from groaning. That meant more lessons in business, or etiquette, or some other thing she didn’t feel like learning. When did the workday end around here?
“Andy, why don’t you get us some tea?” the Second said. “Devon, would you mind popping outside and asking Halvor to arrange snacks for two more?”
Andy rose without a customary “yup!” Devon squeezed Charity’s hand before stepping outside.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Despite the fact that it’s against custom,” the Second said once they were alone, “I am willing to allow your friends to stay, provided you won’t be embarrassed…”
He was communicating without words again. She rubbed her temple. “You probably need them here just to translate half of your silences.”
He laughed. “Use your words,” he murmured. “Quite right, yes.”
Andy stuck his head from around the corner too soon for him to have finished his task.
“What kind of tea are we thinking?” Andy asked in a small voice unlike him. “There are…like, eight hundred kinds.”
“Oh, something floral, I should think,” the Second said loftily. “A day like today calls for it.”
“Is today somehow different from other days?” Charity asked.
“Of course. You’ll see the changes, in time. It’s a lovely early summer day. The most fragrant of flowers bloom at this time of year. I am in high demand.”
“Right. I remember, because you’re the village gardener.”
“The gardening architect, we call it. I design and implement the natural places within the village, a skill set I am most proficient at, as I said. The actual planting and day-to-day management of the gardens are left to those with lesser, though still incredibly useful, skill sets.” He paused as Devon returned and reclaimed his seat. “I was blessed to have a skill in such high demand. I mean…everyone needs gardens! What would we do without a place to sit and reflect?”
Charity nodded politely as Andy returned with a porcelain tea set, elegant blue flowers crawling up the sides of the cups. He set it on the coffee table, then stared at it helplessly.
“Maybe you would be more comfortable asking Kairi or Hallen to come in and pour?” the Second suggested.
“I’ll ask Kairi,” Andy said, heading for the door.
The Second—her dad—refocused on Charity. “And that is what I wished to speak with you of.” He paused again.
“He’s wondering if you’re comfortable sharing confidences with me and Andy,” Devon murmured.
“Oh. Yes, it’s fine,” she said as Andy re-entered, followed by a delighted Kairi.
“Now, to gain your title of Third Arcana of the Flush,” the Second began, “you must prove your rightful place. As we discussed earlier today, it is widely agreed that your quest has already been established.”
A tingle of fear worked up Charity’s spine. She hadn’t known what had shocked her more, that the hallucination she’d had in the dingy hotel suite was related to her “quest,” and apparently a glimpse at her future, or that the crazy woman with red hair had seen the same thing and told everyone about it before they’d even met Charity. She’d had the details perfect, even down to the blurry people to the right and left.
The whole idea was ludicrous. Charity leading Roger into battle? Charity deciding the victor? She’d only ever looked out for herself, and now she was supposed to stand at the head of an army of shifters and fae? Not likely.
The only thing that stopped her from discounting the whole thing was Vlad. It seemed inevitable that she would face him again in battle. And apparently Lucifer was after her, too. What she’d thought was another hallucination—her fighting demons in a beautiful field—had apparently happened. Devon had given her the highlights, and although he’d been strangely tight-lipped about the whole confrontation, she’d gotten the gist. Lucifer was trying to drag her down to the underworld for a meeting. Yeah, right. Now that she was actually lucid, she wouldn’t mind another crack at either of them.
Apparently, if her father and the Red Nutter could be believed, she’d get that chance. Though the First had seemed dismissive of the whole thing.
“The Red Prophet has defined your quest as life-altering. She is convinced it will affect us all, even if my mother questions the validity. If you complete it successfully…” His chest rose, and he beamed. That, she didn’t need any help interpreting. It meant he expected great things. “But if you do not, your right to the title Third Arcana of the Flush will be revoked, and you will be held in shame.”
“Right. So…no pressure,” she mumbled.
“None at all.” He smiled at her, not picking up on the sarcasm. “You have all of our people behind you. We will not let you fail.”
Devon squeezed her hand, and she lowered her suddenly burning face. She had no idea why that sentiment should embarrass her when it felt so good to hear.
“A proficiency in fighting is also required of any Arcana,” her father said. He raised his hands in triumph. “And you have already passed. That is exemplary for one so young. So far, your place is assured. There is just one more thing.”
“This is the sticky part,” Devon murmured, translating a silent message Charity hadn’t even noticed.
“Every person of status in our humble little village has a skill set to benefit the people as a whole. It is a skill set that sets an individual apart. That defines them.” Her father’s smile was gentle. “I know your skill set will be highly applauded.”
She frowned. “What skill set would that be?”
“That’s what he’s here to find out,” Devon whispered, taking a cup of tea from Kairi—the steeping and adding of random embellishments made pouring tea a sort of event.
Charity took her own cup, worry eating through her. “Well…I’ve always only excelled at fighting.”
“You’re an excellent student,” Devon said. “You made straight A’s this last semester.”
“Oh, that is something. A scholar.” The Second sipped his tea, his eyebrows pinched. Charity didn’t need translating to know that he was not overly ecstatic at the prospect.
She searched her brain for anything domestic or natural she did, since that seemed to be what these people were into. Flowers and painting and needlepoint—none of her schooling had ever prepared her for this stuff. Metal shop, wood shop, sewing—those courses had all been canceled due to lack of funding. At college, she was studying chemical engineering with a minor in computer science, something that would have set her up for lots of job opportunities with good paychecks in the Brink, but not something that could be applied in this setting. They probably didn’t even know what computers were.
“You’re an excellent cook,” Andy offered. “Something I am reminded of both because I’m hungry, and this place could use you. They don’t make plants taste nearly as good as you do, Charity. And the meat? A little ketchup, please. I need some flavor. Only, they don’t have ketchup!” Andy stilled. He dropped his head. “No offense.”
“They have people to cook. They don’t need—”
“Cooking, did you say?” The Second scrutinized her. “Yes, your mother did outstanding things in the kitchen, I remember. Why didn’t I think of it? Of course she would’ve passed on her mastery to her daughter, as my father passed his skill set on to me. Silly of me not to remember. Yes, that will do nicely. I was but a boy when our master culinary designer passed. We lost him early, sadly, and his excellence has not since been matched.”
“I mean, I’m all right.” Charity shrugged. “I’m sure I’m not…” But she couldn’t finish that sentence. She was sure she was better than whoever had been cooking for her. Even without spices, the food should have had more flavor, but almost every dish had been overcooked to the point of being mushy.
“Yes, fantastic.” The Second sipped his tea, and Kairi excused herself back outside. “Our annual cooking competition was disrupted when my assistant and his wife had an argument get out of control and broke many of the tables. Our master furniture worker is busy with new tables. He should be finished soon. I can always hurry him up. Let’s have you enter the competition. That will be a nice way for you to win your place.”
Charity’s eyes widened, and she swallowed. What if she couldn’t deliver? What if she embarrassed herself in front of everyone? What if she got so annoyed that they were worrying about tables and cooking and gardens, instead of what Vlad had said about what the elves were doing to people, that she accidentally kicked someone in the face? She still wasn’t exactly stable; there was no telling what effect stress would have.
Devon squeezed her hand and bumped her shoulder with his. “You’ll be fine. You’ll win, hands-down.”
Andy raised his hand. “I’ll taste-test.”
Charity took another sip of tea to hide her thought process, letting the flavors delicately flow over her tongue. As she pulled the elegant cup away from her mouth, she stared down at the light brown beverage.
An idea sparked.
Suddenly, she knew exactly how to make an impression. She hoped it was enough to solidify her place here.
She also hoped that those elves or demons didn’t push into the Flush, grab her away from the battle ignorant village, and render all of this useless.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“All I’m saying is, they have knives, made with metal, so why don’t they have bedframes?” Andy paused and gave Rod a poignant look. “Right?”
He’d seen Charity’s super-comfortable house two days ago, and she’d certainly had a bedframe. Of course, she lived in what was clearly the nice part of town. Since then, he’d barely seen her. The Arcana were keeping her incredibly busy, giving her etiquette tutoring, fighting training, and now monitoring her every move regarding this cooking thing. Without coming out and saying it, they had impressed upon Charity the severity of her failing, which Devon said was only part of what was playing hell on Charity’s nerves. The other part she apparently shrugged off whenever he asked. It was anyone’s guess what that could be. Something else was bothering her, though; Devon said that much was clear. Something about this setup, or her status, or these people wasn’t jibing with her, but damned if she’d say what. It was annoying Devon something awful, and annoying the pack in turn, since it put Devon in a terrible mood.
“Visitors don’t need to have digs as nice as Charity’s, but a bedframe would be nice,” Andy said.
This place was getting to him. The formality and underlying hostility drove him nuts. He’d even stopped seeing the fae girls. Apparently, screwing a shifter was some sort of sexual taboo. Even if he had a great night with one of them, the next day she acted like she’d never seen him before. It was screwed up.
Something was definitely up with these people. They were cool and normal when it was one on one, or on the battle yard, but within that village, no go. It was like someone had spray-painted has a contagious disease on all the shifters and none of the fae wanted to catch it.
“I don’t think they like visitors,” Macy said, standing next to Rod in the communal kitchen, watching him chop something resembling a carrot on steroids. Sorrow lined her features and bent her body. They’d all taken Dillon’s passing hard, but Macy had been hit the hardest. She spent a lot of time by herself lately, walking around the village with Penny and Emery, or beating heads on the “battlefield.”
Thankfully, after the fae boys heard of her connection to Dillon, they left her alone. Well, unless they wanted to incite her rage. And some of them did. Those usually ended up with the healer. The onlookers had smiles as the douche was carried away.
“That’s an understatement,” Rod said to Macy. “Has Devon said how long we’re staying?”
“He’s not leaving without Charity,” Yasmine said from beside the window. She was the only woman who’d partaken in the fae boys. Her interest had lasted exactly one day. She’d figured out early on why they wanted her, and it wasn’t for her beauty. Turned out, she didn’t like being a taboo conquest any more than Andy did.
She’d called Andy an idiot for taking so long to realize it.
“Are you saying he’s going to stay?” Macy asked. Any hint of hostility she might’ve felt toward Yasmine had completely dried up. Yasmine had been Macy’s shoulder to cry on most nights. Andy had tried to help—so had Rod—but something about a crying woman heaving against him made Andy get a hard-on, and that got awkward real quick, because this place’s stupid pants and loose underwear showed everything off. Not everyone was as confident as Steve.
“Charity is going to ace that cooking thing, and then they’ll welcome her in,” Rod said. “These people can’t cook for shit. As soon as she gets the green light, she’ll want to stay. Bet you anything.”
“Why wouldn’t she?” Yasmine asked. “She’s royalty. Real, honest-to-God royalty. Have you seen how the people treat her? They love her. They fawn all over her, halvsie or not. But Devon would never get the grandmother’s approval. Hallen is Charity’s intended match—”
The door swung open, admitting a tired Penny, followed by an aloof Emery. If it bothered Emery to be largely ignored by the fae, he
’d never let on. Andy almost wondered if he preferred it.
“What do you mean, Hallen is Charity’s intended match?” Macy asked, turning to face Yasmine. Rod stood between them.
“Oh yes, I heard that just today,” Penny said, dropping a pile of rocks on the very little surface space this place had.
“Do you mind?” Andy asked, pointing. “This is my tiny cabin. Keep your rocks in your own tiny cabin.”
“They’re power stones. All of them!” Penny beamed at them. “They basically shouted to me from across that field with all the people fighting. I’ll tell you something, Reagan would give her left arm to stroll through this place. She’d be tickled by their attempts to ignore her. She’d bring the battlefield to the center of their serenity circle, or whatever it is they do in the center green.”
“We need to put that on our bucket list,” Emery said. “Invite Reagan to the Flush to raise hell.”
Penny laughed with glee. “Eventually she’ll probably bust through the elves to get to us. She has to be going stir-crazy without trouble to find and then throw me into.”
“Sorry…you were saying that you heard Hallen is intended for Charity?” Andy reminded her. Penny could get lost on the thought train and never return.
“Oh yeah. I was sitting in someone’s front yard, analyzing a new plant I’d found, when I heard someone talking about it. No one closes their windows here. You’d think they would want a little privacy. Anyway, they think he’s a perfect fit because he’s from a high-status family, has a great skill set, and has proven himself on the battlefield. They didn’t say who he was fighting against, but I found it pretty surprising, since he hesitated with a kill shot when going after those demons the other week…”
She let that comment trail off, although Andy was pretty sure she’d voiced what all of them were thinking. Hallen was a coward, and worse, he was a stuck-up prick.
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