Crescent (Book 1)

+ 33 +

The daggers aren't an entirely unwelcome gift. I stash one of the thin black blades beneath my bed, replacing the one I lost. The only thing that keeps me sane over the weeks is a routine. Training, planning the gala, sleeping fitfully only to wake up early and do it all over again.

Moira and I have come up with a lavish menu for the welcoming dinner already. Janice has doctored up an assortment of mini meringues for dessert just for the occasion, and ale will be served in the library for the ambassadors after. A meeting of which I'm not allowed to attend. Moira explained that such things are against tradition. Ladies don't discuss diplomatic affairs- nor do they do much of anything other than looking pretty.

I sigh, rubbing my temple as Moira's eyes catch mine from across the dining table.

"Saren tells me you're shifting in mere minutes now," she says the words casually, her eyes glued to where her quill meets paper. We often plan in the kitchen after training. It's more comfortable than anywhere Ceth or his advisors frequent upstairs- though not quieter.

Dishes clatter in the sink and the fire crackles loudly. Moira's eyes flicker toward the ring I twist on my hand again. I've been twisting it nervously all day, the beginning of a nasty habit, but she watches as the firelight plays on the square cut jewel. Her eyes dip back toward the paper when I catch her looking, and she starts again:

"Ceth found you wandering the grounds one morning. Said that you'd somehow escaped the guards and were in the woods." I haven't thought much about that night, but Moira knowing means that it's still on Ceth's mind. I advanced from shifting to blade-work a couple of weeks ago. He's yet to say anything about it, but I doubt that's what she's getting at.

"I haven't been sleeping," I admit. I know from the look pinching her face that she understands. "Not since..." The memory of Laura's neck snapping still reverberates in my mind. "Her name was Laura."

Moira sighs, the sound drawn out and tired. "Laura Yarbrough." My gaze lifts, and Moira nods before I even ask the question: How?

"Laura Yarbrough," I test the name, tucking it away in my memory. Cropped black hair and scared dark eyes. Small hands that shook when she grasped me.

"We don't know what realm she came from... but Ceth was able to get a name."

I'm not sure I want to know how he got it. My stomach already feels queasy enough. Moira glances at my ring for the millionth time, and I finally slide it off, handing it to her. "I'm not marrying him if that's what you're worried about."

Her brows knit together as she gently turns the gold about in her palm. "No. It's just that... I've seen this before."

"You have?"

She sets the ring down again. "It was his grandmother's. I've seen it in one of the vaults." For some reason, the fact surprises me. I didn't expect a family heirloom.

"He's selling the story, I guess." Guilt pools in my stomach at the sad look in her eyes, at the longing I know she still feels. I continue, almost too scared to admit it: "I can hardly be in the same room with him, let alone pretend to love him."

She quiets for a long moment, and her dark eyes brim with tears. The thought that maybe part of her still loves him feels almost palpable. Her voice is hoarse. "He's better with an audience. Easier to love."

Maybe a long time ago, he would have been. But it's hard to believe the same is true of the man I know today. "I hope so," I slide the cold metal over my finger just as the air vibrates around us. The stench of iron fills my nose, and when I turn, Nic is behind us, casually leaning against the entryway. He's dressed in his usual training leathers, but his hair is combed back as if he hasn't lifted a finger all day.