Page 69 of Haunted

Do not see what I’m hiding. I am the master of deception. I fortify the wall around my heart-center.

She smiles, cutting me with the intensity.

My eyebrows quirk. I squeeze the handle of my butter knife. Control. I mentally review incantations to strengthen my will. What do you see, Niawen? My pulse levels off as my fight for control triumphs. She hasn’t peered inside my soul. She’s only glimpsed my grapple for composure.

“I can’t read a thing on your face,” she says.

I smile crookedly, knowing she lies. “Nothing?”

“Nothing. You’re more emrys than you thought.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There are two sides to the emrys coin. We sense everything, but we reveal nothing in our expressions. My father was good at that. He wore his cold, hard mask well.”

“Ah, but his cold, hard mask did show who he was, didn’t it?”

Irritation passes over her features. “I’ll concede if you’ll agree it’s impossible to hide emotion. Something is always evident.”

Victory. “So you did see something in my face.”

“Perhaps.”

“So which is it, Niawen?” I ask. “Are we looking at each other or in each other?”

“Why don’t you want me to discern you?”

“We don’t have to know everything about each other all at once.”

She blows a hair out of her eye. “You’re making this request on purpose, to frustrate me.”

I laugh. “Frustrate you? I couldn’t tell.”

“Why are we even discussing how we should perceive each other? We’d never have this topic of conversation where I’m from.” She balls up her napkin, ready to rise.

“You’re not in Gorlassar anymore. The same rules don’t apply.”

Niawen throws the napkin beside her plate. “So that brings the question, where are the other emrys, or should I say, half-emrys? Where are you from? I assume you’re not Siana’s sole descendent.”

I sigh. “I’m not. They’re a desert away in my homeland, Morvith.”

“I don’t understand? Why are you here by yourself?”

She needs answers or she won’t trust me. “I’m exiled.”

“What? Why?” She leans against the velvet back of her chair, waiting for the story.

I busy myself by cutting a piece of ham. “I don’t know if I should tell you.”

“Why not?”

I wiggle my eyebrows. “You’ll think I’m a rogue.”

She looks at me with disbelief.

I crack a grin. “She likes a rogue. Well then, I shall tell you.”

“You’re impossible.”

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