Page 46 of The Duke and the Disciple
Imryll’s refusal the second time was tighter, more harried. Aesylt slowly settled into her seat, but she didn’t take her eyes off her sister-in-law.
The drums and chanting escalated, loudening. The windows rattled.
Aesylt’s fingers traveled to her neck.
Rahn’s hand twitched against his leg. He clenched it into a fist before he did something errant, like allow it to migrate from his leg to hers in an imprudent attempt at comfort.
“Eat,” Drazhan commanded, a lower, raspier edge to his tone. He dug deep for a throat clearing. “Duchess, so Tasmin left us a day early?”
It wasn’t a question, no matter how he’d posed it. Drazhan had been heavily involved in her protection and transport out of Witchwood Cross.
“Mm? Oh, yes, she...” Teleria glanced across the table at Rahn, then turned toward Imryll. “She felt it best, under the circumstances. Didn’t want to be another person for you to waste precious guards on, and?—”
Aleksy’s sharp wail cut her off.
“Well, she just thought it best.”
“It’s not a waste,” Drazhan replied. “But she’s free to do as she pleases.”
Imryll’s eyes were shot with red as she passed her chin softly along her son’s head. Tasmin hadn’t said good-bye to anyone except Teleria. And while there might have been some truth to Teleria’s excuse, it wasn’t the whole truth.
Aesylt’s cold treatment of Rahn was related, he suspected, for as little sense as it made. His relationship with Tasmin was his business, and so was their argument earlier that afternoon.
A visceral, violent new song kicked off amid the sonorous humming. Teleria startled in her chair, mumbling an embarrassed apology. “Of course,” she replied, nodding at her untouched food. Her spoon hovered above her plate.
Rahn turned only slightly toward Aesylt, but it was enough for her to return the tight, proud lift to her chin. Tension rippled down her lean neck, and he couldn’t strike the horrible image from his mind of the purple swell in her flesh that night. The bluish tint to her lips as she’d struggled to stay conscious.
He repressed a sigh and regarded the food on his plate. Earlier he’d been ravenous, but all semblance of appetite had fled with the drumming and chanting. Imryll’s plain fear, Teleria’s jumpiness, and the unusual crack in Drazhan’s steel nerves turned his empty belly.
Aesylt stabbed a tuber with her knife and slid it onto her spoon. She jabbed it into her mouth and chewed. A sour look flashed on her face but she persisted, her nose curling as she forced the food down her throat. Her arm shot out to her mug of ale, but she hesitated before sliding both hands under the table instead.
Rahn’s pulse throbbed in time with the menacing beat. Sweat peppered his temples. Was Drazhan really not going to address what was going on outside? Everyone at the table was falling apart with each shift in tempo as it inched unmistakably closer.
Aesylt sucked in a sharp breath when her mug rattled.
Rahn’s words caught before he managed them. “Drazhan, are we not going to speak of this?” Rahn pointed a hand toward the windows. “What’s happeningout there?”
“I’m aware.” Drazhan’s jawline could have chipped diamonds.
Rahn flipped his attention to Aesylt, incredulous, but her stare was as intense as her brother’s. She pointed hers at the table’s centerpiece, a solitary winter lily already wilting in its modest vase.
Imryll shifted Aleksy to her other shoulder. “Drazhan met with Eskeragaintoday. It didn’t go well.”
“Imryll.” Drazhan turned toward her with an aggressive blink.
“We don’t keep secrets in this house when they belong to everyone,” Imryll said smoothly. “And your intimidation has exactly one effect on me, so I suggest saving it for a more suitable occasion than the supper table.”
“Disgusting,” Aesylt muttered, but she was still studying the dying lily with a glazed look. Rahn couldn’t define why that unsettled him the most, even more than the drums and chants, but his sense of danger was tuned specifically for her. Everything inside of him was screaming to getherout of the keep, out of the Cross. “Met with Esker... Was that before or afterwemet, Draz?”
Imryll responded when Drazhan didn’t. “After, Aes.”
Drazhan’s mouth curled. “We’ll discuss it later?—”
Aesylt shot out of her seat. “No, Drazhan, we’ll discuss itnow. It must have involved me for you to be so cagey. Did he bring up the prospect of forcing me into a marriage with Marek again?”
Drazhan’s shoulders rose and fell in strained, emphatic breaths. “Can we not enjoy a meal as a family? Is that an impossible ask?”
Rahn squeezed the edge of the table in his hands. “Marek?” He choked on the word but forced himself to say it again, to make Drazhan’s revelation real so they could destroy it in the next breath. “MarekBarynov? There is no fucking way that’s happening.”
