Page 40 of Strange Familiar

“Well?” she prompted with considerable impatience. “You wanted this conversation so badly you cashed in an invaluable favor for it—though why now after all this time, I have no idea—so you might as well start talking.”

“Can we sit?” he asked gesturing to the nearby chairs and settee.

“I’d rather stand, thank you,” she bit out.

“I’d rather sit.” He picked a spot on the settee where he could see her. Thought about where to start. As many times as he’d imagined this moment, none had included this formal awkwardness, his mind going completely blank.

“I suppose there’s no time limit on this audience,” Alise commented drily, “but if we’re to spend it in silence, I’ll want more wine.”

“You never used to drink so heavily,” he commented.

“I didn’t used to need to,” she retorted, then flushed, clearly annoyed with herself for admitting that much. “Elal is famed for our wines,” she added defensively. “It’s a perk of being in the house of my birth.”

“Has it been very bad, Alise?” he asked softly, his heart aching for her. She was doing her best to drive him away again. She might succeed this time, but he wouldn’t go easily.

“What do you care?” she snapped, draining the last of her wine and casting about for more. When she saw there wasn’t any, she gripped the stem, ticking the glass back and forth like a pendulum.

“I care,” he told her. “I’ve always cared. You know that.”

“Do I? You have a funny way of showing it. Not one word in all this time.”

“My grandmother prevented me from communicating. She wouldn’t allow me to contact you, or anyone outside House Harahel. When she finally relented, I sent a message to you here at House Elal to tell you I wanted to visit. And then that I planned to. I imagine you didn’t receive it.”

She didn’t acknowledge that with even a blink, instead pouncing on something else. “About that, your grandmother. How is it that you somehow neglected to mention that she’s the head of House Harahel?”

“It was wrong of me not to tell you that, it’s true. I thought I had time to explain. I apologize.”

“Apology not accepted.” But some of the fire went out of her at his admission anyway.

“It never mattered to me, my grandmother’s rank.” he explained slowly, searching for the right words. “Harahel isn’t like other high houses. To my mind, she has always been simply my grandmother and I’m just another moderately talented librarian wizard. Her heading the house had no relevance most of the time.”

“Until an Elal scion has the temerity to arrive on her doorstep unannounced and uninvited, at which point she breathes fire as well as any high house head.”

“I apologize for that, too, Alise,” he said, pouring his earnest regret into the words. “I didn’t know she’d done that until just recently. It never occurred to me that she’d treat you so badly, that she’d force you to leave. I was as shocked to discover the truth as anyone.”

Alise gave him an exaggerated look of disbelief. “Then, what? You thought I just dropped you off and left? That you were on the brink of death from carrying that archive and that I’d nearly killed myself getting you to Harahel, in the midst of nowhere, and then went tra la, tra lay, I guess I’ll just go.” She widened her eyes as she took in his expression, then threw back her head in a bitter laugh. “Oh, you did think that. How galling.”

“I didn’t know—” he began, but she cut off his words.

“No, you didn’t know, but you assumed. I see now. You leapt to the conclusion that I’d just leave you, even after all we’d been through. That my word meant nothing to me, that our relationship meant nothing. You thought I was just another Szarina, that I’d gallivanted off without a note or a backward look now that you’d served your purpose.” She swigged from the empty wine glass, clearly forgetting she’d emptied it. Glared at the dregs. “Well, fuck you, Cillian. Fuck you for that!” She nearly screamed it, then hurled the glass at the stone fireplace.

She’d surprised them both and they stared together at the point of impact, as if expecting something more. Cillian slid her a careful glance. “I suppose it was your turn,” he commented, remembering how he’d thrown a plate at the wall in a similar fit of rage.

A high flush gracing her cheekbones, she folded her arms, wizard-black eyes snapping, the scent of her wine-red magic deepening to a scorching redolence. “It was more surprising coming from you,” she said like an accusation, “Lord Mild-Mannered Librarian.”

“We seem to bring out intense passions in one another,” he admitted. “I’d never done anything like that before.”

“This is a first for me,” she admitted on a sigh, her gaze resting on the fireplace in a bleak stare. “Cillian…” She let out another long breath. “Why are you here?”

“May I approach the bench?” he asked carefully, and she rolled her eyes at him.

“Fine, I’ll sit.” But she chose the other end of the settee, curling up like a cat with her back against the arm rest, drawing her knees up and resting her chin on them, eyes large and black in her drawn face. With the gorgeously embroidered and sparkling gown pooled around her and that wistful expression, she looked like a little girl playing dress-up—an impression only enhanced by the red stain on the bodice from her spill—and an analogy he’d never speak aloud as she’d no doubt hate it. But he wanted to pull her onto his lap and comfort her, knowing he couldn’t yet, not with that anger burning in her still. Instead he pulled up a knee and turned sideways to face her.

“I am here to rescue you,” he told her, well aware of how absurd and grandiose that sounded. But it was true and he felt saying anything else would be a prevarication.

Her lips parted and she shook her head slightly, breathing a laugh. “Always the white knight.”

“Guilty.” He searched for something more to say, to mitigate that. “But in complete sincerity. I know you’re not here of your own free will, Alise.”

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