Page 43 of Strange Familiar

He met her gaze steadily, not denying it. “At the moment, they don’t seem less fortunate, at all.”

Ah. That paused her breath a moment. “My father has persuaded me of the potential usefulness of a familiar, yes.” She watched his face, the shifting emotions, her heart aching. “Cillian, if House Elal is one of the conspirators against House Phel, as we both know is almost certainly true, we are now on opposite sides. I can’t assist with this.”

“What about being on the side of truth,” he demanded. “Don’t you want to be on the right side of history?”

“Those are relative concepts,” she replied, aware that she used her father’s reasoning. “Think about it, Cillian: if this information about familiars having the potential to become wizards comes out, it will upend the Convocation. It could cause all out war. Is that being on the ‘right’ side?”

“You’d rather we allow a deeply unjust, predatory social system to continue in the name of a surface peace?” he demanded in turn.

“I think it’s more than surface,” she countered. “We don’t have the raging and devastating wizard wars of long ago. Most of our citizens are prosperous and enjoy decent lives. The current balance has existed for a long time for a reason.”

“Because it’s built on the backs of familiars,” Cillian retorted. “People like your own sister who could be wizards if they hadn’t been stunted.”

“It introduces bias to use words like stunted. We don’t know that it’s not a natural process and that Anciela Phel’s discovery wasn’t flawed in some way. That’s why the committee wanted more research. What if this reversal or unblocking or whatever causes even more damage, like my dissolving of the bond did?”

“It would be worth it to find out,” Cillian insisted. “If there’s a way to liberate familiars from the restraints that make them second-class citizens, we owe it to them to make that possible.”

“Do we? I don’t see that we owe anyone anything. I certainly don’t. What you do is up to you.”

He gazed at her for a long, throbbing moment. “I feel like I don’t know you anymore.”

There was her opening. “You don’t,” she said baldly, steeling herself against his flinch, the hurt in his eyes. “Arguably you never did.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Cillian,” she said in a tone of infinite patience, not caring if it grated. All the better if it did. “We barely had a few days together. It was nice, but—”

“Nice?” he interrupted in a harsh voice. “I’m in love with you and I know you love me too.”

She forced herself to plow on. “I’m sorry to hurt you this way, but that’s not true. I don’t love you. I never did.”

“Another lie.”

“I’m sure it’s painful to have feelings for someone who doesn’t return them. That’s not something I can help though.” She gave him a regretful smile. “You don’t have the best record of judging women, after all.” A ruthlessly aimed thrust.

“You’re trying to drive me away again,” he said, the words certain, but worry threading through his voice. “I apologize that my grandmother sent you away and that I didn’t follow up. That’s on me. You’re absolutely right: I assumed that you left me, that you didn’t care and…”

He trailed off and she raised her brows to highlight the point, smiling in sympathy. “You knew, deep down that what we had was a… a fling of the moment. Transitory at heart.”

She reached out to pat his hand, to underscore her regret. He turned his at the last moment, surprisingly quick, and held hers in a fierce grip. “Tell me, Alise. Why do all your potential familiars look like me?”

“I don’t think they do.” She tugged at her trapped hand. “Let me go.”

“You know they do. Do me the bare courtesy of admitting that they look like me because of me.”

“If there’s a resemblance, then it’s my father’s doing. He thought that might help.”

“Help,” he echoed in a dark and musing tone. “Help with what—getting over me?”

She forced a laugh. He still didn’t let her go, staring into her eyes with more intensity than she could bear. “Cillian, let me go.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“I could make you.” Her wizardry could outpower his and they both knew it.

“You could,” he agreed. “I don’t think you will.”

“Cillian…” She made his name into a plea, her will eroding at the seductiveness of his touch. It had always been like this with him—the barest touch of hands, the lightest kiss, and the passion flared to life between them.

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