“Sorry,” I murmur, stepping into the apartment proper. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I quietly pad through the shadowy great room toward him, placing the candle on the far corner of the wide counter that stretches between the dining area and the kitchen. Within the kitchen, Elias sets the kettle aside. He was making himself tea. In the dark. Presumably, a mage who can wield light has amazing night vision. I don’t, though, hence my momentary confusion.
Beside and behind me, the trestle table is strewn with paperwork and electronic devices. After we tumbled free from the helicopter still perched on the reinforced roof, and once he had commandeered the space, Elias conducted individual meetings with Bolan and Sully, then got Christoph on the phone.
During that time, I had a much-needed shower, answered a few neglected text messages and emails, and ordered dinner. And three Savoy bond group contracts were quietly, but seemingly definitively, signed. With plans made for Christoph to come by in the early morning to sign the fourth. Or, more specifically, to add his signature to four of the five accepted contracts.
I’m not quite certain what I’m feeling about any of it — the paperwork and the life-altering promises passing between them all. Except … hopeful?
And … concerned about the fifth unsigned contract.
“You should be sleeping, Mirth,” Elias says, skirting the kitchen counter.
“You should be sleeping,” I say, trying to be playful. But now that my heart rate has returned to normal, most of my attention is back on the text messages from Greg. Both Tommy and Kitty are likely happily tucked in bed, I remind myself.
“What’s wrong?” Elias asks, crossing to me, close enough to touch but not actually touching. “Do you need anything? Where is Sully?”
“He’s sleeping —”
My phone buzzes in my hand. A new text from Greg appears on the screen.
>The tracking software has been disabled or blocked on the kids’ phone. The techs noticed during their regular late-evening ping.
Pure fear streaks through me. There is nothing at all logical about the extreme nature of that reaction, but —
“Mirth!” Elias’s hands close around my upper arms. “Tell me.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know anything yet. The kids …” Elias has no idea whom I’m talking about. “I … met a young boy at my last literacy charity event. He … he’s Tommy, and his sister is Kitty. I …”
I flush a little. The fact that I have the royal guard tracking children I’m not related to or responsible for isn’t something I should probably just blurt out. Not even to someone in the process of forming a bond group with the specific intent to woo me into joining them.
Elias gently takes my phone from me. He scans the texts, swiping his thumb over the screen. And I just … I let him.
I just need a moment.
The phone buzzes in Eli’s hand. His light-blue eyes flick over the screen to read it. “Last known location was their apartment. Greg already has the locals doing a drive-by.” He sets the phone back into my hand. Then, still holding that hand cradled in his own, he guides me over to the kitchen table. “The kids probably accidentally broke their phone.”
I slump into a chair. “Of course.” I exhale heavily, placing my phone face up on the table. “I’m overreacting.”
“I didn’t say that.” Elias steps to reach across the counter to pull the tea strainer from his mug, depositing it in the sink. “I don’t think that.” He places the steaming mug in front of me, then steps back around the table to settle in the seat he’s already claimed for himself.
I wrap my hands around the mug, inhaling deeply. I don’t drink tea. And Elias knows that. So I just accept the comforting gesture for what it is.
I watch him work for a few minutes. That too is calming. Tucked into this pocket of light within the dark of my beloved brother’s apartments. It feels … oddly right.
I lean forward far enough to push the unsipped tea toward Elias. He picks the mug up without looking away from whatever he’s typing on his laptop, taking a sip.
I tap the screen of my phone even though it would have lit up if there was a message.
“Are the children ours?” Elias asks, his tone even.
“Ours?” I echo stupidly.
He turns his head just enough to pin me with a sharp light-blue gaze. “Do they belong to you? To our bond group?”
“I … don’t …” My heart rate picks up a little, and another shiver of fear snakes down my spine. “They’re just children. I was concerned about something Tommy said about purple eyes … I have a responsibility as an awry.”
“Your reaction indicates it’s more than that.”
