Page 42 of Fire Touched

Her slim frame shakes with soft laughter. ‘Killian.’ She draws back. ‘Thank you.’

I pry myself away from her cautiously. ‘What was that?’

‘It was a hug,’ Katherine says, a little sharply. ‘Surely you’re familiar with the concept.’

Okay, so she’s still mad at me. Fair. I lower my gaze, guilt roaring in me again. ‘Right. I should just…’ Get lost, really. Maybe there’s something I can do to help with this feast. I’m sure there’s cooking to be done, place setting, the like.

Elijah catches my arm. ‘Hey. You did good back there, you know. That could’ve spilled into a war, easily, and you found a way to stop it.’

I meet his gaze, searching, but he’s not one to make fun of me. He means what he’s saying. ‘Thanks,’ I murmur. My gaze lands on Carter, who’s noticeably pale. I would be too if I found out I’d dated (and slept with) my cousin. ‘Sorry about that…’

Carter shakes his head slightly. ‘Not your fault.’

The air between us is brittle. I might have taken a good step today, but it wasn’t enough. I literally broke something between them, not to mention any notion of trust within this group. I’m far from forgiven. ‘I’ll leave, then.’ I don’t bother asking. Instead, I follow the hubbub of chatter and movement into the alpha estate. I don’t know where this hall is that Verron mentioned, but I’d rather be useful for the next couple of hours, helping to set up, than make people I care about suffer my unwelcome presence.

I wish I had the nerve to take Katherine aside and… and just ask her if we’re going to be okay. To tell her I love her, and I did a really stupid thing, but I didn’t mean to hurt her.

But I don’t. And I have a pretty good idea about how jerkish that would sound, anyway. Now, I’m left with no choice but to do what everyone has been telling me all along. To trust that she’s mine, and that she chose me. That things won’t always be easy, but I have to try harder, and be patient.

I follow guards clad in forest-green until we’re through the alpha estate rooms I’ve grown familiar with, and realise I’ve never made it very far into this building. I come face to face with a set of large double wooden doors which stretch far up above my head.

Carved within the doors are intricate patterns of leaves, ivy and winding vines, painted green and gilded with accents of gold. The attention to detail is impressive. I reach out to brush a hand over the door.

‘I’d be careful, if I were you. If Ivy catches you touching that, you’ll be in trouble.’

I snap my hand back and turn at the familiar voice. Prescott smiles, his arms full, carrying a stack of boxes.

‘Who’s Ivy?’ I hold out my hands to offer my assistance.

Prescott hands me a couple of the boxes. ‘Oh. That’s right, you don’t know. She’s Verron’s daughter.’ He shoulders the doors open carefully, and I notice that the artful pattern starts a handspan from the door, allowing it to be opened and closed easily without the design being disturbed. He leads me into what I can only assume is the hall.

My mouth parts, taking it all in. The room is grander than any I’ve ever seen. It could easily fit hundreds of people. There’s a long table at the back, raised on a platform, with ornately carved wooden chairs fit for royalty set behind them. Then several long tables for others.

‘I didn’t know he had a daughter.’ I follow Prescott and set the boxes down.

Prescott inclines his head. ‘Yeah, she’s a quiet one. Keeps to herself.’

I frown. ‘We’ve been here for weeks now, and no one’s even mentioned her.’

Prescott winces. ‘Just—shh, okay? I’ll explain later.’ He looks around. ‘The others didn’t join you?’

I meet his gaze. ‘I, uh—no. I… made a mistake. I guess I’m paying for it.’

‘Hmm. Well, we all make mistakes. We’d appreciate the help if you’d like to lend a hand?’

I stare out at the vast expanse of the hall, and it occurs to me that my time in Terran has only exposed me to a fraction of the people, their lives here. I could have led them all to slaughter today, and it’s beginning to sink in just how many people that would affect. ‘Yeah. Of course.’

For the next three hours, I wade in the boredom of setting up place settings, polishing cutlery, and folding napkins. I’ve never done things like this before, but Prescott takes the time to show me how to do each task before expecting me to complete it.

The hall is abuzz with noise, chatter and movement, but no one approaches me.

I’m the only redhead in the hall, sticking out like a sore, fiery red thumb. The looks I get from people range from contempt, distrust, annoyance and resentment, to curious and surprised.

My shoulders hunch lower the longer I’m here. I guess I get to pick which unwelcoming crowd I surround myself with.

Every now and then, Prescott pats me on the shoulder, offers me a drink or a bite to eat, and sometimes helps me with what I’m doing. He seems to be running the whole show.

Verron appears at a side-entrance, head bent low, talking animatedly with someone. Prescott is a few tables away, instructing someone how to set out the food and flowers on the tables. Interest piqued, I strain my ears to listen.

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