Season notes: violence, death, attempted murder, accusation of sexual assault
Jahlene stared at the closed door, Mattin’s last words ringing in her ears.
He had called her “Mistress.” She tried to tell herself it meant nothing. Just a word… But she knew better. She knew Mattin better.
Days ago she had stopped being able to taste the emotions around her. She didn’t know what he had been thinking, feeling. How could she know what he meant when she didn’t know what he felt?
She started pacing the room, trying to bring some semblance of sense to her thoughts. How dare he speak to her of glamourhai! How dare he rip open her old wounds and salt them? After everything she had done for him, for his sister, he couldn’t obey one simple order. She would… she would…
He called her “Mistress.” And she saw him again, months ago, perched on the edge of a chair, confusion and fear warring in his face, “I… it means that the lady is your owner… but you say it the way Father would say ‘my wife.’ Like she is…”
“Like she belongs to me as much as I belong to her,” Brit had said. “She is my mistress, and I am proud of my place in her life.”
“Yes. I can’t understand that. I don’t want to understand.”
Was it possible? Did Mattin—now—after everything between them, understand? Did he…
He had offered himself for glamourhai. He offered himself. Why? What in… did he mean it?
Her thoughts continued to spiral and in her pain and fear and need, she lost control of her glamour. Starved, and unable to find any other sustenance, her glamour turned on her.
She screamed and collapsed to the floor.
After going over everything that happened since Marta’s arrival, Brit and Cook’s suspicions were far from vague.
Brit, sitting on a bench now, leaned back and stretched. Cook got up and pulled his hidden flask out for a large swig. When he finished he tossed it to Brit.
Brit took a swallow and set the flask on the table.
“I’ll be honest, if it wasn’t for everything else, I’d likely believe the chit.”
Cook took that without a flinch. “We’ve had predators and rapists here before. Usually, Jahlene’s glamour is strong enough to sniff ‘em out. But there was… what was the bugger’s name… who managed to hide what he was from her and take the girls back to the woods for his games. Nearly a bloody year before any of ‘em were willing to speak up.”
Brit nodded. “If it wasn’t for the girl’s glamour, we’d have had a lot more problems, too.”
“There’s a reason nobles must have strong glamour.”
Brit grimaced. If the other fae were more like Jahlene…
“We’re getting distracted. We’ve no proof, but far too much coincidence. From the timing of when things started, to the way Marta has managed to stay everyone’s friend in the middle of more than half a dozen vicious feuds. Plus the way problems here seem… designed to make us more vulnerable to the shit Oeloff is pulling—like those damn weevils.”
It was Cook’s turn to nod. “But you’ve said you haven’t been comfortable with the girl from the beginning. Are you looking for reasons to pin this on her?”
That pulled Brit up short. “Are you arguing I should believe her?”
“No, but…”
“If we’re seeing conspiracy where there is none, I’ll apologize to the chit later, but I think we have enough to take to the mistress.”
Jahlene didn’t answer when Brit knocked on her door. He waited a few moments and knocked again. When there was still no answer, he opened the door and froze. Peering around him, Cook saw Jahlene crumpled in the middle of the room. She moaned, a lost, broken sound. Brit raced over to her and knelt by her side, checking for injuries or explanation. Cook, frozen in the doorway, stepped forward cautiously and squatted next to Brit.
Brit bent down and murmured in her ear, asking her to tell him what happened.
She clung to him but didn’t respond. Now that he was close enough, Cook could taste her glamour, and the storm of emotions encasing her.
“By Dannu. How long since she’s been in the glamourhame?”
Brit trembled beside him. “Over a month. I’d hoped she’d get enough from… from…” A hand wave took in the manor and all the disasters happening over the past month.
Cook shook his head and reached out to check Jahlene’s pulse. “She’s too strong. She’d never be able to feed her glamour that way.”
Brit groaned. “I knew it was bad. Didn’t realize… what can we do?”
“I’m trying to think… Strong emotion. She’s cannibalizing herself to feed her glamour. We need something strong enough to reach her.”
“I’m feeling pretty damned strongly right now!”
“Obviously not strongly enough.”
“Tell me something I don’t know!”
Something you don’t know, something you don’t know… fear had been a constant in the manor over the past month. The glamour was feeding on Jahlene’s own fear. Would her glamour even notice the fear swamping the two men? “She needs something other than fear. Something different, something her glamour will notice.”
“And we are supposed to do that, how? I don’t exactly feel like dancing at the moment!”
Cook bit his lip. He could think of one way to distract Brit—and himself. He closed his awareness to the broken woman on the floor. Focused on Brit, on the taste of him. On everything he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for… how many years? Not stopping to think, he placed a hand on Brit’s shoulder. “Come over here, Steward.”
Brit turned towards him. “Wha—”
“You can kill me later, Steward.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss onto the other man’s lips. He did his best to ignore Brit’s frozen shock and lose himself in the moment. A moment he would likely never get again.
When Brit began to move, coming out of his shock, Cook ended the kiss but tightened his grip on the other man. Beside them, the trembling fae stilled. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for longer than you would believe, you bloody fool.”
“Wha— what the hell is wrong with you?!” Brit was cute with his flushed cheeks and wide wandering eyes, too surprised and confused to be angry yet. Cook sighed; the anger would come soon enough. Be in the moment, fool.
“Do you have any idea what it is like to fall in love with someone who hates your very existence, Steward?” He let passion fill his voice, pushed aside the fear and grief—now was not the time. “Contemplate that, then answer your own question.”
“More.” A quick glance showed the whisper came from Jahlene, her face a mask of hunger. Her glamour was waking to something outside herself.
“You’re mad.” Brit shook him off. “You’re out of your mind! You… You…”
“More.” The whisper was louder this time. Loud enough Brit heard, even through his shock. He turned to Jahlene.
Cook grabbed Brit’s chin, forced Brit to meet his gaze. “Me, Steward. Look at me. I’ll kiss you again if I need to. Or would you prefer I be somewhat more forward?”
Brit froze. Cook swore he saw the thoughts racing across the man’s face. Finally, understanding dawned, and with a visible effort, the Steward let go of his mistress.
“Right now I want to smash your damn face in.” Brit shook his head but thankfully kept his fists at his sides.
“You’ll get your chance later, I’m sure. And I don’t expect you to post a notice in the town square or whatever humans do when they’ve an agreement. Damn it, do you think I’ve kept this secret from the whole damn manor for my health?” He couldn’t look at Brit. Couldn’t sit beside the man without reaching for him. He stood and took a few steps away. “You can hate me all the more for having the gall to find you an attractive, wonderful, impressive specimen of humanity. I’m not fool enough to expect anything else.”
“Not fool enough? You… you… you…” Brit was going insane. He stared at Cook, and possibly for the first time saw a person, and not just another damned fae. “You fae bastard…” A person who’d used his own passion and pain as a tool to help Jahlene, with a ruthless devotion Brit had to admire.
“Aye. Bastard I am. And never denied it. What of it? You’re a self-righteous fool who can’t see past the end of his own nose. You’re as willfully blind as Mattin, sure you know everything there is to know about fae and never a thought that you might be damned wrong!”
Brit wanted to deny any such thing, but given how his own cock was still semi-hard from that kiss… he had a sudden empathy for Mattin’s confused reaction to glamourhai. So he at least had something in common with the boy! Taking a deep breath he stood and took a step towards Cook. “You—”
He froze as Jahlene sat up. The hunger remained on her face, but she was once again in control of herself.
“Enough.”
Jahlene hurt. Dannu’s blessing she hurt. But for the first time in far too long, she tasted the emotions around her. Her glamour, still roused and barely leashed, devoured everything.
She allowed herself a moment to revel in having her glamour working again, even if it remained half out of control. Obviously, Brit had been right and she’d been an even bigger fool than she’d realized. She would be weeks recovering….
Focusing on her own foolishness, in part, was a way to avoid thinking about exactly what emotions she tasted from Brit and Cook. She had a harder time ignoring the bulge under Brit’s tunic.
She climbed to her feet and braced herself against the desk. Her thoughts moved slowly, like sap when it first woke in the spring. “Dannu’s breath, what a mess.”
Brit stood, “Are you alright, lass?”
Jahlene grimaced. “Better than I’ve been and well enough for now. Tell… tell Parlen to clear my schedule tomorrow. I’ll be spending most of the day in the glamourhame.”
“Yes, Mistress.” His grin was fit to break his face open.
Cook turned to face her. He said nothing, but she recognized the way he had hurt himself to save her from her foolishness. Thankfully, Brit seemed aware of it as well. Where that would lead… terrified them both. She reached out and Cook gave her his hand. She squeezed gently but said nothing. Sometimes no words were sufficient.
Speaking of nothing sufficient— “Have either of you seen Mattin?” What could she possibly offer him that would be sufficient? She hoped he was more forgiving than she had been.
“Not since he picked up your dinner.” Cook froze, shook his head. “The boy didn’t return it. Got so distracted I didn’t notice.”
Brit cursed and the last of the bulge between his legs disappeared, “Distracted is right. Mistress, whatever is going on with Mattin, we may have bigger problems.”
Jahlene threw her head back and laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Of course. I should have guessed. When do we not have problems?”
“When we don’t have a saboteur running around.”
That stopped her laughter cold. “What?”
“A saboteur,” Cook seconded. “That is what we were coming here to tell you.”
Jahlene blinked. “You were coming to me, together?”
Brit growled and loosened his shoulders before beginning to stalk the length of the room. She decided to take that, and his tart discomfort, as a “yes.”
“Tell me.”
They did.
“Mare’s breath!” she exploded when they finished. “Where is she now?”
“This time of night, she could be anywhere.”
“Find her. The sooner I can question her, the sooner we can know for sure.”
Cook bowed and left. Brit hesitated. “And Mattin?”
She took a deep breath.
“My screw up this time.” She remembered his parting words, and held to them. “If you see him or find out where he is… tell him I’m sorry, and I’d like to see him when I’m done with the current disaster. Don’t tell him about this. Not until I have answers.”
“Alright.”
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