A Girl in Black and White (Alyria 2)

“Yes, because imaginary flames terrify me,” he said dryly.

“Don’t say that in front of my grandmother . . .” I muttered, my eyes concerned for his well-being if he so much as questioned the Holy Book. “Then what, pray tell, brought you all the way here?”

He rested his arm on the back of the chaise. “Wanted to see if it was really you, myself.”

“Ah, the sniffing thing,” I mused, twirling the wine in my glass. “Do I add up then? Weston didn’t need to smell me to realize it was me.”

“Weston spent months with you, I did not.”

“Don’t lie, Roldan. You watched me from the bushes.”

Annoyance flickered in his eyes, and amusement bubbled inside me.

“How’s your daughter?” I asked.

His gaze hardened a bit. It was only a casual remark, but I bet when an enemy made ‘casual remarks’ they weren’t meant to be so.

“I heard you’re teaching her to be a heartless killer. Just. Like. You.” I ended on a sweet tone.

He lifted a shoulder indifferently. “Comes with the territory.”

I eyed him over my cup as I took a sip of wine. “Ah, yes. The Titan territory. Charming.”

There was a moment of silence, the kind of silence that builds when two people have no idea what to say to each other. I thought Roldan had indeed something to say, he was only biding his time.

He broke the quiet. “I think I know why you want to stay in the city.”

My interest piqued. “Oh, yea?”

“No one really knows how a Sisterhood works. Maybe you don’t even know yet.”

Annoyance flared in my stomach. He was correct: my knowledge of the Sisterhood was the basics. I had no idea what we did, who we did it for, and what motivated us. What I knew, was that I would learn more once I was sworn in. I imagined I could leave if I chose to go dark at all times, but then I would only be a slave to something different. My frustration at the lack of information built an annoying structure of unanswered questions in my mind.

“I don’t think you can leave the Sisterhood, maybe you are searching for a way out.”

“Oh . . . such intellect,” I taunted, the darker part of me seeming to form my words, growing agitated that I was stuck, trapped by this order. “Wasn’t expecting it. You appear as more muscle than sense.”

His jaw ticked as he casually glanced around the room as if he were just now noticing it was a brothel. “And you more whoring wench than witch. The place fits you.”

I smiled sweetly like he’d just complimented me. “What is it? The pouty lips?”

“Something like that.”

“You know, you might have been my favorite brother if you hadn’t killed me.”

“If I had just kidnapped you instead?” he said, dark amusement pulling on his lips.

I frowned, twirling my wine glass. It did sound silly, didn’t it? Blame it on my grandmother. She’s the one who made this story.

I got to my feet, moving to stand in front of the fountain. The air was hot and sweltering and oppressive, so much so that a slight breeze would do wonders. Too bad I couldn’t seem to force a little wind; whatever changes I could do to the weather only seemed to happen without my control.

I heard Roldan set his glass on the table before coming to stand beside me.

Just to appease the tense atmosphere, we both regarded the woman pouring water in the fountain as if she were the newest masterpiece by some artistic scholar. Silence, and the memory of his blood-stained hands were wedged, bluntly so, in the foot of space between us.

The fact that, even in this state, my body still tensed in fear as he stood inches from me, made a dark rush of hatred burn through me. “Roldan, what do you want?”

He lifted a shoulder. “The seal. I want it open.”