12. Brett

Rosaline had made a roast for dinner.

It wasn't a bad thing, more a surprising one. I was sure the other clan members arriving home before us had warned her of what they knew had happened at the meeting. They couldn't tell her about the private council meetings where we'd discussed Clio's death, but they had at least told her I was alive, so she knew whatever had happened, they hadn't killed me.

More, they'd surely warned her why I was late in my return, and that Paris would be with us.

I'd worried she would see it as another interloper in her home, when the last one had tried to murder me and she'd been forced to take violent action that was diametrically opposed to her personality. I'd worried she'd be moving out when we arrived, unwilling to put up with such a horror a second time, and ready to leave me to my doom.

Instead, she had been cooking a roast, with potatoes and carrots and onions. Bread was rising on the windowsill, ready to be baked to go with it all. She had prepared to welcome Paris, even more happily than she had Clio before realizing that Clio had little interest in any of us.

Not that I thought Paris was going to be my doom, except that I was already proving incapable of saying no to him. Carry my trunks, he'd asked, and while he'd ended up helping Cassandra and Rosaline carry two of them inside to the bottom of the stairs, I'd lugged those two, as well as a third, up the stairs myself.

Owen hadn't said anything, but he'd lifted a judgmental brow at me, and all I'd been able to do was look away.

How could I explain without sounding ridiculous? I just... looked into those honey-warm eyes, and I couldn't say no.

It didn't bode well for any treaty negotiations, except, well... the problem was that there was little Nemeda needed, and I doubted any of it could be found in Urial. So what treaty could there be between us?

Oranges were the only thing Paris had mentioned interest in, and I didn't think Nestor would find it reasonable of me to send away wagons of oranges in exchange for more time with Paris. The Duck Clan were the ones who grew the oranges in Nemeda, and they were indeed delicious. If I were the king of a frozen land like Urial, I'd want them too. They were practically summer embodied in a fruit.

But that alone didn't give me an excuse to give them away.

I led Paris up to his room, opening the door and trying not to shrink away from the smell of it. It was exactly as I'd worried, like that perfume Clio had worn.

I shuddered. "Feel free to use or get rid of anything that's in the room. Sorry I didn't have a chance to clean it out before you got here, but we didn't know you were coming."

Rosaline had known, of course, and could have cleaned up, but I'd have never expected that from her. I didn't want her to ever be reminded of Clio, if she didn't have to be.

Paris walked into the room and promptly sneezed, then made a face. It took him less that a second to locate the perfume bottle, sitting on the vanity, along with a handful of other jars and bottles. He leaned over the grouping, looking at it, then shook his head and looked up at me. "Really? These are pretty expensive."

Somehow, I wasn't surprised. I waved it away. "You can offer them to the women in the village if you want, but we don't have that much use for that kind of thing here. The village ladies make their own moisturizers and elixirs, and the perfume"—he sneezed again, and I nodded—"yes, that's how we feel about it as well."

I hated to treat a dead woman's things as trash, but her father hadn't wanted them back. I'd offered to have her things returned to Eagle lands, and he'd acted as though I was offering him a bowl of stale piss. And the Hawk had never had any use for them. I didn't think ill of cosmetics, but the people in my clan liked to make their own, so they would know what they were putting on their skin. Owen's son Brandon had something like one of Clio's paint pots that he made from coal and lanolin to darken the skin around his eyes, and it made him look rather fetching.

Not that I was lusting after Owen's son. That would have been very strange. Though not technically related by blood, he was some combination of younger brother and son to me, and I couldn't see him as a romantic option.

But it was easy to imagine Paris wearing the stuff. How his perfect rich eyes would be luminous. Did people from Urial like their lovers in cosmetics? I had no idea.

Would I look ridiculous in it? Probably. I wasn't young enough for things like that. I was supposed to be settled, happy, and... not thinking about our new diplomat.

"It smells like supper will be done soon. Do you want help unpacking? Did you want your trunks in a different place? Not stacked?" What was I doing? Offering to move his trunks around to his liking?

He bit his lip and went to the closet. I winced, realizing what he'd find inside a moment before he whipped the door open. He blinked at the row of dresses inside.

"I'm sorry," I said, stepping inside, closer to the trunks, in case he was about to start yelling about how this was clearly someone else's room. "You can have a different room. This is just the nicest guest room, and I didn't want to offer you one still decorated for children, or?—"

"These things are—Their owner is no longer here?"

I swallowed hard and nodded, unable to look him in the eye. "She passed away. She—yes. She's gone and we didn't know what to do with her things. Her family doesn't want them. I asked. And I"—helplessly, I waved at the row of rich fabrics—"I have no idea what to do with it."

Paris's expression was inscrutable as he looked me over, then the clothes again. "It's okay. I can... I can pack them up. Maybe if no one wants them as they are, the fabric can be repurposed."

I must have been obvious in my relief, my shoulders slumping, and I nodded. "Anything you want. I'll take care of it if you want me to."

He waved me off, then turned to his trunks, hands on his hips and looking slightly more comfortable with his situation. That was odd. Was he putting up a strong front, or was my obvious discomfort making him realize how incredibly not frightening I was? He'd obviously been intimidated by me at first, and it would be good if he wasn't anymore.

Not that I wanted him too comfortable. I didn't want him to turn into Clio, giving everyone orders as he sat about and did nothing. And I didn't want him thinking he could take advantage of Nemeda in negotiations. But more than either of those things, I didn't want him to be afraid. Afraid was worse.

"If you could put this one at the end of the bed, that would be good," he said after a moment, motioning to the one on top.

Without hesitation, I hefted the thing to the end of the bed. It looked good there. Like it belonged with the room's decor. I turned back to him, awaiting further instruction.

It was strange. I hadn't taken orders from anyone, except maybe occasionally Rosalie, since my father had died. I'd never found the transition difficult. If I knew what needed to be done, and the Hawk Clan was always amenable to doing what needed to be done, then giving orders was a simple thing. People rarely took issue with a reasonable order that was within their capabilities.

But I had no idea what Paris's capabilities were. Not that I'd be giving a diplomat orders regardless, but it changed something in the way power flowed between us. I didn't know him yet, and that mattered.

He bit his lip, looking at the other three trunks, then sighed. "Could you... could you just spread them out a bit? So I can get into them all without moving them around more?"

He looked... defeated. Like he truly was ashamed of how much he'd brought with him. It was a lot, I wouldn't deny it. But also, how much would I have packed, if I'd been sent to another land? I might have tried to pack half my clan into trunks. I couldn't imagine how awful and lonely it would be, to be sent to Urial, so his position couldn't be any better than that.

I turned and set one trunk against the wall next to the door, then the next on the other side of the door. That spaced them out reasonably well, so he could have all four open at once if he wanted. "I can... I can send another up for you to put Clio's things into, if you'd like."

He looked up at me, and the expression on his face was both nervous and oddly sympathetic. "If you could, that would be excellent. No hurry, though. It's not like I'm going to unpack everything this minute."

I inclined my head, then backed out of the room. "If you need anything else—anything—just come downstairs and call. I'll be in the front office if you need me. You can see it from the bottom of the stairs. On the left."

He nodded, and I left him alone, hoping that this wasn't the worst thing to happen to the clan since the last time I'd left someone to unpack in that very room. Only time would tell.