34. Brett

Rosaline was setting the table for lunch when I came back into the dining room, and Paris was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, I had a horrible notion that he'd simply flown away, abandoned us because of how we'd left him in the dark instead of telling him everything, but I hadn't even managed to turn to the window, to see if it hung open, before a light tread on the stairs behind me caught my attention.

That, there, at the top of the stairs, was Paris. He wasn't gone. Hadn't flown the coop—at least not yet—and given up on us.

On me.

I rushed to meet him at the bottom of the stairs, snatching up his hand, then realizing he might not want me touching him, and dropping it just as fast. "Sorry. I don't mean to—to crowd you. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you. At first it was just how we treat everyone not from Nemeda, and then you were sick and we didn't know if I'd killed you, and I—I failed you. I'm so sorry."

Looking more than a little like his bird, Paris blinked at me, owlishly, for a moment, before Rosaline called, "Lunch, everyone. Come sit down."

She was worried about me, obviously. It was okay. I was worried about her too. And Orestes. But mostly, I was worried about Paris.

Still, it wouldn't do to worry her more, so I held out my arm to Paris, like he was someone I was inviting to dance. For a second, I held my breath. He gave me the weakest smile, forced and sad, and took my arm so lightly I almost couldn't feel the pressure.

Still, I took it like it was an enthusiastic response, leading him to a seat and pulling the chair out for him, making sure he was seated before I found my own spot, nearest to his.

The gifts had been moved, piled neatly onto the sideboard where the family's tea set was usually on display. An ancient Crane-made set, ironically. An iron pot with a raised fish swimming along one side, his scales and eyes and fins in perfect relief, brushed with gold over the black of the pot, and a matching set of a dozen small rounded cups.

I didn't have time to worry about impending war, though, and while my people might be killed en masse because of it, a big, selfish part of myself was more worried about Paris. About whether I could ever make things up to him.

Rosaline served lunch, a lovely chicken with rice from the eastern wetlands and sauce made with oranges from the same area. It was delicious, as her cooking always was, and Paris, while he started out picking at it, quickly devoured every speck and found himself staring in shock at the bottom of his bowl.

Rosie snatched it up and said she'd go get him more just as Orestes finally made his way into the dining room, and she nodded to him. "And some for you."

He gave her a bright smile and slumped into a chair on the other side of Paris. He held up a small, clothbound book, and looked at Paris. "You read this, you said?"

Paris ducked his head and flushed scarlet, but nodded.

Orestes gave his own despondent sigh. "I... I feel as though I should apologize. I want to say the entire Eagle Clan isn't like this, but"—he looked to me, meeting my gaze with clear pain in his eyes—"Brett of all people would recognize that for the lie it is. I left my clan when I crested. Went to the wall, because almost all young do. But then I stayed there. Because as long as I can remember, my clan has been as poisonous as this."

I glanced down at the book, then raised an eyebrow at Orestes, who sighed. He dropped the book in the middle of the table. "Clio's journal. It's... it's horrible. She wasn't the sister I grew up with any longer. We both swore we would escape, but it seems that by the time she crested, she'd changed her mind. Decided that our father's duplicity and lies were the right way to live." He reached into his belt and pulled out a dagger. "And it seems my father is trying to buy your murder. I came here to end this, but I don't think I can, anymore. I think my father will see you dead and steal the Hawk's lands, or he'll die trying."

That was fucking horrifying. He didn't further explain, but the way Paris stared at the dagger for a moment, then his gaze skittered away, I could make some guesses. Orestes had to have gotten the book and dagger somewhere.

Part of me wanted to ask why Paris hadn't said something, but why did he owe me any more truth than I'd given him?

He owed me nothing.

Rosaline brought two bowls and set them before Paris and Orestes, but then scowled and pointed at the dagger. "No. Not at my table. Take it away now, before you take a single bite."

Orestes bowed his head to her. "My deepest apologies, Lady Hawk. It was a poor decision to bring it, regardless of my reasons." He swept the knife off the table and tucked it back into his belt, and took the book away and set it aside as well. "I see no reason anyone should be exposed to this further. But... if my father doesn't see a way to steal the Hawk lands, he will look in other directions."

The very notion formed a ball of ice in my belly. He was right. I had to speak to the other clan chiefs about Memnon's intentions. About what he'd already done.

"I'll send messages to Minerva, Balthazar, and Killian," I said, and when Orestes raised a brow at me, I rolled my eyes. "I'll tell Killian. I know his code, but no one who would betray him does. The others, I'll tell them we need to meet."

Orestes snorted at that. "You can tell Killian if you want, but you know as well as I do that he's prepared for my father. The Crane Clan could put him down in a second. The Eagle's own warriors on the wall would turn against my father if he attacked Killian."

It was a fair point. There was a connection when a person had spent time on the wall. A kinship. An overall feeling of being Nemedan, rather than simply a member of one's clan. I didn't know if Memnon had been exempt from wall duty because he was his family's only child, or if someone else in his family had spent an extra year there in his stead, as I had for Rosaline, but Memnon had never been to the wall. I had never doubted that for a moment.

I nodded. "I suppose you're right. Still, I'd rather he not be surprised, even if it's not a struggle."

He inclined his head finally, then took a bite. "The Raven would be a terrible target too, though. They're also warriors."

"And the Owl live in trees, so even if they're not warriors, they're almost impossible to actually attack."

For the first time, Paris engaged with the conversation instead of just shoving food into his mouth. "They live in trees?"

And so the discussion turned to the Owl Clan, and their tree-homes, and how inherently defensible that was, particularly over the simple town we Hawks lived in. We truly had been the easiest target, among the neighbors of the Eagle. Well, except that like the Crane, our numbers were greater than the Eagle Clan. It was just that our numbers were made up of spinners and farmers and weavers and such, not warriors. Still, every Hawk spent their year on the wall, unless they were exempt or someone else did it for them.

Paris seemed surprised at first, when the next day, I invited him to come to the meeting with us, but then he slumped and sighed.

"You want me to tell them about his offer to me? I didn't know who he was, you know. I guess maybe Orestes recognized the knife?"

"He did," I agreed, but then waved him away. "We don't need you to speak to the others. I just..." I glanced around, annoyed with the way my cheeks were flushed, but I couldn't help it. "I want you with me. If you have questions, I want to answer them for you. If you want to yell at me for being a secret-keeping ass, I want you to have that choice. Whatever else is true, I want—I want you by my side, for as long as you're willing to stand there."

He stared at me for a long while. It was impossible not to see the owl inside him, now—enormous eyes, blinking slowly as he took in what I said. How I was standing. The way I was trying not to hunch into my own shoulders.

Did he know how pitiful I was? That he could demand nearly anything from me, and I'd give it to him without fail? Anything short of betraying my people, he could have from me, if only he wanted it.

I just didn't think he wanted much of anything from me, other than to finish these false negotiations and go back to his beloved prince. Or at least far, far away from the man who'd lied to him.