37. Mira

thirty-seven

Mira

In the morning, I push open the heavy, carved door to Tairyn's study, my fingers tingling with a strange mix of curiosity and that gnawing apprehension that's become my shadow since I tumbled headfirst into Illuemera. The room smells like aged paper and smoke from the perpetually burning fire, regardless of the time or weather.

My heart flutters in anticipation. We haven't spoken since I practically bolted from his room last night after a somewhat abrupt dismissal. Something passed between us that I can't quite explain, so why did he cut it short? And to follow it with such a curt note, I'm still bristling.

"Good of you to join me," Tairyn says without looking up, his voice smooth as velvet yet edged with steel. He's perched at his desk, surrounded by stacks of ancient tomes and scattered papers that scream of secrets and strategies only he comprehends.

"Not like I could resist such a romantic summons from you," I quip, closing the door behind me. The note slipped under my door simply read: Come. "You don't own me, Tairyn."

His gaze cuts to mine, a fire of life and hunger twinkling behind them. "Interesting choice of words. Do you think of me owning you often?"

"Only when you call me like a dog."

"But you're here, aren't you? My method was effective, if not quick."

I grit my teeth, glaring at him under furrowed brows. "I'd come faster if you ask nicely."

His eyes narrow to pinpoints, nostrils flaring. "Coming should never be rushed, nin anto anna."

This time, the foreign words leave his lips like a caressing tease.

"Do you ever say anything without a hidden meaning or innuendo?" I snap, crossing my arms defensively across my chest just as his gaze drops there.

Tairyn's smirk widens, and he leans back in his chair, fingers tapping out a rhythmic pattern on the tabletop. His eyes never leave me, the mischievous twinkle only fueling my annoyance. "Now where would be the fun in that?"

For a few long seconds, we're in a stand-off, neither willing to break the silence first. I consider just walking away. Clearly, what he has to say isn't that important if he's just playing games, but then that's not how he works, is it?

"Something on your mind?" I ask, not bothering to hide my annoyance while I cross the room with deliberate slowness. Each step is like a beat in a dance we're both eager to perform.

"Many things," he replies, his gaze tracking me with the precision of a hawk as he stands from his chair. "But your… fragrance is particularly distracting today."

What does he smell on me? Sunder's body? Bobble's leather? I slept entangled between them last night, waking to take them both three different times.

A light turns on in my mind. Something to get under his skin, tease out some answers from him. This game between us, always skirting lines that I can't quite gauge. I make a split second decision to use this to my advantage. I let out an exaggerated yawn as I stretch my arms high over my head. The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly—not quite a grimace, a more involuntary reaction he didn't quite manage to suppress.

"Jealous, Tairyn? You could join us if you want."

The invitation is both real and a taunt. The smirk that dances on my lips is very real.

"Careful, Mira," he warns, stepping closer to me. "Your tongue is sharper than the daggers you've yet to learn to wield properly."

The mischievous imp inside me is waking up, calling for me to play with him. Push him over the edge until he grabs me into a passionate kiss before bending me over his knee. Desire flutters low in my belly as his eyes brush over my face.

"Maybe you should show me how to properly handle a weapon," I retort, feeling the tension coil in the space between us like a living thing, hungry and unpredictable. His eyes darken and I watch them, mesmerized. He laughs low in his throat, a sound that is as sensual as it is challenging.

"Perhaps I should," he says, his words dipping into an octave that sends shivers down my spine. He moves around me like a predator, circling. The intensity in his gaze and the calculated way he's slowly backing me up against the edge of the desk…

But Tairyn isn't Sunder or Bobble. He's both a threat and a promise wrapped up in an enticing paradox. He moves closer, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that both scares and excites me. But just as I brace myself for what's coming, he suddenly stops, a flicker of hesitation in his stance. Is he having second thoughts? Or is it just another one of his mind games? Either way, I can't help but feel conflicted.

"If you're done with your little performance, we have matters to discuss."

I swallow my nerves, replacing it with an air of nonchalance and feigned innocence. "Lead the way, O Great Shard of Dan'thiel," I say, injecting enough sarcasm into my voice to lighten a moment that is too intimate. But inside, my anxiety simmers—a perpetually unwelcome guest.

Tairyn's eyes fixate on me, a storm brewing in their green depths. "You take too much pleasure in this," he mutters, though the ghost of a smile threatens to betray his act of indifference.

"Someone has to keep things lively around here," I quip, tracing the spine of a leather-bound tome on his shelf. "Besides, your vexation is oddly endearing."

"Endearing?" His voice is a low rumble, and I sense the shift in the air as he moves closer.

"It's something you and Sunder have in common, actually."

The words die in my throat as he draws near, close enough that I can count the faint lines that crease the corners of his eyes. There's a predatory grace in his approach, one that sends shivers skittering down my spine. I swallow the heart beat dancing in my throat.

"Don't compare me to him. Any of them. Perhaps I should provide you with a more… direct lesson in manners," he says, his breath warm against my cheek. The air between us crackles with a tension so thick, I'm almost convinced I could reach out and twist it in my fingers.

"Direct?" I tilt my chin up defiantly, refusing to show any sign of submission. His proximity is overwhelming, his scent a heady mix of pine and spice that makes my head spin.

"Indeed," he murmurs, his fingers brushing lightly against my arm. A memory flashes through my mind—his Chroma coming down hard on my backside, a punishment that had been both shocking and shamefully stirring. The heat that had pooled in my belly then surges once again, mingling with a cocktail of fear and fascination. Tairyn's gaze pins me down more effectively than any physical restraint ever could, the weight of his desire heavy upon me.

"Tell me of your visions," I manage to squeak out, despite finding myself quite intrigued by these impending manners lessons. The surprise on his face at the sudden change of subject almost makes me laugh. Maybe he'll actually open up to me if he's caught off guard.

His eyes darken and narrow with suspicion. My pulse throbs in my ears, a rapid staccato beat that syncs to the ranting alarms going off in my head.

"Is that what this is about?" He leans back, a flash of something close to hurt crosses his face before disappearing behind his mask of indifference. "You want information from me?"

"I want you to open up to me." It's a bold statement, bolder than I expected to make. But it's also true. I'm tired of the walls, the secrets. I want more of him, the bits and pieces that I glimpse in those small moments between us. "I want us to trust each other."

He scoffs, attempting to maintain his aloof fa?ade, but the pain in his eyes is unmistakable. "You can't trust me, Mira."

His words cut through me, leaving a chill that settles in my bones. I watch him for a moment, his stoic expression failing to hide the conflict raging behind his eyes.

"I can," I insist, my voice shaking under the weight of my words. "I can and I want to."

Tairyn's mask cracks, a small frown tugging at his lips before he quickly dismisses it. We sit in silence for a moment, with my innermost thoughts laid bare before him. When he stammers a response, his voice betrays a deep sense of unease full of hesitance.

"No, Mira. I- I'm-"

His words are severed by a sudden intrusion, a shrill voice that slices through the fog of our charged atmosphere.

"Tairyn?" A woman calls out from the now roaring hearth, her tone casual. The spell is shattered; the bubble of our private world bursts, leaving me gasping for air I didn't realize I'd been holding. I crane my neck to see a face forming in the flames.

"What the fuck?" I breathe.

"Dammit," Tairyn hisses under his breath, a soft sound that barely reaches my ears. In a fluid motion, like he's been trained for this all his life, he guides me towards the book-lined wall away from the fireplace. He looks at me, something frantic in his eyes, as he places a finger of his lips, telling me to stay quiet and out of sight.

"Here," he murmurs, pressing on a seemingly random spine. A section of the wooden shelves creaks and gives way to darkness. He ushers me into the alcove with a gentle but firm nudge. "Stay quiet."

The space is narrow, the scent of old paper and dust brushing against my senses. Tension clouds his features as the hidden door swings shut, cloaking me in shadows.

"Yes, I'm here," Tairyn replies, straightening up and moving away as if the distance could erase the intimacy of moments ago. I can hear the subtle shift in his voice, the indifference sliding into place.

Who is he talking to? And how?

I press my eye to a tiny gap above the books, peering out into the study. A beautiful woman appears in the firelight. The pointy ears of the fae peaking through her long white hair. I hold in a gasp at her purple skin. My stomach twists with jealousy and fear. Am I the other woman?

She glares out, every inch a menacing figure of authority in the way she holds herself, yet there's an air of civility about her that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Malicryn," Tairyn greets, his tone even—too even. I gasp in my alcove and quickly cover my mouth. "To what do I owe this delightful surprise?"

"Merely checking on the state of affairs. Have you given any thought to our previous discussion?" Malicryn asks, her gaze sweeping the room with predatory precision.

"Nothing has changed. We are in the same predicament, you and I." Tairyn taps his fingers against the desk, a frantic rhythm betraying his tension.

"Indeed." Though her displeasure is clear even to me. "And where is the dear Vessel? Are you ready for me to retrieve her, or are you still playing your games?"

Tairyn is working with Malicryn. He agreed to turn me over to her.

"Two or three more days, and I'll have what I need." Tairyn's words are casual, but the undercurrent of disdain is hard to miss. Two or three days until what? I want to scream at him.

"Good," Malicryn drawls. "Let's hope she's not too taken with your eel-like charms. And what of the Fourth? Still a broken worm crawling around your dungeon?"

My heart hammers against my ribs, echoing the rhythm of Tairyn's calculated words. Each syllable he exchanges with Malicryn is a chess piece moving across the board—a board where my friends and I are pawns at best. My mind whirls, attempting to stitch together the scraps of their conversation into a tapestry that reveals the full picture. But it's like trying to read a book by the flicker of a dying candle.

"I assume so. I don't make it a habit to go chat him up," Tairyn replies smoothly. "Now, if there's nothing else, I have matters to attend to."

"Delicate operations require delicate handling," Malicryn purrs. "Are you sure you're up to the task? We wouldn't want any mishaps."

The subtext is clear. She doesn't trust him, and for some reason that makes me even more nervous than if she did.

"Rest assured," Tairyn says, his tone crisp like autumn leaves. "I've handled more fragile things than this."

I stifle a laugh, an edge of hysteria threatening to bubble up. If only she knew just how ‘fragile' the situation was, with me tucked away mere feet from him.

"Good," Malicryn replies. "Because we can't afford distractions. Not now."

"Distractions." Tairyn's voice doesn't waver. "They've been dealt with."

"You seem confident," Malicryn muses.

"Confidence comes with preparation," Tairyn retorts, and I imagine his green eyes glinting with the challenge. "Something you of all people should appreciate."

"Indeed," Malicryn says, drawing out the word like a blade. "But overconfidence, dear Tairyn, is the harbinger of downfall."

"Then it's fortunate I'm merely confident," Tairyn replies.

There's a pause, and I hold my breath, willing myself to become part of the shadows. My mind races, piecing together the dangerous dance of words and wills occurring beyond my wooden refuge. Tairyn's alliance with Malicryn — what does it truly involve? What plans have been set in motion, and at what cost?

Through the bonds, I tug on Bobble, Callum, and Sunder. Willing them to come to me. Praying they feel me.

"Very well," Malicryn finally concedes. "Keep me updated. And don't forget who you serve."

"Never," Tairyn says, and though I can't see him, I feel the weight of his gaze as if it's on me. "I serve Master Yurghen. Now and always."

"It seems that we will." The finality in Malicryn's voice sends shivers down my spine.

The roar of the hearth subsides to a subdued crackle as her form dissipates like smoke. Silence falls like a curtain after the final act. But this isn't the end. It's an intermission, a brief respite before the storm resumes. My fingers dig into the fabric of my dress, knuckles white. Tairyn is working with Malicryn. Serving Yurghen. Now and always.

When I asked how he knew about Yurghen's plans, he simply said sources. When he admitted he had previously worked with him to get back his Chroma, I assumed that meant being the center of Yurghen's sadistic experiments for a while. I felt sorry for him.

The reality of it is a cold splash of water, sobering and chilling. My pulse still drums a frantic beat, but now it sings a different tune—one of resolve and the fierce protectiveness that has grown roots deep within me.

His footsteps are slow finding their way back to my alcove, presumably to release me, but maybe he'll just slit my throat now that I know his secret.

I can't believe this.