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“Not any I’ve ever seen, but I’d love to see one with such color,” I whisper back.
Mace hears us, I’m sure of it. His shoulders are bouncing with quiet laughter. He leads through back doors and down multiple hallways into a basement, and my stomach clenches.
What am I doing? I do not trust this man, and here I am, following him around like a child as if he wasn’t potentially leading me to my death. My hands move to grip the handle of my blades in case the need to protect myself arises.
I fight to remind myself that this is the expected outcome of the Race. I move from living in the Lowlands to living in Ytopie, which requires interacting with the fae.
Unfortunately.
But experience shows me that everything is transactional. And I have no doubt that Mace wants something from me.
Once in the basement, I am shocked to find it’s been furnished as if it’s a home. Mace, who was surprisingly silent during most of the walk, turns to face Tulip and me. “This is where you’ll be staying for now until more … permanent accommodations can be arranged. Through that door, there is the bathroom.” He gestures to a small brown door off the side of the room.
Tulip’s eyes light up. “A bath?” she questions, practically vibrating with excitement.
I try to smother a laugh at the young woman who went through so much, finally getting the bath she wanted. He nods, a small smile twitching his pointed lips. “Yes, there is a bath in there. As well as a toilet. I can get a Summer type here to heat the water for you when you’re ready.”
“I’m ready!” Tulip shouts, practically sprinting to the bathroom.
That does garner a rolling laugh from Mace. I’m mesmerized by how his head falls back in mirth, the joy radiating in the crinkles of the corner of his eyes. He catches me staring, and a preening smile stretches across his lips.
The spell caused by his laughter is broken, and I scowl. This man thinks quite highly of himself.
“I’ll send a Bayal, a fire wielder, down and return with your clothing. It should be here soon. Are you hungry?” It goes against my instincts to accept any more kindness from this fae, but when he asks, my stomach betrays me and rumbles loudly. He doesn’t wait for an answer from me. “I’ll bring some food.”
After a Bayal came and warmed the bath water, Tulip soaked in that tub for ages. As I sat outside the room, we talked about Max. About how much we missed her and how she should be here. I shared stories of our childhoods together, remembering all the incredible things Max did for me throughout my life.
It will be hard to enjoy this without her by my side.
Eventually, Tulip vacated the bath, and I quickly cleaned myself in a cold one, unwilling to request another fire type to warm it for me. By the time both of us were cleaned and wrapped in towels, Mace had returned.
I feel self-conscious standing before him with only a sheet of fabric between us. Sparing a glance at my whip and knives stored with my pack on a table, I cringe at just how vulnerable I’ve made myself.
I did not expect Mace to be the one returning with clothing and food, but here he is, the head of the Patricians, standing in front of me with a cloth bag slung over his shoulder and a tray of food in his hands, looking as out of place as one could be. As he steps into the room, his eyes flit up and down my figure, and my stomach heats. With a quiet cough, he sets the food tray on the table. My mouth waters at the sight.
Various breads, still crackling with heat, are sliced and filled with hunks of meat and cheese. Fresh fruit and vegetables of all colors are stacked in two bowls. I also spy two mugs of ale and steaming cups of tea. But in the middle of the tray sits a beautiful pastry of cream and red berries on top of a flaky golden crust.
I stare at Mace, slack-jawed in awe of the spread, and for a moment, he looks almost bashful. “Winners deserve a winning meal, don’t you think?” he says quietly. Tulip’s eyes are as wide as the saucers the cups of tea sit upon, and she immediately rushes to the tray and grabs the mug of ale, gulping it down. Her towel is dangerously close to falling off as she moves, and I notice Mace averting his eyes and turning more to face me.
“I brought your clothing. I hope it fits and is acceptable.” He pushes the cloth pack from his shoulder to me, which I take and look inside. A rich, emerald-colored blouse is folded atop a pair of flowing ecru pants and a pair of leather sandals, a ribbon of gold with small flowers curled atop it for adorning hair. This stack is clearly for Tulip, and I set it next to the chair she has perched upon with a sandwich.
Reaching back into the bag, I pull out a silky gray shirt with shimmering pearlescent buttons that catch the reflection of the light. Underneath the shirt is a pair of black trousers made of stiff linen, a practical belt with loops for my knives, and boots high enough to cover my ankles. I have never seen clothing like this before. The fabrics are so fine I run my hands over them multiple times before looking up to meet Mace’s eyes.
The look he is giving me is one of reverence and respect - not something I ever expected from a fae. But Mace looks at me like I’m a prize he’s won. None of it feels lecherous, and I feel no threat to my physical well-being, but it still unnerves me. I remember the red-haired man who found us in the elevator - was his name Zeph? - shouting at Mace that I am not the vessel he thinks I am.
The idea of me being a vessel is laughable, but I will have to address that later. My stomach growls again, and I look at Mace pointedly. “Oh, right, yes. There are also two robes at the bottom of the bag for you both to sleep in. I’ll leave you alone. Get some rest. You’ve earned it.”
He retreats up the steps, leaving me swirling in confusing emotions. I pull a deep blue silk robe from the bottom, noticing a stack of undergarments for each of us hidden beneath, and slide it on before helping myself to some food. I glance up at the light hanging from the ceiling and wince at its soft buzzing. “Do you hear that buzzing?” I ask Tulip, who is beginning to dive into her third handful of berries.
She cocks a blonde brow at me and shakes her head. “What buzzing?” I gesture up at the light, and she laughs. “You’re just tired, Lola. Get some rest. We finally made it.”
Chapter 31
Zeph
Stone’sgriponmyarm is brutal, his fingers digging into my flesh with a ferocity I’ve never experienced from him before. He drags me through the underground tunnels and out of the arena, his grip on me not loosening until he shoves me onto a chair in his sitting room.
I have been to his home multiple times throughout my life, and it’s almost as familiar as mine, but his expression removes the comfort I typically experience here. I grip the green velvet arms of his chair, my jaw set and clenched as I look up at him. The sneer that is affixed to his face churns my stomach. As he leers over me, I wonder what became of the man I have loved so much that I saw him as a father?
