“Maybe not luck so much. Maybe it’s that the bastard turned a hundred men to find you.”
Just then, one of the sheer curtains flipped in the wind and I caught sight of Emily across the expanse that was the dining hall. She held my eyes for one brief moment before a ribbon of beige fell between us.
Brendan looked over his shoulder, and I wondered if I’d given some clue to their arrival.
A trim blonde appeared a moment later, announcing his guests. “Thank you, Ellin,” he said, distractedly scratching his jaw.
We pushed off the railing at the same time, walking in as Ellin discreetly closed the balcony doors behind us, and found Brianna and Emily standing beside a table set for fifteen. Brianna’s eyes were trained on Brendan.
“You’re not making a show of her,” she said, somewhere between a demand and a question. It was clear the idea had her horrified.
“They’re here for Aern, Brianna, not Emily.” His gazed moved to Emily as he spoke. “And you do look lovely this evening, Miss Drake.”
I had the distinct feeling it was meant as a spur for Brianna, but Emily ran a tense hand over the fabric of her blouse. I couldn’t tell if she was uncomfortable with Brendan’s attention, or having been outfitted in clothes that probably cost more than the last car she’d stolen.
Several key members of the Division came through the west door then, and the over-large room suddenly felt too full. Brendan took a moment to quickly present each of them to Emily, making a point not to allow them enough time in between introductions for more than a brief greeting.
The rest of the party filtered in and were fleetingly acknowledged before Brendan said, “Shall we?” and the group dispersed to find their seats. The head of the long table was left open for Brendan, who pulled out the chair to his left for Brianna. Emily watched the gesture with unveiled disapproval, and then ignored the chair that one of the staffers drew out for her to sit on Brianna’s other side.
I was distracted from the scene by a light touch on my forearm, Ellin indicating the chair opposite Brendan as mine. I might have chosen otherwise, but after a small shuffle to reorder the arrangement Emily had wrecked, it was the last open seat.
Three low centerpieces were flanked by a myriad of fresh-baked rolls, each woven into intricate braids or bearing the shape of some sort of flower. When drinks were poured, tentative conversations started around the table, talk of pleasant weather and the new wing on one of the downtown buildings. We were served soups and salads that bore little resemblance to either, and I wondered if they realized this neither honored nor impressed their “prophecy girl.” When the salad was removed and a plate of some small not-quite-beige thing that could only be fish was set in front of me, I glanced at the other end of the table.
Brendan, uncharacteristically casual with his shirt sleeves still rolled halfway up his forearms, alternated between small talk and an insincere smile, and surreptitious glances at the girl beside him. Emily picked at what appeared to be leaves and berries sprouting from her entrée, and then sat her fork gently on the side of her plate.
By the time dinner was cleared, conversation had picked up and the guests were getting braver with their topic choices.
“We never imaged you had a sister, Brianna. So unexpected,” Kara was saying from the center of the table opposite them. She was the only woman of the Division’s eight, and the first to leave Council to join Brendan. I didn’t trust her at all.
Brianna made polite small talk, but I was fairly certain she felt the same way.
It had indeed been a surprise to all of us that the heart of the prophecy not only had a sister, but a twin. What was more surprising, however, was that none of their records reflected that detail. There were several theories, the most popular being that the girls’ mother had orchestrated the cover-up from the
Just then, one of the sheer curtains flipped in the wind and I caught sight of Emily across the expanse that was the dining hall. She held my eyes for one brief moment before a ribbon of beige fell between us.
Brendan looked over his shoulder, and I wondered if I’d given some clue to their arrival.
A trim blonde appeared a moment later, announcing his guests. “Thank you, Ellin,” he said, distractedly scratching his jaw.
We pushed off the railing at the same time, walking in as Ellin discreetly closed the balcony doors behind us, and found Brianna and Emily standing beside a table set for fifteen. Brianna’s eyes were trained on Brendan.
“You’re not making a show of her,” she said, somewhere between a demand and a question. It was clear the idea had her horrified.
“They’re here for Aern, Brianna, not Emily.” His gazed moved to Emily as he spoke. “And you do look lovely this evening, Miss Drake.”
I had the distinct feeling it was meant as a spur for Brianna, but Emily ran a tense hand over the fabric of her blouse. I couldn’t tell if she was uncomfortable with Brendan’s attention, or having been outfitted in clothes that probably cost more than the last car she’d stolen.
Several key members of the Division came through the west door then, and the over-large room suddenly felt too full. Brendan took a moment to quickly present each of them to Emily, making a point not to allow them enough time in between introductions for more than a brief greeting.
The rest of the party filtered in and were fleetingly acknowledged before Brendan said, “Shall we?” and the group dispersed to find their seats. The head of the long table was left open for Brendan, who pulled out the chair to his left for Brianna. Emily watched the gesture with unveiled disapproval, and then ignored the chair that one of the staffers drew out for her to sit on Brianna’s other side.
I was distracted from the scene by a light touch on my forearm, Ellin indicating the chair opposite Brendan as mine. I might have chosen otherwise, but after a small shuffle to reorder the arrangement Emily had wrecked, it was the last open seat.
Three low centerpieces were flanked by a myriad of fresh-baked rolls, each woven into intricate braids or bearing the shape of some sort of flower. When drinks were poured, tentative conversations started around the table, talk of pleasant weather and the new wing on one of the downtown buildings. We were served soups and salads that bore little resemblance to either, and I wondered if they realized this neither honored nor impressed their “prophecy girl.” When the salad was removed and a plate of some small not-quite-beige thing that could only be fish was set in front of me, I glanced at the other end of the table.
Brendan, uncharacteristically casual with his shirt sleeves still rolled halfway up his forearms, alternated between small talk and an insincere smile, and surreptitious glances at the girl beside him. Emily picked at what appeared to be leaves and berries sprouting from her entrée, and then sat her fork gently on the side of her plate.
By the time dinner was cleared, conversation had picked up and the guests were getting braver with their topic choices.
“We never imaged you had a sister, Brianna. So unexpected,” Kara was saying from the center of the table opposite them. She was the only woman of the Division’s eight, and the first to leave Council to join Brendan. I didn’t trust her at all.
Brianna made polite small talk, but I was fairly certain she felt the same way.
It had indeed been a surprise to all of us that the heart of the prophecy not only had a sister, but a twin. What was more surprising, however, was that none of their records reflected that detail. There were several theories, the most popular being that the girls’ mother had orchestrated the cover-up from the
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