Becka cringed inwardly but schooled her expression. “Yes, it’s a fine black tea, renowned for its flavor.” Which Becka associated with cured salami. Definitely not something she’d ever gained a taste for, or even wanted to.
“Oh good, you know it!” His smile gleamed. He took a step towards the couches and paused. “One moment, my dear. It appears someone forgot to set out the honey.”
“That’ll never do,” Becka replied.
Vott wandered over to a cabinet near the door and rummaged through it, no doubt hunting down the missing honey.
Becka took a seat on the couch across from where Vott had been sitting, grateful for the wafting breeze which danced through the pergola’s sheer curtains. The tea set was one she didn’t recognize. The delicate quality and artisan green crackle glaze spoke to its superior craftsmanship. She’d never seen this set in use before and wondered why it was out today. Was Vott signaling an elevated importance to this conversation? Ever since her return, Becka had needed to relearn the nuances of fae society. Surely, the selection of this set was no coincidence, but further meaning eluded her.
Leaning forward, she picked up the mug closest to her, filled halfway with the lapsang tea. Shuddering in anticipation of the potent and foul brew, Becka noticed Vott’s cup was mostly empty.
Will he notice if I don’t drink his favorite tea?
Becka didn’t see any harm in adding her tea to his cup.
Glancing over to where he stood at the cabinet and seeing that he was still seeking the elusive honey, she leaned across the table and poured the entire contents of her cup into his. She wiped a stray dribble from the side of her mug against her linen pants, then refilled her cup from one of the water glasses.
She looked to Luce, who was watching her and shaking her head. Becka shrugged at her, and then sat back in her seat, hoping Vott wouldn’t notice the pale color of the liquid in her mug, despite the bright moonlight.
“Found it!” Vott announced, returning to the pergola with a honeypot in hand.
“Fantastic.”
He sat and placed the honey onto the table before picking up his mug again. “I see you’ve refilled my cup. Thank you.” He settled back into the couch, added a bit of honey to his cup, and took a long sip of tea.
Becka joined him, sipping the water from her own mug. Despite having poured out all the tea, there was still a distinctive tannic residue present. And yet she drank, anxiously awaiting hearing what was on his mind.
“Does the flavor bring back memories?” he asked.
“It certainly does,” Becka replied, nodding along with him. “What did you want to talk about?”
His expression turned pained. “Must I always have an agenda planned when meeting with my eldest?”
Becka wanted this banter to feel natural. Comforting. But there was a wall between them from her time spent separate from fae territories that neither quite seemed to know how to breach.
“No, but I’m guessing you’re not going to let my earlier faux pas pass without comment. I swear I dropped that bottle of hot sauce by accident.”
“It is on my mind, but never mind the hot sauce. No harm came from it.” He frowned. “Are you aware it has been three months since you returned home for Tesse’s funeral?”
“I’m aware.” She took another sip. A cool breeze blew through, rustling the wisteria and perfuming the air. She took another sip of the water, feeling suddenly lethargic. Perhaps the long day was finally getting to her?
“How do you think you are getting along?” He paused, brow furrowed. He took another sip of tea. “I mean, how are you adapting to life back amongst the fae?”
No one had asked her so directly since her return, and she found it refreshing. “I don’t feel at ease here. At least, not yet. I’m continuing to struggle to control my powers, despite months of training with Astrid. Perhaps if I’d been another illusionist I’d fit in with the guild and the house better, or be easier to train?”
“Astrid ramps up her training as students progress, increasing their challenges as they gain control. Surely you are farther along than you realize?”
Becka shrugged, noticing a surprising stiffness in her shoulders. “I know it’s only been three months, but I don’t think others here see the value in a Null. In my powers. I’m not sure I do either.” Becka yawned.
Vott mirrored her yawn. “You are more than a nn-Null. You are Ro… Rowan,” he stuttered. “The house needs you.”
“I know you say that,” Becka drawled out, her words slurring. “You say that every time. But I don’t think that most of the fae in House Rowan like me. I think they’d prefer if I wasn’t here.”
Did I really just say that with my outside the head voice? What’s come over me?
“Please do not speak ill of your family. You have not even given most of them the opportunity to get to know you.”
“It’s hard to find time when I spend most of my days practicing my gift.”
Vott’s eyes fluttered shut, he slumped over, and then the mug fell out of his hand, rolled along the couch, and hit the deck at their feet with a loud crack.
“Luce!” Becka tried to yell, but it came out as a mumble. The shifter was already there, patting Vott’s cheeks and checking for a pulse. His pallor was shifting into shades of gray as Becka watched through eyes increasingly difficult to keep open.
Luce called out and then pressed a button on a radio she carried at her waist. Fae and shifter guards alike filled the space in seconds.
Becka found herself looking up into Brent’s grave features, his bulk a wide shadow against the stars shining through the roof of the pergola. In the months since her return, she’d gotten used to Brent’s constant presence around her father. The head of
