Page 29 of With Wing And Claw

What?

Too many developments. Too many surprises. Her mind wasn’t even done processing the first one, and it took a moment too long to blink and stammer, ‘Where the hell did you getcheese pastries?’

‘Oh, I opened the window and scared a passing fae male into getting them for me.’ Naxi sent her a wide, sharp-toothed grin. ‘Turns out they believe I can curse them at a distance if they’re not fast enough. Very useful – we should keep that in mind. He also brought us somecinnamon rolls, if you’re in the mood for something sweeter. And won’t you sit down? You’re feeling a little overwhelmed.’

Thysandra fell down onto the couch. Her wobbly knees didn’t leave her much of a choice.

‘That’s better,’ Naxi cooed, dragging a blanket from the nearest chair and draping it clumsily around her wings and shoulders, like a fussy but inexperienced nurse. Her delicate hands were all movement, all vivacity, never pausing for the shortest moment. ‘Don’t move. I’ll get you food and tea, and then you can tell me all about your day, alright?’

Food?

Tea?

No. No, this was not at all how this was supposed to go, some twisted imitation of cosy intimacy between them – because the little menace was going toleave, the sooner the better, and what was the sense of going along with this charade if that simple fact would be looming over every second of their meal? It wouldn’t be fair, would it, to toy with those fickle demon feelings like that?

Not that she should care about Naxi’s feelings in the first place, of course, but all the same …

‘We need to have a word,’ she said weakly, unable to tear her eyes away as her self-declared caretaker bustled around the room and pulled plates and mugs from cupboards. ‘I’ve had some time to think about that help you offered, and—’

‘Oh, hush,’ Naxi interrupted, swatting at her. ‘No talk of politics on an empty stomach, Sashka.’

‘But—’

Naxi sent her a glare and flicked back the clean white cloth hiding the pastries.

It was only then – at the sight of that flaky, golden-brown goodness – that Thysandra abruptly realised she was starving.

She hadn’t even noticed it. She’d worked much longer stretches of time on an empty stomach before, had trained herself not to pay attention to the rumbling and the hollow aches … but now, with the salty scent of melted butter and grilled goat’s cheese filling the room, there was no avoiding the sudden, keenawareness that she hadn’t eaten since her hasty breakfast of that morning. Which was no excuse, of course. All the plants and pastries in the world couldn’t change anything about the necessity of the conversation they were about to have, that conversation she really didn’t feel any nervous dread about …

But when had anyone last prepared dinner for her?

And when had anyone last placed a plate of food in her lap with such excessive, meticulous care, the way Naxi did now? People didn’tserveher at this court. She was the one who answered to others, who took care of their every wish and whim without complaints; the role of the spoiled one was strange to the point of discomfort, the urge to stand and get her own damn cutlery so overwhelming she might have obeyed it if not for her buckling knees.

Instead, she watched as Naxi fussed around for a few more minutes, pouring two mugs of piping hot tea, finding a jar of mildly crystallised honey, pulling knives and forks and napkins from drawers. By the time the demon curled up in the large green armchair with her own meal, it had become a challenge not to burst out crying on the spot.

Weakness. She ought to know better.

She averted her eyes and started eating instead.

The pastries were delicious – crisp on the outside, creamy on the inside, the flavours of briny cheese and thyme mingling to create something altogether divine on her tongue. She ate two, then a cinnamon roll, then another pastry. It felt unbearablydecadent, to sit here with her blanket and her tea and just allow herself to drown in these treats … but hell, what was she to do about it if Naxi wouldn’t allow her to talk before she was fully satisfied?

She ate another cinnamon roll.

Only when her stomach felt full to the point of bursting did she manage to shove her plate aside and sag back into the cushions. In the armchair, Naxi was nibbling on a roll of her own, one round cheek bulging with food.

‘There.’ Her smile was smug, in an oddly endearing way. ‘That’s better, isn’t it?’

It wasn’t better at all.

Quite the opposite – it wasmuch, much worse.

Was this some clever trick? Some cruel demon’s game? Had Naxi known what she was about to say, and was this how she tried to avoid the hard, simple facts – by making Thysandra feel so stupidly peaceful, so ridiculously comfortable, that it became almost impossible to speak those damning words?

You need to leave.

But she had to speak them. Shehadto. She didn’t need the assistance anymore, and the very presence of a demon at her court was a tinderbox about to ignite in the deadliest of ways – it was simple pragmatism, basic politics, and what was she thinking, letting something as silly as cosiness get in the way of her own survival?

Naxi’s long, melodramatic sigh interrupted her thoughts. ‘Fine, Sashka. Out with it, then.’