Page 12 of Glimmer and Burn (Unity #1)

Chapter Four

D evin debated whether he should attempt this mission sober.

He may need his wits about him and, though he was loath to admit it, might need the help of his aura sight.

He had not been to the Night Court since he was a child, hand in hand with his mother, cowering to sneers and whispers.

Auras lashing out at the sight of him with inky blots of disdain or disgusted muddy green, or sharp, white hot arcs of contempt.

His own family had refused to see them, despite his mother’s pleas.

Her pulses of mauve shame and pale yellow fear had made him feel helpless, scared when he should have felt welcome.

He was not entirely sure how they would receive him now that he was grown.

Kylin, his cousin, was the only person to reach out when Devin’s mother passed.

Not even her own sister had bothered to check in.

Kylin had held an ulterior motive, of course, hoping to secure business for his trade when Devin’s club had been starting out, but he had not been openly dismissive or cruel.

His condolences had sounded genuine, at least. Their relationship was best described as acquaintances who tolerated each other peacefully.

Devin took a drink.

Fuck it.

It would be hard enough ignoring the glances and whispers when he returned to the Night Court, he wasn’t keen to brush the colors of their disdain across his eyes as well.

Maybe the sight would be manageable if he had ever bothered to put in the effort of practice, but as it stood, auras were more of an onslaught than an advantage.

He dressed simply, black shirt and vest. Human fashion called for cumbersome coats and cravats, but he wanted freedom of movement. Three concealed knives, in case he was searched or lost one in a fight.

Outside was a cool night. Windy, but in a refreshing way. He was about to sigh and huff about how of course a ‘Lady’ would be running late. What did a noble daughter care for times and schedules? Just leave him out in the—

A lithe figure appeared beside him, nearly scaring the life from him. Her steps had been nonexistent, her presence like a shadow. She stood before him decked in black with curves cut perfectly against the brilliant moonlight.

Miranda.

This must have been her guardian uniform. Black from head to foot and no skirts, just blessedly form-fitting leather.

It was still the fashion for women to wear big, wide skirts and hide their figures save a few tantalizing peeks to better encourage trapping husbands.

Even the women Watchmen, who wore identical uniforms to the men, were layered with branded coats and duty gear.

Women in the Fells still wore dresses, though not as voluminous as the ones he saw in the Garrison.

He’d never actually seen a guardian in uniform until this moment.

Nothing about the shape of her thighs or curve of her hips was left to baser imagination. She would be a distraction.

Her golden curls were swept up in a bun at the base of her neck, loose strands catching in the breeze. She wore boots that hugged her calves and were practical with thick, flat soles. And that smirk on her face was almost sobering.

“Eyes up here, sailor,” she scolded, albeit with a touch of humor.

He was tempted to retort with something witty, but he kept his mouth shut.

A witty response would delve much too close to bantering.

Which bordered on flirtation. Flirtation was more fun when it was ill-received.

And infinitely safer. His little overstep earlier proved that she was not as immune to flirting as she wanted to believe. He would need to behave tonight.

“Let’s go,” he said, turning away from her, so he didn’t risk seeing every sway of her hips or the perfect shape of her thighs silhouetted against the lamplight.

He had called a carriage for them, one of his plain coaches from the club.

They wouldn’t be able to enter the Night Court with it, but it would get them close enough.

The carriage sway was gentle and hypnotizing, the driver easily steering the horses through mostly empty streets. Devin knew why he was on edge, but Miranda sat just as rigid. Like she had a sword for a spine, though he noticed no weapons.

“Did you bring any sort of defense with you?” He ventured, as a weighty silence had descended between them.

It would have been smarter to remain silent.

Silence was better than the alternative, where her gaze burned and her tongue lashed and he felt alive for a few moments.

But smart had never stopped him from keeping his mouth shut.

Her head turned slowly, eyes direct with confidence. There was a rigidity to her movements and a serene, controlled sort of power. Perhaps he’d been mistaken to think her stiffness meant nerves. She looked calm enough to cut the heart from his chest in front of his weeping family.

“I didn’t think I’d be allowed a full sword. But I brought some security. Just in case.”

Where ? The fit of her uniform left little room for much else. He didn’t see how she’d conceal a nail file, let alone a weapon of any consequence. The little devil of a voice in him suggested he search her and find out. He shifted, trying to be a gentlemen—for the moment.

“You suggested this might be dangerous,” she continued, “So I came prepared.” Her head tilted as she took in his appearance. “Are you concealing anything?”

“Care to check for yourself?” He quipped, unable to keep the suggestion from his voice or the glint from his eyes. Damn, he had slipped much too easily.

She was unamused, but not angry. Her lips were a patronizing smirk as she gazed out the window. “Keep dreaming.”

“Oh, I have, Miss Wilde, and I’m woefully sorry that I hadn’t yet seen this ensemble,” he gestured with his chin.

“Much less left to the imagination, though I think I filled in the details adequately enough for my purposes.” His voice lowered with his intent and he was well rewarded when her smile vanished and steam practically puffed from her nose.

“Is it that you’re unable to have a normal, decent conversation or do you choose to be an asshole?”

Devin shrugged. “Perhaps it’s just you that brings out the worst in me, Miss Wilde.”

She pointedly gazed out the window, arms crossed and her lips a harsh line. “I hope you’ll at least be serious when we get there. If we fail because you think it’s a joke, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Relax, princess, I’ve no intention of sabotaging our chances. I want this just as badly as you, remember?” He cleared his throat, hoping she didn’t press him for his reasons.

“Will you stop calling me ‘princess?’ It’s condescending and completely inaccurate. I’m hardly a princess.”

“Hit a sore spot, have I?” He watched her huff and fidget, her eyes shifting to the other window, though they speared him quickly as they passed.

“It’s…been a nickname that certain papers and gossip columns have used in the past. But it’s not me.

They call me princess because I’m pretty and my father is important.

No one gives a damn about what I do or who I am.

They’d call Cordelia that, too, but she’s not a guardian so she gets a pass from the spotlight.

And…recently the title has come off as more of a joke than anything. ”

“Why’s that?”

She looked down. “I’d think it’s obvious.”

Devin floundered to catch her meaning. “I’m afraid not, love.”

“My age? I’m nearly twenty-seven and yet,” she gestured to herself, “Still no spouse. That’s common knowledge. I’m nearing the proverbial shelf; cause status and beauty weren’t enough to compensate for my…flaws.”

There was a crack in her confidence, a small fissure as she spoke about society’s opinion of her.

Devin wouldn’t pretend to know how her world worked, the nuances clearly outside his understanding if a woman like Miranda could possess any flaw enough to make her unappealing to marry.

Provided the person was equally inclined toward matrimony, that is.

Devin didn’t count because while he had no wish to marry her either, it was not because of her ‘flaws.’ The vastness of their differences expanded in that moment.

“Sorry, love, I didn’t know,” he offered with sincerity.

“Please. Like I believe that you’re sorry you hurt my feelings—which you didn’t, by the way, it’s just annoying.” She refused to look at him, head cast at a strong angle to force her gaze out the window.

“Believe me or don’t. I may not always play by a gentleman’s rules, but I don’t aim to be needlessly mean. I won’t call you princess.”

“Do what you want,” she snapped.

He’d clearly poked too hard and now she hadn’t just hidden behind her walls but locked all the doors and barred the windows.

It took another half hour before they reached the part of the city designated for the fae Courts.

There was a shift in the energy of the air as they neared.

Before the rename to Unity, the city had been divided purposefully and with clear, solid borders.

A large stream curved its way through the streets, dividing the Courts from Unity so that only narrow footpath bridges could be used to reach them.

No carriages crossed into fae territory.

They disembarked and Devin ordered the carriage to meet them at the Night Bridge.

“If we’re going to the Night Court, why’d we stop at the Summer Bridge?” Miranda asked.

Devin already felt heavier and they hadn’t even crossed the stream yet. “It’s better not to approach the Night Court from the human side. We’ll be better received if we cut through Summer and Day.”