Page 42 of Glimmer and Burn (Unity #1)

Her cheeks burned all the brighter. Infernal blast it, she did not want to hear that about her parents.

“And you,” he took a careful breath before finishing, “I’ve never seen you so assured.”

Wait, was this approval?

“Don’t get me wrong, you have always been confident.

Divine above, you were never lacking in spirit.

But, it’s clear now that even then you were holding back.

Locking away part of yourself,” his hand reached out and gently took hers.

“But I saw it now. Your anger, your passion, your spark. You were confident in more than just your ability to take someone out at the knees, you were confident in yourself . The whole of you. Or you would never have spoken to your mother that way.”

Miranda was not sure what to make of this conversation.

Her father was always so controlled and disciplined.

He followed the rules, never faltered from routine, saw good as black and white, and was not the type to overshare.

And what did he mean she lacked confidence in herself?

Miranda had always been confident in herself.

She was secure in who she was…right? She caught her reflection in the broken glass of a decorative vase that had belonged to her great-grandmother.

Her mother’s dress had knocked it from its perch as she had ripped through the room, her emotions raw and unmasked.

Miranda always pulled loose strands of hair free to soften her features, to hide.

She always tried to keep her voice from rising, to keep the bite out of her tone—even if she didn’t usually succeed.

She always tried not to step on toes or kick the boy who had thrown mud at her in the park or push the Lord who thought he could call her ‘too much’ or ‘annoyingly quarrelsome.’ Miranda had tried to not be all those things, because she was not supposed to be all those things.

Even when all those faults invariably slipped through her attempts at control, the guilt that surfaced had always made her shrink afterward, made her question, made her doubt.

She had never had confidence in all of who she was, only the parts that were acceptable.

Until meeting Devin.

She was starting to embrace the parts of her that she’d been told to hide. Which had felt good and liberating, but…then why had her father’s reaction sent unease rolling through her chest?

“I’ll never hate someone who makes my daughter smile like she means it,” her father finished, and Miranda felt no relief at his acceptance, if that’s what this was.

Her heart started beating harder, crashing against her ribs. Was he giving her the okay to…to court Devin?

No, he was probably giving his blessing for an official marriage that aligned with all the rules and structure she was expected to set her life to, but that’s not what she wanted.

She wanted Devin, but marriage to him—he was a titled lord, even if some did not approve of the means and circumstances, he was exactly the sort of suitor her mother would push onto her at a ballroom—would mean trapping herself in that life she had hated.

She thought choosing him meant giving that up, but if her parents approved…

if he agreed to marry her, then her life was right back on the same path it had always been.

“Miranda?” Her father reached out to her, but she stepped back.

“I don’t want to get married,” she said, finally. Loudly. Her eyes glanced at the door, but she could only hope her voice hadn’t carried.

Her father shook his head. “First, no one has mentioned marriage, so let’s not get carried away.

I don’t hate him, that’s still plenty of steps away from wanting the man who had my daughter out at all hours for a son-in-law.

Second, if you intend to continue this…whatever you two have, what other option is there than marriage? ”

She wanted to cry, because she didn’t have an answer.

She wanted to be with Devin, more than anything she’d ever wanted.

He was the first person to ever inspire her to act, to venture from an abhorrent pre-destined future.

She had wanted to continue to have adventures, to explore new things, to use her skills to help people and to have Devin with her while she did.

Devin gave the impression that he cared little for her world, for society, but that had a lot to do with him feeling like they rejected him.

What if…what if, when given the chance, he would leap at the idea of finally fitting in?

Of marriage to a well-bred woman who could settle in as Lady Drake in his father’s estate—the home he chose to live in, despite already having a home at his club?

A club now destroyed and so allowing him the freedom to enter fully into her parents’ world without attachment.

Her heart was starting to fracture, little fissures that ached with each beat of her pulse.

Her heart wanted Devin, her body wanted Devin, but…

she had been so close to freedom. Could she give that all up?

Could she hop right back in line when she had finally, finally , run through the untamed wilds and found they suited her infinitely better?

“Miri, honey, what’s wrong?” Her father stepped closer, arms reaching out to soothe her. She hadn’t noticed the tears had started falling.

“I just…I don’t think I can be the daughter you want,” she wailed, louder than intended, but she couldn’t help it.

“What are you saying? You will always be—”

“But I can’t! I can’t tell you that I don’t want my sole purpose in life to be motherhood.

I don’t want to manage my husband’s social calls and raise daughters to be just as caged and…

and bored as I am. I don’t want to be a society princess.

” She finished the last words with a yell, not sure if she was screaming at him or herself.

Her father pulled her closer. “Shh, my dear, that is not what marriage is, at all. But…I also don’t make the rules. What you’re suggesting comes with consequences that not even I or your mother can change. We don’t have the luxury to live however we want.”

“I know.” She wailed, burying her face in his pressed, wrinkle free jacket and smearing her tears into the expensive fabric.

He let her cry. If he had planned to say anything more, he didn’t get the chance.

Her mother opened the door, her brown hair swept up into a tight, orderly arrangement to keep it out of her face and her uniform hugging her figure in a way her dresses had always hidden.

Her father’s jaw fell open and Miranda hated that—with her newly discovered freedom—she now suspected she knew what his look implied.

“Enough, James, it’s not like you’ve never seen me in this,” her mother huffed, still adjusting herself like she wasn’t used to wearing such form-fitting clothing. On her hips were dual swords, smaller and not as heavy as the two-handed blade Miranda and her father preferred.

“Now.” She finally looked at the pair of them, her expression softening. “Oh, my dear, I know you’re worried about your sister, but we will get her back.” Her mother turned to her father, eyebrows raised. “James? Are you going to stare at me all night or are you going to do as I asked?”

“Right.” He blinked, stepping away from Miranda, but not before his hand brushed through her hair, and he gave her a paternal kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll be off.” He gave her mother a look and she rolled her eyes, staring back in some silent exchange that Miranda couldn’t decipher.

“Now then, grab what you need and meet me at the carriage as quickly as you can. I’m eager to have my daughter back,” Her mother said, leading Miranda into the foyer and, when Devin made to follow Miranda, she caught the back of his collar. “You will come with me, thank you.”

“But—”

“Ah, ah, I’m a mother. My child is missing.

You don’t want to test my good graces at the moment.

” She tossed him forward, sending Devin stumbling ahead of her with little effort.

“Out you go.” She pushed him through the front door and shut it behind them as she yelled, “Make it quick, Miri, or I’ll have to send a separate carriage for you while Lord Drake and I get better acquainted in private.

” The tone of her voice carried a hint of threat that suggested Devin might not survive if left alone while her mother was armed.

Miranda raced to the armory where they kept weapons that weren’t for training or ceremonies.

This room held swords and maces and bows passed through her family throughout the generations, tools carefully maintained and polished to be used in real combat.

She picked a sword that felt good in her hand, the balance just right, and attached the sheath.

She made an additional stop at the kitchen, filling a loose cloth with anything she could grab: some fresh fruit, bread, a selection of sandwiches leftover from tea, and the last few pieces of bacon from breakfast. When she returned to her mother, the carriage was just being pulled out front.

Her mother made Devin crawl in first, then herself, then Miranda.

Tearing into a roll, Miranda sat and passed some of her collection to Devin.

Her mother watched with a hawk’s precision, clearing her throat when Devin’s fingers brushed Miranda’s as she passed over bread and fruit.

A sharp tap on his shin if his knee ventured too close to Miranda’s.

His every move was guarded and reprimanded until he could do no more than breathe.

“Enough, Mother, your point is taken. There’s no need to keep attacking him,” Miranda snapped after swallowing the last bit of bacon.

“Nonsense, no one is being attacked,” her mother said, her voice rising an octave the way it did when she meant to appease company. “Are you being attacked, Lord Drake?”

Devin speared Miranda with a look as he answered, “Not at all, Lady Wilde.”

“There. You see?”

Miranda huffed and focused on the window.

A mantra of “this is for Cordelia” kept her sane and kept her from wondering why Devin was still here.

If he wanted his revenge on Graves, he didn’t have to wait for Miranda or indulge her overbearing mother in the process.

He could have left. Yet there he sat, silent, brooding, unable to move without getting chastised.

He didn’t leave when Miranda was harsh or when she snapped at him or scolded or yelled.

Miranda’s heart cheered, screaming finally and beating for the chance that Devin could actually love all of her, but the elation was tainted by the conversation with her father, the fear that if she married Devin her life would not be free.

Her mood soured.

As the carriage continued through the city to their destination—a few blocks clear of the marina, so they could plan how they would enter—a tense silence threatened to strangle her, but her mother was a master of easing tension, even tension she created.

Once the silence teetered on hostile, her mother spoke, “Now that we are underway, I think it’s time you filled me in on what we are up against.”

“Graves has figured out how to extract the Divine’s blood from guardians and he’s injecting it into loyal members of the Night Fae,” Miranda started, “They’re strong.

I could barely move them without effort, but they’re highly untrained, relying solely on brute force.

Although, I suspect Graves has his own private guards of altered fae that are sure to be well equipped to defend him. ”

Her mother listened, nodding along, but her face grew more drawn. “We should have a plan. Can Lord Drake handle himself or are we going to have to compensate?” She asked, as if he weren’t sitting right next to her.

“He can hold his own. Though he’s prone to distraction, he’s also more strategic than me and there’s a hesitation in using his left hand, possibly from an old injury,” Miranda answered.

“Hang on—”

“You have always been impulsive, I’ve told you time and again you need to be more mindful. What’s his preferred weapon?” Her mother said, cutting off Devin who followed their conversation with his jaw open and brow furrowed.

“From what I’ve seen, knives. But that could just be because it’s all that was available.”

“Wait a damn minute,” Devin growled, forcing them to acknowledge him.

Miranda winced. Tactical observations were as ingrained in her as reciting her alphabet. And while observation of the larger picture and scene had always escaped her, assessing individuals was second nature. When her mother asked, she had replied automatically.

“First, I’m right here, Lady Wilde, should you have a question you only need to ask.

Second, I am hardly prone to distraction.

” His eyes landed on Miranda and then he looked away quickly, “Mostly, not prone to distraction. And third, we were given swords during the war and that is what I trained with, but I’ve had to defend myself enough times without preparation that I’m more versatile with my hands. ”

Miranda’s thoughts drifted, her eyes dipped to his hands, toward memories she’d rather not ponder with her mother present. She chewed her lip as she crossed her legs and tried not to let her improper thoughts show. If her mother noticed, she said nothing.

“I apologize, Lord Drake, Miranda was trained to assess her enemies and allies for strengths and weaknesses. I assumed you didn’t have technical training to provide me what I needed.

And, if I am honest, I am not quite myself.

I…I’m worried about your sister, Miri. She has been missing for several hours, at least, there is so much that… ”

“I know,” Miranda said as she set her hand on her mother’s and they were silent until the carriage drew to a halt. She hoped they weren’t too late.