“I got some loose-leaf tea from the Queen’s Court Café.”
Orrin didn’t seem inclined to take the bag, so I set it on the boxy end table in front of him.
“This is a gift—a human gift, so you don’t have to pay it back. It’s not a favor,” I clarified. “You don’t have to do anything in return.”
Orrin’s mouth tightened slightly. “You mean to say it’s a bribe? I’m disappointed, Slayer-who-fights-with-vampires. I thought you were smarter than such a paltry trick.”
“It’s not a bribe,” I said. “You have a geas. A little tea isn’t going to make you able to talk over that. It just seems like you could use it.”
Orrin eyed the paper bag as if it were a snake. “Right. I’m sure that’s all you were thinking. That’s why you brought tea—one of the only things fae publicly claim to favor.” He pointedly looked away from it and instead picked up his paper cup, resting the bottom on the palm of his left hand and placing the fingers of his right hand snuggly against the cup’s right side.
“It wasn’t really that deep a thought,” I said. “I got tea because one of my fae teammates said you probably weren’t being given tea since werewolves were holding you.”
Orrin ignored me and sipped his water.
I glanced at his food tray—which once again had some crumbs and an empty cup which I assumed had held water.
He’s getting fed, but there’s no way it’s as fancy as his fae palate would prefer.
I folded my arms behind my back, settling into place and studying Orrin as the fae pointedly ignored me.
Orrin looked much the same.
His time in the room didn’t appear to have put any strain on him, although he seemed oddly resigned.
He’s not causing any trouble, but it doesn’t seem like he expects any help.
I couldn’t pretend to guess what his angle was—fae were tricky, and there was no telling how deep the rabbit hole went. Between him, the issue of Gisila, and House Tellier, I’d rather deal with House Tellier.
I watched Orrin sip his hot water, then asked, “Have you been kept appraised of your punishment?”
“I am aware they still have not settled on one. The humans are being difficult,” Orrin said.
“By difficult, you mean they reacted negatively when the Curia Cloisters offered to send you to Ghast prison,” I said. “And they already rejected a generational fine.”
Orrin shrugged. “Humans,” he said in way of explanation. “They suggested community service in addition to a small fine.”
“Small,” I repeated—when I’d checked, the small fine had been several thousand dollars. He must have some serious money if he considers that small. Couldn’t that poke a hole in my theory that he did this at Gisila’s bidding? If he’s wealthy, she couldn’t really hold his job over him.
“Regardless, the Cloisters will not go for such a small punishment.” Orrin shrugged his shoulders. “It wouldn’t set a good precedent for future issues, and I cost them enough money in damages that the cheap, penny-pinching Night Queen heard of it. As she is on the Midwest Regional Committee of Magic, she will not settle for such a light sentence—and she has the power to make it so.”
“Ahh.” I said. “Yeah. The Night Queen is very concerned about budgets.”
The only reason the task force program had expanded as rapidly as it had was because the Night Queen supported the idea. (Personally, I felt her reputation for being cheap was a misrepresentation. Yes, she’d yanked back the spending of the fae offices located within the Curia Cloisters. But I’d heard rumors that before her, the fae offices had a private tea room in the Cloisters and held weekly parties. If that was true, I couldn’t blame her.) I slightly shifted, thinking. “You know, if you—”
“I will not answer any questions nor give any reasons for my actions,” Orrin said.
“…I was going to say if you appeared to be more sorry, they might have a better idea of what to do with you,” I said. “You have a geas. I know you can’t talk.”
Orrin finally looked at me, his eyes narrowed. “Yes. And you seem very intent on using it as an explanation for why I won’t speak.”
I shrugged. “We have no idea how widespread your geas is. If it was required as a term of your employment with Gisila, maybe you can’t say anything.”
Orrin frowned, his brow furrowing. “Are you not aware that you could get me put in Ghast prison?”
I tried to follow his thinking through our conversation and failed. “…I’m not following you.”
“You implied the Curia Cloisters doesn’t know what to do with me because I didn’t harm anyone. The fact is you were the one most endangered by my actions. You could push the matter and convince your superiors to throw me in prison based off what you experienced.”
“My teammates were more hurt than I was,” I said.
“Hurt, yes, but you were the one whose life was most endangered—you could have died,” Orrin said.
I felt weirdly chastised as Orrin scowled at me. “Maybe, but I had to save my team,” I said.
Orrin gave me a withering look matched with a scoff. “You take too many risks—and it pays off only because you’re a slayer.”
Words couldn’t describe how weird it felt to have Orrin—the fae who’d loosened monsters downtown—lecture me about my fighting habits.
Feeling much like I had when Sarge had given me a similar talk about me taking too many risks, I set my shoulders. “I carefully measure risks when I enter a fight,” I said.
“You measure risks to your surroundings and your team, not to yourself,” Orrin corrected with a careless air.
I watched him, thoroughly confused.
That he’s judgy about what I did is very weird given he was the reason why I did it. I frowned behind my mask. And why does this feel like he’d understand the paper Sarge wants me to write? If he gets it, just how backward am I?
Orrin scowled at his steaming cup of hot water, annoyed with something—me, probably—and shook his head in disdain. “I find your presence draining. You should leave.”
Normally I’d maybe stay and try to push it, but my shift would start soon, and I needed to finish the coffee smoothie I’d left in the meeting room or I’d be hungry all night.
I unfolded my arms from where I’d held them behind my back and nodded. “Enjoy the tea.” I waited until I had the door open to add, “I’ll see you later.”
Orrin puffed up. “There will be no late—” I shut the door on his objection.
The werewolf locked it behind me, then nodded in another salute. “I hope it went well?”
“Well enough,” I said.
I still don’t know what I’m trying to accomplish, but it feels like I got some traction.
As I walked away from the shifter offices, I mentally reviewed the conversation and my observations—I’d need to write it down for notes.