“More than” would imply that the two of you are sleeping together, a voice in my head reminded me.
I sighed. I needed to get off this train of thought before I drove myself crazy with it. Ever since we’d kissed back in the mountains I kept expecting something more to happen between Iannis and I. Each time we were alone together we seemed to be teetering on the edge of something, yet it never went anywhere. What was he thinking? Was he regretting the kiss? Had he brushed it off as something that had happened while he was under the influence of magic? Did he want more? I couldn’t figure it out, and worse, I still couldn’t figure out exactly what I wanted. Yes, I was attracted to him, and yes, my body wanted him, but my mind kept telling me it was a bad idea.
“Did you hear about the Minister’s decision to resign?” a mage two tables to my left asked. “I couldn’t believe my ears when I got the news this morning.”
“Quite shocking,” the mage sitting across from him agreed with a solemn nod. “Perhaps he’s older than we realized. Who do you think is going to replace him?”
“I’ve heard that Lord Cedris ar’Tarea is being considered.”
“The Chief Mage of Rhodea?” The other mage sounded incredulous. “That’s one of the smallest states in the Federation! Surely you’re joking.”
“Not at all,” the first mage said. “He seems to have very strong connections with the Minister’s office, and his record, from what I’ve been told, is impeccable. I hear he has a very strong chance.”
“That’s ridiculous. If his record is impeccable, it’s only because he doesn’t have enough things to do to get him into any kind of trouble.”
The conversation quickly devolved into an argument, and I tuned them out, seeking out other bits of conversation. To my surprise, Lord Cedris came up quite a few times in conversation as a popular candidate. I wondered if he really was as well connected to the Minister’s office as some seemed to think, or if perhaps the Benefactor had a hand in increasing his popularity. I would have to ask Iannis about it when I saw him next.
“Excuse me,” a man said, drawing my attention away from the buzz of conversation. “Are you Miss Sernan?”
I looked up from my cup of tea – I’d switched from coffee after cup number three – to see a tall mage standing just in front of my table, dressed in dark, silver-embroidered robes that were a cut above what the other mages in the coffee shop were wearing. He had jaw-length, curly black hair, a square jaw, and a complexion like coffee-tinted cream. I went still as I noticed that his bottle-green eyes were the exact same shade as mine, and a chill went through me – I’d never met someone with my exact eye-coloring before.
Come on, Sunaya. It could just be a coincidence.
Maybe, but I didn’t like coincidences. I couldn’t quite reconcile his youthful face with the fuzzy image of my father that I’d conjured in my head, but this guy had the same curly black hair that I did, too. I tensed as I searched his green eyes for any sign of recognition, but there was none.
“Yes, I am Narina Sernan,” I finally said. “Who are you?”
“Oh, forgive me. My name is Coman ar’Daghir.” Without asking, he pulled out the chair opposite me and sat his bony ass down in it. “I’ve been curious to meet you ever since I heard that you were part of Lord Iannis’s entourage. I’ve accompanied my own Chief Mage to the Convention for at least a decade now, and I don’t believe I’ve ever met you.”
“This is my first Convention,” I told him, picking up my cup and taking a sip of my tea. “I’m one of several assistants who work in Lord Iannis’s office, and the one he usually takes along with him was unable to make it this year.”
“Is it true that your airship crash-landed in aboriginal territory?” Coman asked curiously. “And that you were taken prisoner by the Resistance?”
“It is.” I narrowed my eyes, trying to guess at what he wanted. He was the first to come out and directly ask about that, even though I knew the others had to be thinking about it.
“That must have been terrifying. Were you tortured for information?’
“I would rather not speak of it, if it’s all the same to you,” I said, thinning my lips. I set down my teacup, and I didn’t have to pretend to feel as if he’d rubbed my fur the wrong way. If this guy really was my father, he sure didn’t seem to know it. Shouldn’t he be having some inkling that I was his daughter? I mean, supposedly he’d put a spell on me so my illegal magic would remain hidden. Surely that meant he cared somewhat.
Or maybe he’s just not your father and you’re reading too much into this.