Page 28 of Firebird
“No.” I’d had little stomach for anything since I’d arrived.
“Eat.” He gestured toward the platter. “Kara always prepares too much for me.”
I didn’t want to eat his food. “Wouldn’t that be inappropriate? For me to eat with you.”
He held my gaze for an uncomfortable moment, then he spoke in a conversational way, rather than dictatorial.
“A philosopher once said that while we cannot always control our circumstances, we can control how we react to them. It is better to take advantage of the smallest of gifts in these hard times. Take what you can, cherish what will give you peace and strength for the difficult roads that lie ahead.”
It was baffling. He was my enslaver and yet he was offering me such odd and somewhat wise advice. Starving myself or denying myself good food was foolish.
“And you’ve traveled hard roads, dominus?” I tried but couldn’t quite hide my bitterness.
“Eat, Malina.” His commanding voice was back. “Besides, this is my house, and I make the rules. I want you to give me what you promised in exchange for your friend’s life, and I don’t want to listen to your stomach making those noises the entire time I enjoy my meal.”
I scowled, ready to protest when a low gurgle of hunger rumbled in my belly. I hadn’t eaten all day, I was so sick with worry over Enid.
“Eat,” he commanded with more roughness.
I picked up a piece of fig and took a bite, savoring the honeyed fruit on my tongue. He watched as if waiting for me to eat more, so I did. I ate a chunk of cheese on bread, then another fig, and then picked up a slice of spiced pork, humming with pleasure at the savory deliciousness.
“Kara is a good cook, I see,” I finally broke the silence, licking one of my fingers.
“She is.” He’d stilled, gazing at me with unwavering intensity.
That stalled my feeding frenzy. I settled back from the table, feeling self-conscious and not a little bit uneasy.
He filled his cup of wine from the decanter Kara had set on the tray. Belatedly, I realized I was supposed to serve him, but he didn’t seem to care about the formalities.
“Tell me about the first time you knew you had this mystical gift.” He took a sip and waited while I let my mind drift back.
“The first time I never told anyone. I was very young, only six years old.” I looked out at the city, pinpoints of light from windows below. “My mother’s father died and she’d been crying uncontrollably the entire day it had happened. My father had tried to comfort her, but eventually took my sisters out of the house to give her privacy.”
“But you stayed behind,” he said quietly as if he’d known that’s what I’d do.
I turned to face him, finding his fixed attention thrilling when I should not.
“Yes, I did,” I confirmed. “She’d been sitting at the hearth, staring into the fire while she wept. I curled up beside her and laid my head on her lap. I can’t explain how I did it. I only knew that I was desperate to help my mother. To make her pain go away. When I wished for that to happen, I reached out with my first bond.”
“A bond?” he asked.
“It’s the line I create to connect with someone. I did it for the first time without really knowing what I was doing. But when I felt my mother’s pain feeding through the line, I just wanted to help her. To stop it.”
I’d poured my love through that connection. For some reason, that part felt too personal to tell.
“It worked. My mother stopped weeping a few moments later.And by the time my father and sisters returned, she was cooking dinner. She was still sad, of course, but not overwhelmed with the grief.”
I could still remember exactly how she’d stroked her palm over my head and hair before she pressed a kiss to my temple and whispered, “Thank you, sweet Mina.” I didn’t want to share that part either. Or how next time I saw Bunica, she patted my cheek and stared into my eyes and said, “It’s finally arrived. And now you know.”
I remained quiet while he seemed to be contemplating my story.
“And does anyone else in your family have this gift?”
“No,” I answered honestly. They did not havemygift.
He drank his wine, his gaze flicking over the lights below, the sky growing darker.
“About today,” he said.
