Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(72)

But I don’t know what else to do.

Just breathe, Sage. Bide your time.

Behind me there’s a plush, circular red velvet couch sitting in the middle of the ornate bathroom; I consider curling up on it to take a nap since there’s no window to climb out of. Maybe they’ll forget about me.

There’s a knock on the door. “You all right?” Faelan says from outside.

“Yeah,” I call out. Then I whimper to myself, “No.” I don’t want to go back out there. All those faces, the looks, the attention. I don’t know how to process it all. It’s wrong, it’s all wrong.

How can Faelan and Marius expect me to mingle with these people tonight and act normal? It’s a walking nightmare.

The one thing I found out that was actually interesting is that I have a brother. I have no idea what to think about him—he looks like a weird Scottish farmer—and I’m not sure what to call him, but according to Faelan he’s a sibling. Family.

I used to wish for a real family. I wished a million times that my dad would rescue me when my mom—or the woman who I thought was my mom—was on one of her benders. I’d wonder why he never came and found me, why he left me with her. Was it to punish me? Had I done something wrong? I wanted a real family so badly it stung in my lungs. All the kids would draw their moms and dads and sisters and brothers with sunshine in the sky and a tree in the yard, and I’d just ache and draw dragons or fairies.

The irony.

And now I meet my family. And I want to scream.

I wonder how Faelan felt when those smug brothers of his set their wooden box of diamonds at my feet, not even sparing him a glance. His tension was obvious. I couldn’t just let them act like he wasn’t there. It rankled me, like those jocks in high school who think they’re God’s gift to womankind. And that Astrid chick wasn’t doing her gender any favors, fawning over that Duncan guy. If Astrid was really in a relationship with Faelan a long time ago, like Aelia said, why’s she drooling all over his stuck-up brother right in front of him?

I’ve officially decided I don’t like her. If there’s some kind of Astrid-Aelia smackdown in the future, I’m Team Aelia all the way.

“Sage, you can’t hide forever,” Faelan’s muffled voice says.

“Why not?”

The door swings open a crack. His head peeks in. “You’ll have tongues wagging if we stay missing too long.”

“So what?” I groan, plopping down onto the circular couch.

“They’ll think we’re”—his voice lowers—“busy.”

I’m up and out of the bathroom in seconds.

We don’t go back out on the balcony. Instead we go downstairs and out into the courtyard, through the crowd. I’m not sure how people do this all the time, small talk. It’s freaking exhausting. So many faces, sharp gazes cutting through me like a knife. No one looks at me with openness or even curiosity; it’s all cunning and manipulation. I recognize it immediately, the all-too-familiar search for a weakness.

In the foster homes, a lot of the adults or older kids would look at me that way: What can I get out of you? What can you give to me?

I was a means to an end, a monthly check, a possible hit, a potential lay. Never just Sage.

And here I am again, a thing.

Faelan stays close, not engaging any of the people who approach. He just hovers right behind me, ever present.

I nod and keep a fake smile on my face until I think my cheeks might crack. It’s mostly a lot of those underlings, the demigods and demigoddesses remaining on the edges, as if they’re allowing their peasants to take a gander at the newcomer before swooping back in. I can’t always tell what each person is when they approach me with a humble greeting before scuttling off into the crowd again. Some have wings or overly large eyes, so I’m fairly sure they’re pixies, but the selkies and the pixies begin to look very similar as the night wears on. The only way I can tell if it’s a shade talking to me is if they grin wide enough for me to see their small fangs. The alfar are impossible to be sure of. Though I do see a couple of taller, more elegant figures with features similar to Astrid’s: delicate nose, almond-shaped eyes, prominent cheekbones.

Thankfully, there’s not a wraith in sight. Something tells me they wouldn’t be hanging around this highbrow place. The two I saw seemed more like henchmen than partiers.

After about an hour of exhausting smiles and nods, I’m more than relieved when Aelia and her vapid coven approach me with cocktails in their hands.

“Wow, you did phenomenal,” Aelia says, breathless. “Word is, you’re total hot real estate, girl. Seriously. Awesome job.”

“Thanks, I guess,” I say.

She grabs Faelan’s arm, her eyes alight. “Holy Danu, Faelan, you have them talking, brazenly coming out with her onto the balcony. They all think you’re vying for rank again.” She seems to be enjoying this whole thing a lot.

Faelan frowns at her, not a fan.

“It’s my fault,” I say. “I didn’t want people thinking he was my slave or something.”

Aelia gives us a giddy look. “Well, it’s juicy. The girls and I are going to do one more circle around the room, and this time you’re coming, Sage.” When I open my mouth to protest, she adds quickly, “You’ll be perfectly safe now that the protector bond is set, so no excuses. Faelan will be right here.”