Siege of Shadows (Effigies #2)(68)
“Maia—and Aidan, nice of you to come.”
Damn it, I’d stayed still too long. I turned to find Brendan walking up to us with Prince and Tracy Ryan in tow. Prince was formidable up close, but I could smell the judgment on him, feel the air of superiority. Once he reached me, he stared down at me without a word, picking me apart, sizing me up, trying to quantify my worth with nothing but the power of his glare.
“Ms. Finley,” Prince said finally. “It’s good to see you in person.”
“Yeah . . .” Then, catching myself, I added, “Um, yes, sir.” I was supposed to call him “sir,” right? There was something about him that made me feel like I had to add it.
He didn’t greet Rhys. Looking at them both up close, it was clear that Prince shared most of his genes with his eldest son: the dark, dirty-blond hair, the square shape of his head. But the intensity in Rhys’s and Prince’s eyes was the same.
“Hello, Director,” Rhys offered, only to be greeted with a curt nod.
“Maia, you know the director of the North American Division.” Unlike Rhys, Brendan’s voice swelled with pride as he formally introduced his father. “And this is Senator Tracy Ryan.”
On cue, Ryan gave the photographers the practiced grin of a politician, even if she couldn’t hide its insidiousness. “It’s good to meet one of you in person, Maia.”
I looked at the hand she offered me. “Does seeing me in person make it easier or harder to dehumanize and belittle me?”
“Maia,” Brendan warned through gritted teeth, flicking his head not-so-subtly at a reporter talking to a dignitary nearby.
“Ryan has said some rather unfavorable things about the Sect,” started Prince, his Adam’s apple bulging in his throat. “But we welcome these opinions. The Sect has never been above critique or scrutiny. We are as accountable to the rest of the world and its citizens as any other agency, and we’ve always conducted ourselves as such.”
He was great at hiding it, but I caught it anyway: the way his eyes scanned the reception hall as he spoke. He certainly made sure his voice was loud enough for others to hear.
“So you told me.” Ryan swirled her wineglass. “Look, I’m not here to debate politics. Lord knows we can all use a break from that from time to time. I’m here in good faith as a public servant just like everyone else. I will say, though, that if you want to win the people over, you should try asking your girls to fix their attitudes a little.”
I blinked, shaking my head because I wasn’t quite sure what I’d heard. “If you have something to say, I’m standing right here.”
“You see?” Ryan said to Prince again, who, to my fury, sighed almost in apology. It was only then that she turned to address me. “I know it’s not your fault. That’s just the trouble with young women. Despite all that, you’ve managed to keep things together so far, and I commend you.” I glared at her as she sipped from her glass. She “commended” me as if I were a newly potty-trained child. “But can you blame good, honest people for being worried when you can’t even behave yourself at a simple fund-raiser?”
“But where are the good, honest people?” I looked around. “Surely you don’t mean yourself?”
“That’s enough.” Prince kept his voice low and menacing. “This isn’t the time to make a scene. And you should know your place.”
My place. It was like a gut punch I’d seen coming, but I reeled from it anyway, from Ryan’s smug look of victory, from Brendan’s docility as he avoided my eyes.
“Wow, this is really something, isn’t it, Maia?” Rhys glared at his father. “So what, Director? We’re surrounded by cameras, so you’re going to pretend you can stand to be around someone you once called the political equivalent of a monkey on a tricycle?”
Ryan bristled. This was clearly the first time she’d heard this, but Rhys hadn’t finished.
“The Sect has a bad image, so you’re just gonna spread it for assholes like this and let them talk to our people any damn way they want?”
Brendan looked furious. “Watch your tone with the director,” he hissed.
“No, he’s the one who should watch his tone.” His voice grew louder by the second, as if he couldn’t control it. His eyes were blazing as he stared down his father. “Berating her like she’s someone to discipline. Maia isn’t your kid.”
“But you are.” Prince didn’t need to raise his voice to be menacing. He painted the opposite picture to that of his son: chillingly calm. It was a frightening control that came only with age, the dominance of a man who knew just the amount of pressure to apply and where to break someone he’d already broken before. “Do not test me again.”
He didn’t. Rhys was boiling. But he didn’t. Maybe he couldn’t. His hands were trembling, and not just out of anger. He recoiled under the ominous weight of his father’s glare. It may have been for just a second, but I saw the flash of fear in Rhys’s eyes. It was in Brendan’s, too.
As Prince and Ryan walked away from us, Rhys stayed rooted to the spot, staring at a target that had long since removed itself from his line of fire.
“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?” Brendan was not nearly as menacing as their father, but the judgment was there in spades. He kept his voice low to avoid drawing attention. “There are cameras around, Aidan, but you just couldn’t help yourself. You had to be a little brat anyway. I thought you’d learned better by now—hey, I’m talking to you,” he added because Rhys wasn’t even looking at him. Grabbing his little brother’s shoulder, Brendan pulled him around to face him. “You know as well as I do it’s stupid to test Father like that. You need to learn some respect.”