“I tried to bring him back.”
She glanced at Christian, who nodded.
Jada understood the art of lying, she’d perfected it herself. Wrap your lie in precisely enough truth that your body presents full evidence of conviction and sincerity, employing sentences vague enough that they can’t be picked apart. The key: the more one simplified the question, the greater the odds of isolating the answer.
“Is Dageus alive?” she said to Ryodan.
“Not as far as I know,” he replied.
“Is he dead?”
“I would assume so.” He folded his arms, mirroring her. “Are you done yet.”
“Not nearly.”
“Do you believe he did something with my uncle, lass?” Christian asked. “Something he’s not telling us?”
Lass. The others despised who she’d become. The Unseelie prince still called her lass.
“I’ve been crystal clear,” Ryodan said. “I did my best to bring Dageus back. The body I returned to your clan was not his. Everyone makes mistakes.”
“Not you,” she said. “Never you.”
He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. Then again, it never had. She’d modeled her own infrequent smiles in similar fashion. “Even me.”
“Truth,” Christian said.
“I believe,” she said to Christian without taking her eyes from Ryodan, “that a full-frontal assault never works with this man. You’ve had all the answers you’ll get from him.”
“Truth,” Ryodan mocked.
At the end of the corridor there was a sudden commotion, sharp cries and a scuffle. “She’s here, Jada! The one with Sinsar Dubh inside her!” Mia cried.
“Let her pass,” Jada commanded. “She’s no threat to us at present and there are greater ones that need addressing.”
Although her women grumbled and parted only reluctantly, they obeyed the order.
Without another word she slid up into the slipstream and returned to her study, knowing they would follow.
Where one staged one’s battles was often nearly as important as how.
11
“Never meant to start a war
I just wanted you to let me in…”
I stepped into what had once been Rowena’s study and inhaled lightly but deeply, girding myself to interact with Jada.
Differently this time.
I’d been pondering Dancer’s words as I hurried through the abbey, trying to refine my emotions and stop seeing Jada as the enemy. Open myself to getting to know the icy stranger. Kicking myself for needing someone else to point out that it was my guilt insisting Dani be exactly the same, because if she was, I wouldn’t feel so terrible about chasing her that night.
Dancer was right. My rejection of “Jada” was proportionate to how much I blamed myself, and as he’d so bluntly stated, that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with me.
The problem was, we’d had no warning, no time to adjust. One day Dani had been here, and a few weeks later she was gone, replaced by someone five years older, completely different, and quite possibly an alternate personality.
All I’d known was I wanted Dani back and I resented the one who’d taken her—the new Dani. It had been a gut punch, and I’d reacted instinctively, out of pain and grief.
Here, now, buoyed by the clarity of mind, strength, and energy of an Unseelie-flesh high, I could strip my feelings from the situation and perceive it more clearly.
I had no right to reject “Jada.” Whether we liked her personality or not, this was Dani.
She’d made it back by hook or crook, battling God knows what for five and a half long years to return to the only home she’d known, and upon finally making it—not one of us welcomed her back or was happy to see her. Her hard-won homecoming had been an epic failure.
If Dani was in there, a repressed personality, our actions were unforgivable. If this was who Dani actually was now? Doubly unforgivable. We’d all changed. Even my mother. But she’d had the rock that was Jack Lane at her side to share her burdens and leaven the pain. What had Dani had? Anything?
I sighed, looking at her, seated behind the desk. Really looking at her for perhaps the first time since she’d returned.
Dani “the Mega” O’Malley.
All grown up.
Every bit as beautiful as I’d known she would be. Creamy Irish skin, faint dusting of freckles, long red hair swept up in a high ponytail caught in a leather thong, her gamine features both sharpened and softened, resulting in a finely chiseled, stunning face.
This time, however, as I examined her, I looked for the Dani in Jada without regretting the aspects I couldn’t see, focusing instead on the aspects of Dani that still shined through.
Strong. Criminy, she’d always been so strong, and now was even more so.
Smart. Check—fierce intelligence blazed in those slanted emerald eyes above high blades of cheekbones.
Aware. Yes, her gaze was even now skimming the room, taking our measure, missing nothing. It rested briefly on my badly “highlighted” hair. Dani would have burst out laughing. We’d have joked about whether I might add a Mohawk to the mess.
Jada merely noted it and moved on with her assessment.
As did I.
Loyal, she sat in this abbey, training the sidhe-seers as the prior headmistress had never been willing to do.
A warrior, like our Dani, she patrolled the streets, tirelessly killing the enemy.
Like Dani, fighting for what she believed in.
I offered her a smile. It wasn’t hard. This was Dani. She was here. She’d survived. We could have lost her completely. We hadn’t. I would find a way to love this version of her, too. And maybe, one day, I’d get to see more of the girl I’d once known. Dancer’s reminder that she hadn’t been back long was something to consider. A soldier on the front needed time to decompress from the nightmare. A soldier who’d seen hard battle came back mined with triggers. I knew what those felt like from the rape I endured, the complete and total powerlessness I’d felt. I also knew that every time I’d sensed one of my triggers even potentially being approached, I’d done everything in my power to shut down inside. “Jada.” I infused her chosen name with as much warmth as I could.
“Mac,” Jada replied coolly. Like Ryodan and Barrons, she didn’t comment on my visibility. These were difficult people to surprise. Then she looked past me and her face went stiller than still, as if she’d frozen into a stone statue of a woman.