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Authors: P.K. Tyler
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had gone unnoticed until it was too late. And now Recai found himself standing in a room among the worst offenders.
Darya squeezed Recai's arm gently, bringing him back from his meandering thoughts.
"A bit overwhelming isn't it?" she breathed.
"I haven't spent much time around crowds recently. I've been…traveling."
Recai's voice had a scratched timbre, as if it had gone too long unused.
"Well, I never get to be in crowds," she offered, smiling. "So we must keep each other safe."
"I find it difficult to believe a mere crowd would intimidate the likes of you."
"Intimidate, no. But the unfamiliar is always worthy of skepticism."
Darya demurely raised her chin as she looked up at him.
"Yes," Recai smiled in return, unable to resist her infectious enthusiasm. "I guess we will brave the unknown together. It appears I am your escort after all."
With another squeeze of his arm, Darya led the mysterious man away from the main door and into the crowd. They entered the celebration arm in arm. Numerous eyes focused on them, forcing Darya to swallow a lump of anticipation in her throat. Whispers trailed behind them, but she had to strain her ears to make out the words.
"Gossiping old berbat kimse." Darya's eyes sparkled with delight. That she was here at all was news, and her handsome escort—who may or may not be the ghost of a son returned—only added to the mystery.
"Is there intrigue afoot?" Recai teased.
"There is always intrigue afoot, is there not? This is the den of traitors, and all here are out for their thirty pieces of silver," Darya whispered.
Recai laughed—a loud, unrestrained sound that for a moment drowned out his pain.
"Yes. Yes, I guess that's so."
The air was lighter with his laughter suspended around them, blocking the curious looks. As they bantered, a waiter walked past with sparkling flutes of champagne.
"Champagne…."
Darya watched the waiter longingly, having never tasted the infamous drink. Recai called impulsively after the man, who turned, head bowed, and offered them a glass.
"Darya, may I offer you a glass of champagne?" Recai gestured with a flourish of his hand.
Flirting came easily to her, a means to an end. She had always approached men with a focused determination, interested only in what would be gained or accomplished with each entanglement. But this strange man made an unfamiliar feeling bubble up inside of her she wasn't entirely sure she liked. Recai took two glasses before dismissing the waiter.
"A drink will help soothe the frayed nerves of an anxious guest," he said, handing her one of the glasses.
As she took the flute, her fingers brushed against his. Only the lightest of touches, but it reached deep into her. Darya's smile quirked to the side and a tingle ran down her spine, catching her off guard. Cautiously she sipped the carbonated wine, and the bubbles tickled her tongue as she swallowed.
"I've never had anything like this before," she admitted.
"No?"
"I'm afraid you might think me quite sheltered."
"We should all be so lucky."
Recai's voice was dark, as if a storm brewed just beneath the surface of his words. Darya did not shrink away from the ugly things in this world, but she did not like the color of his eyes as he spoke.
"I'm sorry," Recai closed his eyes before looking at her again. When he did, it was with a cloaking calm. "Are you hungry? Or perhaps there is someone you are meeting here?"
"No, no one," she admitted. "I would like to speak with plenty of them, but the music is loud and the night is full of unexpected surprises."
"Indeed it is."
"I'd much prefer to know more about you, Bey Osman. But first, please excuse me a moment. I need to make a brief phone call."
"Of course, I'm sorry for monopolizing you."
"I'll only be a moment."
Darya turned away and rushed to the outskirts of the crowd eager to make the call that would teach the guard Fahri Kaya the error he had made in threatening her. Her power may exist behind a veil, but
Darya squeezed Recai's arm gently, bringing him back from his meandering thoughts.
"A bit overwhelming isn't it?" she breathed.
"I haven't spent much time around crowds recently. I've been…traveling."
Recai's voice had a scratched timbre, as if it had gone too long unused.
"Well, I never get to be in crowds," she offered, smiling. "So we must keep each other safe."
"I find it difficult to believe a mere crowd would intimidate the likes of you."
"Intimidate, no. But the unfamiliar is always worthy of skepticism."
Darya demurely raised her chin as she looked up at him.
"Yes," Recai smiled in return, unable to resist her infectious enthusiasm. "I guess we will brave the unknown together. It appears I am your escort after all."
With another squeeze of his arm, Darya led the mysterious man away from the main door and into the crowd. They entered the celebration arm in arm. Numerous eyes focused on them, forcing Darya to swallow a lump of anticipation in her throat. Whispers trailed behind them, but she had to strain her ears to make out the words.
"Gossiping old berbat kimse." Darya's eyes sparkled with delight. That she was here at all was news, and her handsome escort—who may or may not be the ghost of a son returned—only added to the mystery.
"Is there intrigue afoot?" Recai teased.
"There is always intrigue afoot, is there not? This is the den of traitors, and all here are out for their thirty pieces of silver," Darya whispered.
Recai laughed—a loud, unrestrained sound that for a moment drowned out his pain.
"Yes. Yes, I guess that's so."
The air was lighter with his laughter suspended around them, blocking the curious looks. As they bantered, a waiter walked past with sparkling flutes of champagne.
"Champagne…."
Darya watched the waiter longingly, having never tasted the infamous drink. Recai called impulsively after the man, who turned, head bowed, and offered them a glass.
"Darya, may I offer you a glass of champagne?" Recai gestured with a flourish of his hand.
Flirting came easily to her, a means to an end. She had always approached men with a focused determination, interested only in what would be gained or accomplished with each entanglement. But this strange man made an unfamiliar feeling bubble up inside of her she wasn't entirely sure she liked. Recai took two glasses before dismissing the waiter.
"A drink will help soothe the frayed nerves of an anxious guest," he said, handing her one of the glasses.
As she took the flute, her fingers brushed against his. Only the lightest of touches, but it reached deep into her. Darya's smile quirked to the side and a tingle ran down her spine, catching her off guard. Cautiously she sipped the carbonated wine, and the bubbles tickled her tongue as she swallowed.
"I've never had anything like this before," she admitted.
"No?"
"I'm afraid you might think me quite sheltered."
"We should all be so lucky."
Recai's voice was dark, as if a storm brewed just beneath the surface of his words. Darya did not shrink away from the ugly things in this world, but she did not like the color of his eyes as he spoke.
"I'm sorry," Recai closed his eyes before looking at her again. When he did, it was with a cloaking calm. "Are you hungry? Or perhaps there is someone you are meeting here?"
"No, no one," she admitted. "I would like to speak with plenty of them, but the music is loud and the night is full of unexpected surprises."
"Indeed it is."
"I'd much prefer to know more about you, Bey Osman. But first, please excuse me a moment. I need to make a brief phone call."
"Of course, I'm sorry for monopolizing you."
"I'll only be a moment."
Darya turned away and rushed to the outskirts of the crowd eager to make the call that would teach the guard Fahri Kaya the error he had made in threatening her. Her power may exist behind a veil, but
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