Grace followed the servant into a spacious atrium. Morning sun shone through the glass panels in the ceiling. The stone path wound between lush greenery, parallel to a stream lined with smooth river pebbles. Spires of bamboo rose next to fichus and ferns. Delicate orchids in a half a dozen shades dotted the moss-covered ground. Red kafir lilies bloomed along the stream's banks, echoed by paler blossoms of camellia bushes. The air smelled sweet.
The path turned, parting, and Grace saw the origin of the stream: a ten foot waterfall at the far wall. The water cascaded over huge grey boulders into a tiny lake. Near the shore stood a low coffee table surrounded by benches. A dark-haired man lounged on the bench to the left, sipping tea from a large cup.
Nassar stood next to him, talking softly. He wore blue sweatpants and light-grey t-shirt. A towel hung over his shoulder and his pale hair was wet and brushed back from his face. Poised like this, he appeared massive. Muscles bulged on his chest when he moved his arm to underscore a point. His biceps stretched the sleeves of his shirt. His legs were long. Everything about him, from the breadth of his shoulders to the way he carried himself —controlled and aware of his size —communicated raw physical power. His wasn't the static bulk of a power weightlifter, but rather the dangerous, honed build of a man who required muscle to survive. If a genius sculptor were to carve a statue and name it Strength, Nassar would've made a perfect model.
He glanced at her. His green eyes arrested her and Grace halted, suddenly realizing she wanted to know what he would look like naked.
The thought shocked her.
Something in her face must've equally shocked him, because he fell silent.
A torturous second passed.
She forced herself to move. Nassar looked away, resuming his conversation.
I can't be attracted to him. He forced me to come here and risk my life and I don't even know why. I know nothing about him. He's a monster. That last thought sobered her up. She approached the benches.
"Grace," Nassar said. His magic brushed her. "This is Alasdair, my cousin."
Alasdair unfolded himself from the bench. "Charmed."
"Hello." Grace nodded at Alasdair, then turned to Nassar. "You drugged my drink."
"Actually I drugged the cream," he said, "and technically it was my sister who did it."
"Why?"
"You were in shock. I wanted to spare you the break down and anxiety when you came out of it."
Grace held herself straight. "I would appreciate it if you didn't do it again. We have a deal. I'll keep my part, but I can't do it if I have to watch what I eat and drink."
Nassar considered it for a long moment. "Agreed."
"A deal?" Alasdair's eyebrows crept up. His was lean and sharp, his movements quick. His stare had an edge. If Nassar was a sword, Alasdair was a dagger.
"I've agreed to do my best to help you, and in return, you'll leave my family alone for five years," Grace said.
Alasdair grimaced at Nassar. "That's incredibly generous, considering what they've done. We owe them nothing."
Nassar shrugged his massive shoulders. "It's worth the reward to have her full cooperation."
Grace took a seat on the bench. "What did we do exactly?"
"You don't know?" Alasdair passed her a plate of scones.
"No."
The dark-haired man glanced at Nassar, who shrugged. "You tell it."
"At the end of the nineteenth century your family and our clan were in dispute," Alasdair said.
Grace was learning to decipher their code. "In other words, we were murdering each other."
"Precisely. The dispute grew out of control and so our families agreed to end it. The peace was to be sealed through a wedding. Jonathan Mailliard of your family was to marry Thea Dreoch."
"He was your great grandfather's brother," Nassar supplied.
"The wedding went well," Alasdair continued. "There was a very nice reception in one of Mailliard gathering halls, a beautiful old hotel. Everyone ate, drank, and was merry. The couple went upstairs, to their rooms, where Jonathan pulled out a knife and slit Thea's throat."
Grace froze with a scone halfway to her mouth. She had expected something of this sort. To force her family into indefinite servitude, the crime had to be horrible. But it still shocked her.
"He waited for almost two hours by her cooling corpse," Alasdair continued. "Until the party died down. Then he and several Mailliard men and women went through the hotel door to door. They murdered Thea's sister, her husband, and their twin daughters who were flower girls at the wedding. They killed Thea's parents and her two brothers, both minors, and would've slaughtered the entire party, but they were seen by a Dreoch retainer, who started screaming. Our offensive magic was always stronger and we were inside your family's defenses. There was a bloodbath. Every member of the Mailliard family was killed, except Thomas Mailliard, who was fourteen at the time. He hid in a closet and wasn't discovered until later in the day, when the butchery had stopped. Because Thomas was a child and hadn't participated in the slaughter, he was given a choice: death or servitude for all of his descendants. And that's why you now serve us."
Grace sat in a sickened silence.
"Anything to say?" Alasdair asked.
"That's very horrible," she said.
"Yes, it is."
"However, I never knew Jonathan Mailliard. I didn't even know his name. I feel awful about the murder and I understand that my family bears responsibility, but I never killed anyone. I've never hurt you and neither has my mother, my uncle or my great grandfather, who hid in the closet." She tried to make her voice sound calm and reasonable. "I've done you no harm, yet you limit my freedom and force me to risk my life because of a crime perpetrated a century ago by someone I've never met. Our family has served yours for over a hundred years. At some point this debt will have been repaid. When do you think will that be?"
"Never," Alasdair said.
It felt like a slap. She looked to Nassar. "So this is how you do things? You dumped all of the blame for a bloody feud onto a fourteen year old child who hid in a closet, and because he's failed to stop grown men from killing, you keep his descendants in perpetual servitude?"
"Hardly perpetual," Nassar corrected. "Since I assumed the responsibility for the clan fifteen years ago, I've called on your family only four times."
"But we know we can be called at any point. We have to live with the knowledge that on a moment's notice we might be required to risk our life for a complete stranger for no reason and we might never see our loved ones again. We can't refuse. The terms are obedience or death. Would you want to live like this?"
"No," Nassar admitted.
"Can you tell me when the debt will be paid?" she asked.
"This arrangement is to our advantage," Nassar said. "It makes no sense for us to release you."
"I see. I'll have to release us then."
"Really?" Alasdair gave a short barking laugh. "How exactly are you planning on doing that?"
"My uncle has no offspring and I'm my mother's only child. To my knowledge, I'm the last of Mailliards. I'll have to make sure that I don't continue the line." She rose. "I think I've seen the washroom on the way here. I really need to splash some water on my face."