The Rifts of Psyche Kyle West (inspirational books for women TXT) 📖

venom on hand to make those slavers think twice about stepping foot in the Deeprift!”

“Oh,” she said, sadly. “That’s much too bad.”

Lucian almost spit out his stew when Morgana’s foot rubbed his shin. It was hard not to betray the surprise on his face. He shifted his feet away, but that did nothing to curb Morgana’s determination. She just reached farther, and Lucian was helpless to escape. What in the Worlds was this girl doing?

“Is everything all right?” Julia asked, concerned. “I didn’t put too much caro pepper in the stew, did I? It can be rather hot for the foreign palate.”

“No, you didn’t,” Lucian said, hastily.

“You poor thing, your cheeks are burning so. It’s like you swallowed a coal.”

“The stew is perfectly fine,” Lucian gasped. Morgana’s foot was trailing up dangerously. He had to put an end to this. “I’m sorry. Where’s the bathroom?”

“We have an outhouse out back. Morgana, why don’t you show him?”

“No need,” he said, getting up. “I can find it.”

Before any of them could say another word, he was out the door.

17

Lucian made his way behind the home, where he found the outhouse. All he needed was a moment to think about what to do – to cut his losses and head to his own hut or follow Fergus’s orders and stay.

He had to think of some excuse to get out of this, but what? He wasn’t sure even that would solve the problem. She had shown up at his hut last night, so he wouldn’t put it past her to do the same thing again.

All he had to do was survive dinner. After that, her parents would surely be a curb on her behavior.

His thoughts were broken with the sound of footsteps approaching from outside.

“Lucian?” Morgana called. “I hope everything is all right?”

“Rotting hell,” he muttered. He wasn’t sure how to respond. “I’m fine. You can go back inside.”

She did not go back inside. Instead, she took a few steps closer to the outhouse door. “I guess things got a little . . . heated . . . in there.”

Well, at least she was admitting it. “What’s gotten into you? You’re making things really awkward.”

It was quiet for a while, almost long enough for Lucian to think she had gone. Then she stepped closer, and the door moved, as if she had placed her hand on it. One move, and she could push it open. “I’ve never seen anyone like you before. Handsome. Brave. And . . . you’ve seen things. I want you to tell me stories of what it’s like out there. Off Psyche.”

“Maybe later. If you control yourself. Just don’t open the door.”

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t do anything you don’t want me to do, Lucian.”

Lucian nearly choked. He had to be careful with his answer. The last thing he needed was for her to become angry or cry. But at the same time, she was pulling no punches. He couldn’t let her manipulate him. For some reason, he was reminded of what Elder Erymmo had said, how people could easily be influenced to act a certain way even without the aid of magic.

Well, he couldn’t let her do that to him.

“All that stuff at the dinner table,” he said. “You need to cut it out. All you’re doing is making me angry. You don’t want that, do you?”

She laughed. “Angry? That was just a bit of fun.”

“For you, maybe. I don’t like it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you really want to know?”

At that point, she began pushing on the door, which Lucian kept shut with his foot. The time for words was over.

He streamed a small bit of Psionic Magic, enough to push the door wide open. Morgana sprawled backward with a startled cry, tripping over her skirts and falling into the dirt, her eyes wide as saucers. When she got up in a huff, her cheeks were red and her eyes had narrowed dangerously.

“Lucian! How . . . how dare you! You’ve dirtied my clothes.”

Lucian had to say, it was satisfying to have the upper hand for once. “Now, let’s get through dinner peacefully. No more games.”

She watched him for a moment, as if sizing him up again. There was something dangerous in her eyes, something that made her seem much older. He knew that was crazy because she was just an impulsive young woman.

“Very well,” she said, icily.

She headed back toward the house. Lucian waited a couple more minutes before he followed.

Hopefully, things went better when he returned.

For the rest of dinner, Morgana was the picture of perfect propriety. Lucian was even beginning to enjoy himself, especially when the mystika loosened tongues. Kieron told crazy stories about his hunting trips.

“You have to come upon the wyverns from above,” he said. “Not easy, that. They nest high in the mountains, and it’s rotting hard to breathe up there.”

“Kieron . . .” Julia said, warningly. “No cursing at the dinner table.”

“Forgive me, dear.” He refocused on Lucian. “And the stalking is most certainly not easy when wyverns are so good at smelling. But granted you can get above them, the rotting bastards never think to look up.”

“Kieron, language!” Julia chided.

“Interesting expletive,” Lucian said. “I haven’t heard it outside of Psyche.”

“Really, now?” Kieron said. “I wouldn’t know. Anyway, the only way you can hunt wyverns is with spears and harpoons.”

“And magic,” Lucian said.

“Aye, that too, though only mages have that benefit.”

“A pity they can’t be trained to carry people,” Morgana said. “They are certainly large enough.”

Kieron had a laugh at that. “They are wild beasts, Morgana. They would never consent to be flown by the likes of a human.”

“They say the Queen’s Mage-Knights fly them.”

Kieron dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Stories. If the Mage-Knights flew them, the Riftlands would be under the Queen’s full control by now.”

“Cleon has told me as much.”

Kieron blew a raspberry. “He tells tales if he thinks it might earn him a pretty girl’s favor.”

Morgana was about to contest that, but