Deborah's POV
Stepping inside, I was struck by the sheer opulence of the Vandran home.
Every surface gleamed with polished marble and gilded accents, the wealth of the family on full display.
Chandeliers dripped with crystals, reflecting the light in a dazzling array, while ornate tapestries and artwork adorned the walls.
It was a stark contrast to the more restrained elegance of the Edwards family estate or the refined sophistication of the Thorne residence.
The Vandran estate felt… excessive. As if they were trying too hard to prove something.
We passed through a series of hallways, each one more elaborately decorated than the last, until we emerged into a glass-domed conservatory.
The warm, humid air was thick with the scent of flowers, and sunlight filtered through the curved glass overhead, casting dappled patterns on the stone floor.
Exotic plants filled every corner, their vibrant colors and unusual shapes a testament to the Vandran family's wealth and influence.
"Do you like it?" Emily asked, turning to Barron with an expectant smile.
"It's impressive," he replied diplomatically, his expression giving nothing away.
I watched the scene before me, barely containing an amused smile. Barron might not openly express his opinions, but his body language made it clear that he found this "warm welcome" tedious at best. His posture, his brief responses, even the way his fingers lightly drummed the table—all betrayed his indifference to Emily's enthusiasm.
Emily, of course, seemed oblivious to his lack of interest. She continued her lively monologue about the greenhouse garden, detailing the design and her personal contributions with great pride. Her voice, light and bright, floated through the air, filling the space like the lingering humidity inside the greenhouse itself. There was something stifling about her words, like the greenhouse—controlled, curated, and ultimately artificial.
I sat quietly, letting the words wash over me, while my mind focused on a different task entirely: listening for anything useful. Even the smallest slip in her conversation could offer insight into the Vandran family's plans or weaknesses.
The sound of servants' footsteps faded into the distance, leaving a brief silence that felt heavier than it should have.
We were seated around a polished glass table in the center of the greenhouse. Emily sat on one side, with Barron and me directly across from her. This awkward trio made the atmosphere feel even more strained. According to our plan, Barron was supposed to charm Emily and subtly guide the conversation toward Tirfothuinn. My role was to observe, analyze, and collect any information I could about the Vandran estate, the family, or Emily's intentions.
But the current dynamic was far from smooth. Emily's sharp gaze landed on me, sweeping from head to toe in a slow, assessing manner. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of disdain flashing before she schooled her expression into something more neutral.
"Miss Edwards," she began, her tone overly polite but unmistakably mocking. "Why aren't you enjoying the luxuries of your own estate? What brings you to my family's home?"
Though her words were framed as a welcome, the undercurrent of hostility was impossible to miss. It was a calculated challenge, meant to test the boundaries of my patience.
Before I could respond, Barron interjected smoothly, his tone lighthearted and playful. "I invited her, of course. There are only three families left in the Sky Cities. It wouldn't hurt for us to visit each other more often, would it?"
His casual deflection eased some of the tension, but Emily's gaze lingered on me, still sharp and probing.
I matched her stare with a calm smile, playing along with Barron's tone. "Exactly. I recently spent a few days at Tairngire, and Barron's been vacationing in Ablach. Now, it's our turn to visit Macha and enjoy your hospitality."
Emily's lips curled into a smirk, though it didn't reach her eyes. Her voice turned cooler, sharper. "Hospitality? How interesting. Aren't you the long-lost daughter Mr. Edwards searched for over twenty-two years? It must have been quite the journey—from Tirfothuinn, wasn't it?"
Her seemingly casual words carried deliberate barbs. She wasn't just making conversation; she was testing me, digging for reactions or information.
I didn't flinch. My smile stayed in place as I answered her question with a question of my own. "Oh, Emily, you've heard of Tirfothuinn?"
Her smirk faltered for a split second, replaced by a flash of irritation. "We're not on familiar terms," she said sharply. "Miss Vandran will suffice. And yes, Tirfothuinn. Just a new island, isn't it?"
A new island?
Her phrasing caught my attention. It suggested the Vandran family's understanding of Tirfothuinn was limited, pieced together from rumors or incomplete intelligence. This realization gave me a flicker of hope. It meant they weren't as informed as I feared, and this was an opportunity to misdirect them further.
I nodded slowly, keeping my tone deliberately light. "That's one way to describe it. It's a stunning place. If you ever visit, I'm sure you'll fall in love with it. You might even decide never to return to the Sky Cities."
Emily's composed demeanor faltered. Her interest in my words was subtle but undeniable. Her carefully crafted indifference cracked, revealing a flicker of genuine curiosity—or perhaps it was something more strategic. It wasn't Emily herself who cared about Tirfothuinn, I realized, but the Vandran family.
"Is it really that beautiful?" she asked, trying to maintain her detached tone, though her body leaned slightly forward, betraying her intrigue.
Instead of answering, I lifted my teacup and took a slow sip, letting the silence stretch. My lack of response seemed to amplify her curiosity, and I could feel her attention sharpening further.
Barron stepped in, his voice smooth and conversational. "Tirfothuinn is extraordinary. I've heard the skies are clearer there than even the Sky Cities, and the stars at night are so vivid they almost feel close enough to touch."
Emily turned to him, her gaze softening ever so slightly at his words. She looked as if she wanted to ask more but restrained herself, keeping her expression carefully neutral. She picked up her own teacup and took a sip, her movements deliberate and measured, clearly stalling for time to decide her next move.
After a pause, she shifted her focus back to me. Her expression was more controlled, but her question was direct and pointed. "Miss Edwards, if Tirfothuinn is as breathtaking as you say, why did you return to the Sky Cities?"
Her tone was deceptively polite, but the underlying challenge was clear. She wasn't just curious; she was searching for something, trying to uncover a motive or weakness.
I met her gaze without hesitation, my voice steady. "Family," I said simply.
The single word hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning. For a brief moment, her composed mask slipped, and her expression hardened. It was clear she wasn't satisfied with my answer, but she didn't push further.
Her subtle frustration didn't escape my notice. I held her gaze, unflinching, while she seemed to weigh her next move.
Barron leaned back in his chair, his grin casual but clearly meant to defuse the rising tension. "Come on, Emily. You invited me here, didn't you? Let's not make this into something it's not. Deb's not your enemy, and I'm certainly not on trial."
Emily's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, her composure intact despite his words. "Deb?" she repeated, her voice laced with a subtle edge of disapproval. "How… quaintly familiar of you."
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she glanced at me, her gaze cool and appraising. It was clear she wasn't thrilled about my presence, but instead of continuing the confrontation, she redirected her attention to the delicate teacup in front of her.
With calculated precision, she picked up the spoon and began stirring her tea in slow, deliberate circles. The clinking sound of metal against porcelain filled the air, her movements stiff and purposeful, as though she was channeling her annoyance into the harmless act.
Barron, unfazed, leaned forward slightly, resting his arms casually on the table. "Familiarity's not a crime, Emily," he said lightly, his tone teasing but firm. "You could try it sometime. Makes life a lot easier."
Emily's spoon paused mid-stir, her sharp blue eyes flicking up to meet his. There was a flicker of something—annoyance, maybe, or disappointment—but she didn't take the bait. Instead, she set the spoon down carefully, her lips curving into a polite, practiced smile.
"I wasn't aware I needed lessons in civility," she replied smoothly, her tone as cold as the tea she hadn't yet touched.
Barron shrugged, the grin never leaving his face. "You don't. You're perfect as you are. Just thought I'd remind you it's not a war table we're sitting at."
Her smile faltered for the briefest moment, but she quickly recovered, turning her attention back to her tea. Meanwhile, I watched the exchange silently, noting the tension that simmered beneath their words, the subtle undercurrents of power and rivalry playing out between them.
I seized the moment of silence to regroup. Emily's subtle probing confirmed my suspicions: the Vandran family was deeply interested in Tirfothuinn, but their knowledge was fragmented at best. They saw it as a potential threat but lacked concrete details.
And Emily herself—ambitious, eager to prove her worth within her family—was a valuable asset. She was clearly looking for an opportunity to impress her father, likely hoping to secure favor by uncovering information about Tirfothuinn. If I played my cards right, I could use her ambitions to mislead her family and protect Tirfothuinn from their reach.
For now, though, I let the conversation drift back to safer topics. This game was only beginning, and I intended to play it carefully.