Blind Warrior (The Weavers Circle #3) - Jocelynn Drake Page 0,54
hoping he’s close because the pestilents are getting more dangerous.”
“I think we’re all worried about that.” Clay frowned. “Now, try to read Baer’s thoughts.”
Grey was silent for a few moments. “His thoughts are splintered and fast—too hard while he’s a bird. But Lucien is enjoying the hell out of setting things on fire.” He let go of Clay and settled his hands on the grass. “It’s getting easier to pick up on things now.”
Baer flew into the clearing and shifted to his human form, his mouth in a wide grin. “Flying never gets old.”
Lucien and Calder stopped their antics and jogged to the center of the clearing, each sitting on the grass, both sweaty and smiling just as widely as Baer. “Damn, that was fun,” Lucien said. He snapped his fingers, and a small flame appeared at the tips. Calder immediately threw the last of the water at him.
Lucien’s grin disappeared. “I had that one under control.”
“Thank you for not burning the plantation down,” Clay said with a playful smirk at Lucien.
Cort winced. He’d been putting off saying something because it wasn’t his home, but he was living there now. He wanted to feel comfortable there, but…
“No offense, guys, but would you be willing to call it something else? Maybe just the house? I think I’ve heard you refer to it as an estate too.”
“He’s right. You need to think harder about that word when it comes out of your mouth,” Lucien added.
Clay’s brow furrowed, but Cort could see the moment he realized not only what Cort was talking about, but why. “Damn…Cort, Lucien. I’m sorry.”
“Wh—” Baer started, and then his mouth fell open. “Oh, fuck. Cort, Lucien, man…I’m sorry.”
Cort saw Calder wincing a little, and he looked up at Lucien to find the other Black man smiling at him. He gave a little nod.
“I think we just called it that because of the style of the house, but that’s no excuse. It was thoughtless and inconsiderate. We should have been more conscious of the historical weight that word carries. I’m sorry, Cort and Lucien. Of course we will stop using that term,” Grey said. He felt across the grass, and Cort met him halfway, threading their fingers together.
“We never meant to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable in your own home,” Baer added.
“Thanks. Dane has done an amazing job rehabbing the house, and you’ve all turned it into a real home. I’ve liked being here since the first day. But calling it a plantation…”
“It’s an ugly reminder of America’s horrible past. Makes it hard to want to be here at times. But I did a little research not long after arriving,” Lucien admitted.
“Really?” Cort’s head popped up, a little bubble of hope rising in him.
“I needed to know about its past if I was going to live here. Apparently, the house was built only about forty years ago, in 1982,” Lucien continued.
“The last Weavers,” Clay murmured.
Lucien nodded. “No slaves have ever worked in the house. The land as far back as I can trace was forest land. No slaves worked the land.”
Cort couldn’t stop the sigh of relief. The world, both past and present, was ugly enough. He needed to have a safe haven to escape for at least a few hours, and to know that the place where he was currently staying could have been linked to slavery had soured his stomach.
Baer clapped a hand on Lucien’s shoulder. “Sorry, man. Seriously, our bad. I will do better. We all will.”
“Consider it fixed,” Clay declared with a nod. He turned to look at Lucien, brow furrowed in what looked like worry. “May I ask why you didn’t say something sooner? You’ve been here nearly a month.”
Lucien snorted. “When? After being told about pestilents and fire bursting out of my hands? Or when the snakes attacked? Or the fight that cost Grey his vision? We’ve been a little busy. Plus, after the research revealed the truth, I figured it was just a word to you. Was trying to figure out how to bring it up. Didn’t want to rock the boat until I knew it was safe.”
“I’m sorry we haven’t done more to show you that you’re safe with us. We will try harder. You are an equal member of this brotherhood. We all have an equal voice.”
“Though Clay’s voice tends to be the loudest,” Baer teased.
Lucien smirked and gave Clay a little salute. “No worries, fearless leader. I’ll tell you when I think you’re fucking up.”