Changed by Fire (Phoenix Rising #6) - Harper Wylde Page 0,7
as well as mentally. Entering the room, I retreated into my sanctuary and leaned heavily against the closed door. With a sigh, I dropped my head into my hands and pressed my palms into my eyes.
“Hard day?” a familiar male voice asked from deeper within my apartment, and I glanced up, already knowing I’d find my ‘servant’ and longtime friend, Tao. His black hair was swept back, the style he’d shaped the strands into this morning messier from a full day of running his hands through it. Dark, thick brows framed a set of brown eyes that seemed amused by the sheer weariness I displayed. He stood only an inch taller than me, but where I was sagging from the weight of my day, he stood straight and rigid like a statue, his hands behind his back in a formal stance that reminded me more of a military commander than a servant.
Though I was always happy to see him, especially now when I had so few people I could trust, I couldn’t deny the overwhelming longing that whispered through me. I wished that masculine voice belonged to Damien, Theo, Killian, Hiro, or Ryder. I missed them nearly as much as I missed Nix. The ache from being apart grew in strength with each day I marked off on my calendar.
Tao waited expectantly for my response—not that he didn’t already know the answer. Every day that was hard on me was equally hard for Tao. Being a rebel in enemy territory was dangerous and fraught with anxiety.
Kicking off the door, I scrubbed a hand over my hair, tousling the strands. “It was more like a veritable hell.”
He huffed a dry, humorless laugh. “The price we pay, I suppose.”
And it was true, though Tao had been paying his dues to the rebellion long before I had. Where my life had been cushy, Tao’s had been nothing but hardships. Taken from his family as a toddler, he was groomed by the Council and allowed to grow up in the Lodge just down the hall from me. We’d become quick friends until our lives careened down drastically different paths when we came of age. Born of two equally matched mythologicals—a zouyu and a qilin, both creatures who only appear in the presence of a worthy, benevolent ruler—Tao’s lack of shifting was seen as a direct affront to the Council. Thanks to the generosity of Gaspard, Tao narrowly escaped the Council’s wrath with his life, dedicating himself to serve them in a different capacity as a low-level mythological slave. It helped that precious few shifters knew of his heritage, thus saving the Council from public humiliation. There was no doubt in my mind that had others known of the situation, Tao would have been executed for treason at the young age of eight.
Luckily, Tao had done an excellent job of blending in, and he was forgotten about throughout the years, a skill highly valued by the rebellion. In the last few months, he’d become my right-hand man, feeding me any information he could glean that might be important. His status as a servant had been incredibly useful when it came to eavesdropping on Council conversations, sneaking into offices, and even picking up on the idle rumor mill that circled among the remaining servants.
“The steak you asked for has been prepared to your liking and is waiting on the table,” Tao commented, the common phrase a secret code that told me he had information. Without missing a beat, he continued. “Your night cap is sitting on the dining room table as well, and your suits have been neatly pressed and placed in the closet as requested,” Tao stated, back to being my butler. “If that will be all, sir?” With a wry smirk and a small, stilted bow at the waist, he awaited further instruction.
“Fuck,” I whispered under my breath as I strode to his side. He straightened when I stopped, standing shoulder to shoulder where only he could hear my low tone. “You know how much I hate this formality between us. You’re a friend.”
“Don’t.” Tao shifted his eyes around the room, warning me of the dangerous ground on which I tread. “I’m no more than a butler. A footman. A servant. I always have been. You know this.” The hard glint in his eyes spoke to the fire he contained daily, the rasp in his tone concealing exactly how difficult it was for him to be someone he wasn’t—someone lesser.