Page 48

Gwyn beamed, a little villainously. “Then this night will be all the more entertaining.”

Gardens surrounding Briar Keep were part of a fairy tale. Long, trimmed hedges glimmered in twinkling, floating lights. Nearby, a bonfire burned with sage and hickory wood, and banquet tables were arranged with opulent tiered plates of sweet and savory foods. On a dais, tall wooden chairs were aligned and draped in black satin.

Destin sat amongst nobles and seers and high-ranking battle mages I’d met in passing over the days. The prince laughed at something said, and tipped a drinking horn to his lips.

When he caught sight of me on the stone steps, the prince rose and unclasped a cloak over his shoulders made of blue and gold velvet.

“Lady Adira.” Destin held out one palm, a foot perched on a lower step, positioned entirely like a serenading prince to the damsel in the tower. “Welcome to your revel.”

I flashed him a grin, took his hand, then leaned in. “I have no idea what I’m to do here.”

Destin guided me toward one of the tables. “Bask in your return. This is for you. This hope, this joy, is returned because of you.”

“But I have no magic.”

“You will.” Destin handed me a curious little ball from one of the tiers. It was coated in pink glaze and a blue jelly oozed from the center. “Already, the noble houses from Vondell to the cliffs of Myrkfell are spreading word of your return. I suspect by the dawn anytome, any writing on House Ravenwood and releasing dormant power will be in our possession.”

“Well that’s something, I suppose.” I took a bite of the ball and a tremble skirted up my arms. Chilled at first bite, then the jelly warmed on my tongue like a freshly baked pie sliding down my throat. “What is this?”

“Bakverk. Grimberry glaze fills the center, and it was the belief of our chefs it was once served often in the palace when House Ravenwood still lived in its walls. We might have degenerating memories, but we took a risk.”

“It’s amazing.” I shoved the rest of the ball into my mouth, wiping at the corner of my lips when the filling spilled over.

Destin grinned as though I’d granted him the moon. “I’m glad. I have a few dull duties to attend, but I hope you will save a dance for me tonight, Adira.”

Couples had already taken the stone center, spinning and twirling to rawhide drums and long stringed instruments that looked like a clash between a harp and guitar.

I offered up a tentative grin. Dancing was not my skillset, but it seemed most people were having more enjoyment simply being close. “Of course.”

Destin cut back toward the dais. A few courtiers reached for him, flirting, snickering, vying for his attentions. Decent and personable, Destin returned the advances with laughter and true attention to whatever words were spoken.

Strange as this world was, Prince Destin had been nothing but kind and helpful. For that I could be glad.

“Cricket, I do hope your quizzical brow simply means you are torn on how you were preparing to ask me to dance.” Cyland, his pet hawk on his shoulder, approached. He did not look like a prince, more a hunter from a storybook.

His eyes were like candied nuts, soft and brown, but every few moments glistened with something wicked and delightful. He held out his palm.

Odd, but I laughed. As though this was expected, as though Iwas as much at ease with Prince Kage’s loyal friend as I was with Destin.

My fingers curled around his, our shared tattoos melding as one. “I thought you would not ask. I’ll be honest, though. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Ah, but that is half the fun, Cricket,” Cy said. “To make up the steps as we go.”

He’d spoken true. More than once, Cyland glanced back at other partners, watched their patterns for a bit, then rolled his shoulders back determined to bounce us higher, spin us swifter, laugh a little louder.

When the tune slowed, I was gasping and my cheeks were sore from a true grin.

“I don’t understand you,” I admitted, voice low.

“The burden of greatness,” Cy said, tucking me against his side. “No one can truly understand it.”

I snorted. “I don’t . . . people well.”

“That expression escapes me.”

“I’m not social. Honestly, I tend to avoid people quite often.”

“How awful the mortal realms must be if you shut yourself away.”