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“You’re being silly,” says the large female to Pyromey. “You’re practically a child.”

“Only to old goats like you, Vaccia.” Pyromey winks and Vaccia laughs deeply.

I next hear Destan half-heartedly trying to strike up a similar conversation with someone on his right, and get shut down just as quickly. I miserably eat some more of my food, wondering why we’re so bad at this, and hating that we’re letting Ruskin down right now with our clumsy attempts. It occurs to me Destan’s advice probably only applies to Seelie fae. The Unseelie here don’t seem much interested in talking about their lineage. Instead, Jasand is deep in conversation with the large male beside Vaccia about some sort of battle maneuver.

“No, you’ve got this all wrong. Side attacks might take more manpower than forward strikes, but the momentum is always there.”

“You’re delusional,” the large fae rumbles. “With the elevation on Gordmoor you’ll never get the speed, even on the best ursinian you can find.”

I swallow, reminding myself that Unseelie supposedly favor the bold, and interrupt.

“What’s an ursinian?” I ask.

Both fae turn to look at me, confusion flashing across their faces. Then Jasand grins.

“You’ve never seen one before? I suppose it’s all fluffy rabbits in Seelie.”

I can feel Destan giving me side-eye. I’m not staying on topic. But his topic of choice was not getting us anywhere, so I forge ahead.

“More like rabid gryphons, actually,” I say casually. “So it’s an animal, then?”

“It’s a steed,” the large fae clarifies. “We ride them when playing bastet matches.”

I blink at the word. “Right. And bastet is…?”

The Unseelie look like I’ve slapped them.

“You mean you’ve never heard of bastet either?” Pyromey says, making it sound sacrilegious.

Jasand turns to Destan. “You don’t have bastet in Seelie?” he demands.

“I can’t say I’m familiar,” Destan replies, looking slightly alarmed.

“But it’s the greatest game to ever exist!” The large male slams his hand down on the table with a bang that makes the plates rattle.

Destan gives me a look that can clearly be translated to ‘What did you do?’

But I don’t think the fae are angry at us, just the state of a world where this bastet thing isn’t played everywhere. I know these looks—it’s the same ones I’ve seen the boys in my village wear whenever they take a ball out to the field to kick around.

“So, how do you play?”

“You don’t play, you fight!”

Vaccia rolls her eyes. “To be clearer,” she says, “you have to keep the ball in the circle, and get it through the pillars six times before the other team does.”

“And what do you fight for?” I ask, curious.

“Influence,” says Pyromey, her eyes bright, and when I look at her, I think she knows this will pique my interest.

“In what way?”

“The bastet games are held once a month. The winners earn themselves a place on the king’s council until they’re replaced by the next set of champions.”

“You decide that with a game?” I ask, trying not to sound rude, but still, it’s a surprise.

“Well, how do you decide it in Seelie?” Jasand asks Destan, who looks annoyed about being put on the spot.

“The High Monarch of Seelie doesn’t have an official council,” says Destan.