Page 35

“What are these?” she marvelled, dragging Mal over to the nearest one. The drooping flowers hung in clusters, bright yellow petals protruding from brown-gold sepals. Tiny fae creatures perched in some of the trees, staring out at them curiously.

“Kōwhai,” he murmured, some of his stiffness draining. “They were brought here by King Tāwhiri’s mother, I believe. Under usual circumstances, they flower in spring, but in the Golden Hall, they are always in bloom. I ought to have known that would be the first thing you’d notice.”

She belatedly realised that in her botanical distraction she’d failed to properly notice everything else and that there was quite a lot of else .

The centre of the hall was filled with dancers, moving to unfamiliar but stirring music.

The guests were fae of all shapes and sizes, with wings, horns, tails, and everything in between.

There were some fae without any of the extra appendages, but they were still clearly fae , with pointed ears and an alien beauty.

She realised with a shock that despite all this strangeness, she was the one being stared at.

People threw her curious glances as they passed, pausing mid-conversation when they spotted her and pointing her out to their companions.

She was used to being covertly stared at at parties, but this had an unfamiliar flavour.

Usually people stared at her with an uncomfortable knowing pity; everyone knew her story, and visitors to court were quickly brought up to date if they didn’t.

There had always been an underlying dismissiveness to the stares.

She might be an object of pity and curiosity, but she didn’t matter, in the great games of court.

Her fate was fixed outside of that, making her a non-player.

But these stares were different. They didn’t know about her terrible fate. They didn’t feel the faint repulsion of the curse. They were simply trying to gauge who she was and whether she might matter to their court games. It was oddly refreshing.

“Are people staring because I’m human?” she asked Mal in a low voice.

His lips pursed. “Possibly. King Tāwhiri is married to a human woman, so they may also be wondering if you are connected to her and, if so, whether that might be of advantage to them.”

She blinked. “You might have mentioned that earlier.” She couldn’t see another human in the crowd, or anyone who looked like the king Mal had described.

There was a dais at one end of the hall, but both thrones sat empty.

Either their majesties were circulating, or they hadn’t yet made their grand entrance.

The hall could have hidden any number of people, and there were archways leading off to other spaces with people coming and going.

“Do we know what the diviner looks like?”

“No, but she will probably be wearing something to indicate her status. Symbols of eyes are popular.”

Gisele chewed on her lip for a moment, contemplating the crowd. “Come on.”

Mal remained as tightly wound as a bowstring on her arm. “Where are we going?”

“To the drinks table. Talkative people can always be found near alcohol. I assume that applies to fae as much as humans. Someone there can tell us where the diviner has got to.” Back home, it had eased the loneliness to stand near the chatter, pretending she was part of it.

Inebriation helped take the edge off people’s wariness towards her, too.

“Good idea.” He gripped her arm like an anchor as they moved through the crowds.

“How are you doing?” she asked him quietly.

He grimaced. “That obvious, is it? It’s just… rather a lot after so long.” There was something sad in his eyes, almost wistful. “I used to love parties.”

“If you find— what you hope to find ”—she amended quickly at his frown—“you could throw any number of parties at Skymallow. Maybe it’s already building you a ballroom behind that new door.”

He smiled. “I thought you were hoping for an orangery?”

“I suppose a ballroom would also be acceptable,” she said magnanimously and then looked away, because the spark between them threatened to flare into something she wasn’t ready to face right now.

They found the drinks table, which had a fascinating variety of liquids on display. There were indeed a number of merrymaking fae in the vicinity.

She ruthlessly sent Mal off to fetch them drinks and positioned herself next to a sultry faun with blue, extravagantly curly hair that stuck out several inches from their head.

Gisele couldn’t guess the faun’s gender from their dress or appearance—did they have deusièm in Faerie?

She’d have to ask Mal. A Gallyian ambassador of that sort—neither man nor woman—had once come to Isshia and thrown the court into a mess of curiosity and diplomatic pronouns.

Deusièm or not, from the way the faun sidled up to her, she immediately recognised a court-watcher who, though they might stand on the fringes of court, enjoyed their superior knowledge of all the key players.

Such a person would definitely want to know whether Gisele was one of the queen’s relatives.

Sure enough, Mal had barely left her side when the faun began to make conversation. “How times change, eh?” They gestured airily at the surroundings with their glass, which was full of fizzing green. “I remember when the Golden Hall was only stone.”

“It wasn’t named for the flowers?” Gisele asked.

“The kōwhai came later, a gift from the old king’s bride, but they wouldn’t have thrived if he hadn’t loved her. Now, they grow out of love for her son.”

Gisele thought of Skymallow. “The Hall is alive, then?”

“Anywhere in Faerie people live long enough wakes up eventually.” They gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Though, my own place can’t even lock its own door yet, and I’ve lived there ten years. The Golden Hall is an old soul, though, and as alive as dominum get.”

“It’s a lovely castle. And a lovely party,” Gisele agreed. “I’ve never been to one quite like it. I heard there’s even a diviner somewhere here!”

“Her in the yellow,” the faun agreed. Their nose wrinkled. “But good luck getting her attention. Thinks a lot of herself, that one.”

Gisele scanned the crowds but couldn’t see anyone in yellow. “Do you know where she is?”

The faun shrugged. “They’ve set up a petitioner’s room beyond the last arch.” They nodded towards the far end of the ballroom. Their eyes were alight with curiosity, though they didn’t ask whether Gisele was planning to petition the diviner.

“Thank you,” she said, which made the faun raise an eyebrow.

“Not long in Faerie, are you? A thanks is an acknowledgement of a debt owed. Don’t throw them out so casually.

But you’re a pretty thing, so I’ll let you off lightly.

Get me another one of these and we’re even, will you, dove?

” They jiggled their glass, making the remaining sip of green fizz bubble.

“Oh. Tha—” Gisele cut off the reflexive thanks. The faun grinned sharply.

Gisele smiled back and went to find the faun a drink, somewhat amused that so many of her introductions to strange fairies so far seemed to consist of them flirting with her.

Or perhaps that was simply how all fae were, apart from Mal.

Yes, he’s only been playing a star role in erotic dreams, certainly not flirting with you .

She grimaced. Fortunately, the green fizz was to be found on the closest end of the table. Carefully, she filled another tulip-glass and carried it back to the faun in step with Mal, who gave her a bemused look. “I thought I was fetching the drinks?”

“I’m getting this, ah, person a drink as well,” she told him. “Here you go.”

The faun looked from Mal to Gisele’s perfectly mirrored eyes. “Aren’t you two a matched set, then? You shouldn’t leave your companion alone; she doesn’t know our ways. Careless of you to endanger her.”

Mal stiffened. That strange, fire-and-ice intensity came into his eyes, and his voice when he spoke was deeper than usual, with an alien edge that made her shiver.

“It’s easy to make your advice sound important when you target those who have no point of comparison.

You speak as if you are at the centre of the court, but you exist only on its fringes.

The people who matter here don’t even know your name, Sintu Starclove. ”

The faun went white, losing their grip on the glass, which smashed on the tiles. There was a pause in the surrounding sounds as heads turned to see what had happened.

“What are you?” they demanded. Their earlier easygoing manner had been replaced with something hard, their eyes narrowing. “Someone who needs to petition a diviner. Someone with the same eyes as a human. Someone with something to hide, I wonder? Who are you to judge me?”

The shattered glass and the venom in their words was drawing attention from others nearby—as was Mal’s strange intensity.

He didn’t look like the hapless, well-meaning scholar she’d come to know.

He looked like someone dangerous, staring down the angry faun as coolly as you please, the scent of magic coming off him in waves.

It felt like the charge before a storm, or the ugly mood amongst drunks before a fight broke out.

Gisele yanked on his elbow, and he took a sharp breath, coming out of his peculiar intensity as if emerging from a dream. His eyes widened, his expression abruptly afraid.

“Sorry, we must go! Enjoy your drink!” Gisele forcibly dragged him away and onto the crowded dancefloor until they were out of sight.