Page 37

NEW ACQUAINTANCES

T he large room she found herself in was designed for entertainment, which made sense since it was so easily accessed from the ballroom.

It appeared empty, but soft harp music was coming from somewhere.

She followed the sound and halted at the sight of a large harp, strumming itself without any help.

“Good evening?” she said uncertainly, in case the harp was sentient and/or being played by someone invisible. The harp continued without pause.

How long would Mal need with the diviner?

Thinking of him brought a faint directional sense-echo back towards the ballroom.

He ought to be able to figure out where she was in the same way, unless he got his name back tonight and undid the bond at once.

Was that how it would happen, or would it be more involved?

She ought to have asked. Her throat constricted, and she felt almost sick.

With apprehension, she told herself. It was infuriating to be left out of her own de-cursing.

Desperate for distraction, she began to explore the rest of the room.

An enormous ornate mirror dominated one wall, the furniture oriented oddly to face it.

Or…perhaps it wasn’t a mirror at all, because it showed no reflection when she stepped in front of it.

Instead, great clouds of fog swirled beneath its surface. Watching them was curiously hypnotic.

“Good evening,” she said to the mirror, for much the same reason she’d addressed the harp.

“It’s a magic mirror,” a voice said from the doorway. “It can reveal truths, but it won’t work for you. It’s house-locked.”

“House-locked?” Gisele asked, turning towards the speaker.

“Created by the house and working only for those blood-bonded to it. The Golden Hall is old and powerful enough to be full of such objects,” he said.

She only half-heard the response, distracted by the stranger’s appearance.

Dressed entirely in black, he was one of those fae without animal parts, but he was no less alien for it.

He moved with an aloof grace despite his height, giving the regal impression of a lion, or perhaps a hawk, soaring far above its prey.

He was fair-skinned, and his hair was a paler blond than her own, almost silver.

He stood beside her, contemplating the swirling mirror with an inscrutable expression. If she’d had any remaining doubts, that single action would have confirmed that her curse no longer affected those around her; back in Isshia, no stranger would have voluntarily taken a position next to her.

Something in his dress and manner stirred her court instincts; whoever he was, this was no fringe-player like the faun had been. This was one of the people you found at the centre of the game.

“Are you from the Golden Hall?” she asked, wondering if she was meeting one of its royals. Mal had told her that King Tāwhiri had feathered wings, but perhaps he had un-winged relatives.

“No, I am of DarkSun. Far from here,” he added at her blank look. His eyes were a striking deep blue, set behind unfairly long eyelashes. “Seeking alliances, and so on and so forth. Do you know you have a powerful binding laid upon you?”

“I’m aware,” she said sharply.

He laughed. He had one of those rippling laughs that made the listener feel brilliant and witty for prompting it.

“Of course you are; forgive me for my rudeness. I was simply curious. There aren’t any humans in my court, and I thought King Tāwhiri had outlawed firstborn bargains in his. That’s what your binding is, isn’t it?”

“I don’t see why I should tell you.” She hadn’t known that about King Tāwhiri; it made her immediately disposed in his favour.

The man shrugged. “I can give you one reason: I may be able to help you. I’m something of an expert on bindings.”

“And I’m sure your help would come cheap.”

He laughed again. “You’re no fool, for all that you’re mortal, are you?

” he said easily. “You are right, of course; I am not an altruist. I have my own court to consider, and they would not thank me for giving away my power freely. But I am not unfair in my bargains, either. The price I charged might be worth it to you.”

Gisele eyed him suspiciously. “And how did you, an expert on bindings, happen to stumble across the one person here affected by one?”

He smiled, and despite herself, she couldn’t help but respond to the warmth in it, directed at her. There was a hole inside her that craved any sort of approval, one that would probably never be filled. Just don’t let that weakness lull you into dropping your guard .

He showed no offence at her suspicion. “You are wise not to trust in coincidence, but you are not the only person here with a binding laid upon them, you know. Firstborn bargains are not the only kind, and we fae do so love our bargains. The threads of all the various bindings back in the ballroom are akin to a constellation of stars.”

“Why did you follow me, then, if bindings are so common?”

He shrugged. “You were alone, and mortal, and I was curious.” A hesitation, a hint of vulnerability glittering below his smooth courtier’s surface for a moment. “If you must know, you remind me of someone I lost.”

“I’m not alone; I’m waiting for someone.” It felt important to emphasise that, his hints of vulnerability or tragic backstory notwithstanding. A lion might lounge about, looking lazy and harmless, but only a fool would trust in that.

His laugh this time was self-deprecating, with a bitter edge. “I, on the other hand, am very much alone.” He cocked his head to the side. “Will you take pity and dance with me, my lady, if it would not interfere with your waiting?”

Gisele blinked at him, wondering if this were some sort of trick. “I don’t even know your name,” she pointed out.

He held out a hand. “Prince Avern.” He said it with just enough smugness that she couldn’t resist the temptation to respond in kind.

“Princess Gisele,” she told him drily.

He laughed again. “Oh, that’s me told, isn’t it, princess?”

“Are you hoping to persuade me into a bargain?” she asked point-blank.

His pale eyebrows rose. “At this moment, I am mostly hoping to dance with an intriguing woman.”

It was hard not to be a little flattered, even as she questioned his motives.

The number of handsome men volunteering to dance with her had dwindled to a grand total of zero in recent years, as both the power of the curse and her age increased.

Still, she couldn’t see any harm in accepting, particularly as it would necessitate them returning to a more public space.

“Very well,” she said, accepting his outstretched hand. Guilt prickled oddly at her, even though why should she feel guilty for dancing with another man?

The conflicted feeling continued as they returned to the ballroom.

Unlike Mal, Prince Avern didn’t ask whether she wished to lead but swept her onto the floor with effortless grace.

Since she didn’t know this dance either and moreover had been raised in a court where it was perfectly usual for gentlemen to lead, this action should not have irritated her. And yet, it did.

Prince Avern was a good dancer. As good as Mal, and yet far less enjoyable.

He directed their movements with smooth power but left no space for her to add any colour of her own.

This one likes control , she thought with a touch of irony.

Princes in Isshia often danced in such a way, too. Some things transcended realms.

“How do you know so much about bindings?” she asked him when they had gotten sufficient measure of each other’s dancing for conversation.

His expression shadowed. “The knowledge has been important for me.”

“Ominous.” She gave him the same comment she’d given Mal.

He reacted similarly, canting his head in amusement.

“Not all the courts of Faerie are as peaceful as this one. Mine survives on a knife edge. Surrounded by darksinks—places of dark magic, with their attendant nightmarish creatures—and split into warring factions. Forgive me; these are sombre topics for a lovely night.” He smiled and changed the subject.

He was a good conversationalist. Better than many visiting princes in Isshia, she had to admit, who often spoke solely of themselves and their own interests, but her wariness only increased. She found herself being deliberately vague in her responses.

“I’ve made you suspicious of me,” he observed. “Asking too many personal questions.”

“Well, yes,” she admitted.

He flashed her his sharp smile. “I am being forward, but in my defence, it feels as if I must already know you, so I am hurrying to catch up.”

He was being charming, and yet she still couldn’t quite relax her guard.

“Who was the person I remind you of?” she asked. It was an intrusive question, but she felt sufficiently prickly towards him to ask it.

That lurking melancholy in him surfaced once more. “Someone I loved,” he said softly.

She immediately felt terrible for her suspicion. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

It was at that moment that she felt, through the bond, a jolt of absolute horror, sharp enough to make her gasp. Beyond Avern’s shoulder, across the width of the ballroom, Mal had frozen mid-motion, staring at them. All the colour had drained from his face.