Page 38

MISTAKES

T ime crystallised as her gaze locked with Mal’s, and several thoughts arrived in quick succession, along with the intense need for none of them to show on her face.

If ever there was a time to draw on a lifetime of displaying false emotion, it was now.

She kept smiling blandly as her mind worked furiously.

First, it was clear that Mal had not only recognised Prince Avern but that he was deathly afraid of him. The most probable explanation: Avern was Mal’s enemy. The enemy.

Second, and following on from that logic, Prince Avern had as yet no way to be sure exactly who Gisele was, even if he might suspect a connection to Mal. From her mismatched eyes? From sensing their bond? He’d said she reminded him of someone he knew.

Third, and most urgently, Mal was going to give them both away if she let him. Already he was taking a step in their direction, his ears flat against his skull.

Hide, you idiot! she thought sharply, glaring at him and hoping desperately some part of that message would transfer through the bond. Now!

Mal jerked, hesitated, and ducked into a curtained alcove.

Time resumed its normal speed. Avern rotated them to see what had caught her attention, giving her a slight frown when he found nothing. “Is something wrong?”

Her heart was pounding. “I was only startled by that pair’s costumes,” she told him with a breathless laugh, indicating a couple of nearby dancers dressed in sparkling sea anemones. “The customs of Faerie are rather different to those of my homeland.”

She wasn’t sure whether he believed her . Let my face show nothing , she willed.

Was the conversation stilted between them now?

Was she being paranoid? Avern directed their dance closer to the alcove where Mal had hidden.

Was that coincidence? She attempted to subtly change their direction, but Avern’s style of leading didn’t allow for much disagreement, and it felt too obvious to resist more strongly.

The song ended with them right at the edge of the crowd of dancers. Before she could react, Avern had dropped his hold and taken two strides towards the alcove.

“What—” she protested, reaching to stop him.

He pulled back the curtain. A cushion fell off the empty seat inside, unbalanced by the motion. No one was there. Relief flooded her, so intense it made her dizzy. Avern let the curtain drop.

“What were you looking for?” she asked, endeavouring to sound innocently puzzled.

He returned to her side and considered her, his deep blue eyes as calmly intent as a hunting falcon’s, and she had to fight to keep her expression neutral. He’d lost his surface layer of charm, the hard, dangerous side of him that she’d suspected earlier now in ascendancy.

“I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “Who did you say you were waiting for?”

Could she excuse herself, or would that simply make him more suspicious?

Her instincts were screaming alarm at her; he hadn’t bought her earlier excuse.

If he was already that suspicious, he might not allow her to leave if she tried, and if that were the case, all she had was this thin veneer of innocent confusion to protect her.

Perhaps she ought to persuade him into another dance, pretend that she hadn’t noticed the dynamic shift between them. Even the thought of it chilled her.

She smiled brightly at him. “A friend. She went to find the powder room, I think.” He frowned at the mention of a female companion, but unfortunately his suspicion didn’t fade. She kept smiling as if she hadn’t noticed anything. “You’re an excellent dancer, Your Highness. Will you?—”

Her question was interrupted by the arrival of a couple, who sailed into their orbit radiating good humour, as if they hadn’t noticed the dangerous currents they were interrupting.

“Prince Avern! We are delighted you could attend,” the woman said.

She was human, Gisele realised with a start.

A second glance at the delicate coronet she wore confirmed it; this must be the Queen of the Golden Hall.

She was much younger than Gisele, but she held herself with the confidence of her rank.

That made her companion King Tāwhiri. He was a tall fae with rich brown skin and long dark hair, his wings the same beautiful metallic blue-green of the tūī he used as messengers, shifting with every movement. Power spilled off him like water, an echo of the Golden Hall itself.

Gisele dipped into an automatic curtsy. “Your Majesties.” Did they know who she was?

Prince Avern bowed as well, dangerous edge abruptly folded under an easy smile. “Your Majesties. I was honoured by your invitation.”

“Then you must honour me with a dance,” Tāwhiri said. He held out a hand to Prince Avern.

Avern hesitated, but he could hardly refuse such a direct offer. “I would be honoured, your majesty, if your lovely wife doesn’t object?”

“No, go and have fun,” the queen told her husband.

Despite being aware of the differences between Faerie and Isshia, it was still somewhat disconcerting to watch the two men go off to dance together.

Gisele was determined not to show any hint of provincialism.

The human queen certainly didn’t seem bothered.

I too am a cosmopolitan traveller, taking all cultural differences in stride , she told herself firmly. I wonder who is going to lead?

Not important! What was important was that now she had a chance to escape while Prince Avern was safely occupied. She only needed to extract herself from the queen’s company and find Mal.

“Your companion is on the roof,” the queen told her, without taking her gaze off her husband.

Gisele started. “Oh.”

The queen turned away from the dancefloor with a smile.

“Fae residences are highly sensitive. If you throw loud emotional psychic messages at them without any shielding, someone might overhear. I don’t know what your story is, exactly, but Tāwhiri has a soft spot for the master of Skymallow House.

He seems to think there’s some tragic mystery surrounding him.

” She raised an imperious eyebrow. Gisele got the strong impression that the queen was fully prepared to challenge any and all of her husband’s ‘soft spots’ if they proved a danger to him.

“I don’t really feel it’s my place to say,” Gisele temporised.

The queen’s dark eyes narrowed. “Forgive me, but I must ask: Are you with him willingly? I know it’s a rather blunt question, but I of all people know what fae can be like. We will offer you sanctuary, if you’re not with him by choice.”

Her words sparked a complicated emotion Gisele was too stressed to unravel.

Not now when danger danced nearby. “Oh. Thank you, but he’s not— We’re working on a shared problem together.

” Quite besides the fact that she couldn’t physically be removed from proximity to Mal.

“I should take my leave, if he’s waiting. ”

The queen nodded regally and turned back to watch the dancefloor. “Visit again, then, when you’re not suffering from extraneous fae princes.”

Gisele followed both her bond-sense and the queen’s direction away from the ballroom.

She had the strangest urge to cry, which took her until halfway up the stairs to unpick.

She was angry, she realised. Angry that a strange queen was willing to fight for Gisele’s freedom on the basis of thirty seconds’ acquaintance and shared humanity.

She found Mal on the roof. He was pacing, his ears flat against his skull. His hair had become strangely feathery, his teeth sharp, as if he were on the edge of transforming into a gryphon again. When he saw her, his ears relaxed in relief.

“Gisele!” He bounded across the roof and embraced her before she could realise what was happening, crushing her against his chest. Relief and panic crashed into her, the physical contact amplifying their emotions. The metallic fire of his magic hummed around her.

“I’m fine,” she told him, her mouth squashed against his neck.

She should pull away. She would pull away, in another moment.

It was just… so bewilderingly nice to be greeted with such enthusiasm, and he smelled good, and some deeply confused part of her hindbrain said: we are safe, now, in his arms.

She fought for enough space to meet his gaze. His eyes latched onto hers like a lifeline, gold and blue burning like twin alchemical fires. Even vibrating on the edge of panic, he still saw too much, eyes widening.

“You are not fine,” he accused. “I shouldn’t have left you. Where is he? I’ll?—”

“Breathe,” she told him. “I am fine. Avern doesn’t know where we are and is currently being efficiently waylaid by King Tāwhiri, and we are about to escape back to Skymallow before he realises we’ve gone.”

His breathing was fast and shallow, his heart thudding against her. She took the breaths for him—for them both—and slowly that edge of hysteria ebbed from his eyes. The only problem with calming down was that it made them both abruptly aware of how his arms remained wrapped around her.

The fire in his eyes shifted from the brightness of fear to something low and hot, an ember-burning glow of desire. “Gisele.” Her name was a caress on his lips.

Want had her leaning closer without conscious decision. For a heartbeat, the heat of his mouth brushed against hers, and desire surged down the psychic channel between them.

And then he was gone, backing away with something like horror in his eyes as she stumbled, off-balance with the abruptness of his removal.

“Mal,” she said crossly, unsure what words should go after that except that they were all of them unprintable. She hadn’t imagined the heat between them. Why had he stopped? Why had she begun?

He was breathing harshly. “Sorry. I’m simply— I’m not thinking straight.

I never thought he’d come here. You’re right; we need to go.

This isn’t— I’m sorry.” He changed into a gryphon before he’d finished speaking, so that the last syllable drew out into a growl.

Feathers rustled as he paced back to her, his fear transformed into the need to move.

Right. His enemy. They needed to leave before Avern found them. Mal was being perfectly reasonable, and it would be unreasonable for her to be annoyed about it.

Giving herself a shake, she climbed onto his back. The bond between them rippled, but whatever Mal was thinking, he had a firm lock on it. With the bunching of his powerful hindquarters, they launched into the night.