The feast was everything fae hospitality threatened to be—beautiful,dangerous, and laden with meaning. Food appeared that shouldn’t exist: fruits that tasted of memories, wine that sparkled with actual starlight, meat from animals that might have been mythical.
Elle sat beside me, careful not to eat anything without checking with Peeble first. Smart. The Autumn Court’s food could trap you in ways that had nothing to do with poison.
“This is weird,” she muttered, poking at something that might have been bread if bread could be transparent.
“Don’t eat that,” I warned. “It shows your deepest desires to everyone present.”
“Absolutely not,” Peeble added from her shoulder. “Though I’m morbidly curious what the Court would make of your current desires.”
Elle’s face flushed. “Peeble.”
“Just saying. The tension is very thick at this end of the table.”
“Hard pass.” She set it aside quickly. “So, you and Thessaly…”
“Were nothing.”
“She seemed to think otherwise when she greeted you.”
“Thessaly thinks many things. Most are wishful thinking.”
Elle glanced across the table where Thessaly sat, beautiful in the candlelight. “She’s very pretty.”
“She’s very dangerous.”
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“In my experience, they’re usually synonymous.”
“Am I dangerous?” Elle asked, and there was something in her voice I couldn’t identify.
“Increasingly so.”
“Is that why you stay? Because I’m dangerous?”
Before I could answer—before I could figure out what I would answer—Merithra stood, commanding attention.
The great hall had filled while we’d been talking. Court members lined the long tables—fae in varying states of autumn, some with bark-textured skin, others with leaves for hair, all beautiful and dangerous in that way unique to the old courts. They’d been watching us, I realized. Watching Ellespecifically, with the kind of hunger that came from witnessing something unprecedented.
Our crew sat scattered along the table—Vashael to Elle’s right, Eltrien further down looking increasingly uncomfortable, Sarnyx and Bryx together across from us. Nimor had taken a position near the shadows, as was his nature. Thessaly sat at her mother’s right hand, amber eyes fixed on me with an expression I couldn’t read.
The table itself was a work of impossible craft—living wood that grew and shifted, plates that seemed carved from solidified moonlight, goblets that held liquid starlight. Elle’s dress caught the fairy-light, making her look like she belonged here, like she was part of the Court’s impossible beauty rather than a human who’d stumbled through a portal.
“We have a tradition in the Autumn Court,” Merithra announced, her voice carrying through the hall with effortless authority. The low conversations died instantly. “Stories for secrets. Entertainment for information.” Her gaze found Elle, sharp and assessing. “Tell us a tale from your world, human, and I’ll tell you what you need to know about the convergence.”
Every eye turned to Elle—and to the beetle on her shoulder, who was regarded with the kind of wary respect usually reserved for unpredictable explosives.
She stood slowly, and I saw her hands tremble slightly before she clasped them together. The dress moved like water as she rose, her marks pulsing gently at her collarbones—the only sign of her nervousness beyond that brief tremor.
“What kind of story?” she asked, and her voice was steady despite the roomful of predators watching her.
“Something true. Something that matters. Something that explains who you are.”
Elle was quiet for a moment, and I could feel the weight of the Court’s attention pressing down on her. Could sense the danger in it—one wrong word, one perceived insult, and Merithra’s protection might evaporate like morning frost.
Then Elle began, and something in her voice made even the ancient faelean forward to listen.
“My grandmother had a garden. Not a magical one—just vegetables and flowers in Arkansas dirt. But she used to tell me that gardens were honest. They showed you exactly what you put into them. No lies, no pretense, just cause and effect.”
