“I’ve always liked you, Canis,” she said then, regaining control of herself as she waved her arms and a second course sprung from beyond the walls, drifting through the air and settling over the nearly empty plates of cheese and grapes. “Your heart is not so dark as your father’s. And you’ve always had a good sense of humor.”
Cass grinned at that, far more relieved now that the mood of this dinner had seemed to take a considerable turn for the better. I couldn’t help but smile myself.
“And the mortal,” Sophierial called out suddenly. “What’s the story with her?”
“The mortal,” Lark drawled, his voice a low growl, “has a voice and can speak for herself.”
I blinked at him and then cleared my throat, dabbing my lips with my napkin and setting it aside.
“I’m not completely mortal,” I confessed. “Lark and I met healing a rift in my realm.”
Lark’s eyes were on me again but I made a concerted effort not to notice as I stared straight back at Sophierial who was examining me over the rim of her wineglass.
“Not completely mortal?” she asked, eyebrow quirked in curiosity.
“Ren is half Fae,” Cass explained, somehow sensing that I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.
I gave her a soft smile of gratitude and looked back down at my plate. It was foolish, I knew that, and weak. Sophierial could sense that as well. I knew she could. But I had spent a lifetime denying half of my existence and the last forty-eight hours being hated because of the other half. I would always be “the mortal” here just as I would always be something other, something unnatural there. It was just easier to hate what you didn’t understand, what you feared or despised. And I was at least half of that for someone no matter where I went. I should have been used to it by now. I would never belong here or there. I would never belong anywhere.
“Half Fae,” Sophierial muttered a moment later, her eyes narrowing in her examination of me. “Fascinating.”
“As delightful as this evening has been,” Lark remarked, setting his glass down with a tad more force than was strictly necessary, drawing our hostess’ attention back to him, “the three of us have had a very trying journey and it would be much appreciated if you would allow us to retire for the evening.”
“Of course,” Sophierial replied, sitting back in her chair and blinking as if stunned that she had momentarily forgotten her hospitable manners. “Semyaza! Barachiel!”
She clapped and two of her sentries appeared. One male and one female.
“As you know,” Sophierial began, her tone taking on a matronly lilt, “our court has rules we expect all guests to abide by. Therefore, men and women will stay in opposite halls. Any fraternizing and our agreement is void. Semyaza and Barachiel will show you to your rooms when you are ready. I thank you all for a lovely meal and such entertaining company. Canis, a pleasure as always.”
With that, the Queen of the Court of Light and Life swept from the room, her sentries standing at attention as her long white train floated past them and disappeared down the hall. Then they followed her out, likely waiting in the hallway beyond for us to emerge and request our rooms.
“What about Rook?” I asked since no one else seemed concerned enough to voice the question.
“Rook,” Lark began, looking from Cass to me, “will be fine. He knows the city better than any of us. He knows how to stay hidden for now. Cass can shadowstep out to him whenever she needs to.”
“It doesn’t seem right for us to be staying here, like this,” I said, gesturing at the enormous feast before us, “while he’s out there on the streets.”
Lark cocked his head to the side but Cass smiled.
“That’s sweet of you to worry about him,” Cass said kindly, “but I assure you, Rook will do just fine for himself. For now, we need to worry about staying alive in the Court of Life.”
Lark nodded his agreement.
“I thought you said it was forbidden to kill here,” I said.
“What I should have said,” Lark began, leaning forward, “was that it was forbidden to get caught.”
Chapter eleven
A Morning Prayer
Cassdidn’tseemtomind sharing a room with me. It was made easier by the fact that the enormous room had two sets of everything contained within it. Two Queen-sized beds stood side by side with about three feet of space between them, two full sized armoires, two dressers, two closets, and a conversation pit of cushions and fluffy pillows in the center. Our washroom was just off to Cass’ side, complete with a porcelain claw foot tub and every modern luxury a palace could afford. On my side, the wall was gone completely, open to the vast expanse of empty sand leading right up to the cliff wall. It was all white, of course, right on brand.
“I’m starting to doubt what you said before about not all the courts taking their color so seriously,” I told Cass that night as I emerged from the washroom after having taken a proper, unrushed bath and sliding into a set of silk pajamas that were exactly my size. After a long day, that felt like the best bit of magic I’d seen.
Cass snorted at my joke, setting aside the bottle of purple nail polish she had been using to touch up her toes. A moment later, the bottle disappeared entirely with a snap of her fingers.
“The Wanderers aren’t the worst. I’d say it’s tied between these guys and the Rivals,” she told me.
