Fae of every description filled the seats. She recognized some from court, Lady Sarelle near the head, her white gown making her look carved from winter. Others were new, beautiful and terrible in equal measure. And at the far end, on a chair more throne than seat, Eliam waited.
Like her he wore midnight blue, but it was darker than her gown, almost black, the fabric drinking in light. His hair was bound back with a circlet of dark thorns, and his expression was perfectly neutral as he watched her approach. An empty chair waited three seats to his left, close enough to mark possession, far enough to establish hierarchy.
"Ah," said a fae with golden skin and eyes that burned, "the survivor arrives."
Conversations stilled as Thaine led her to her seat. She felt the weight of dozens of inhuman gazes, evaluating, measuring, finding her wanting. Her hands trembled slightly as she sat, and she clasped them in her lap to hide it.
She’d survived razor weeds and marrow vines, how difficult could a few hours at a dinner table be?
"It's prettier than the last one," someone said, voice carrying clearly in the sudden quiet. "Though the marks are spreading fast. How long do you give it? A month? Two?"
"The betting pools are already open," another replied. "Though after the garden, the odds have shifted considerably."
Heat flooded her face as she realized they were discussing her death like weather predictions. She kept her eyes on her empty plate.
"Look how it sits," Lady Sarelle's voice cut through the murmur. "So still. So quiet. Almost like it understands its place."
"Does it though?" The golden skinned fae leaned forward. "Tell us, Lord Eliam, does your pet perform tricks? Or is it merely decorative?"
Briar's hands tightened in her lap. The urge to speak, to defend herself, burned in her throat. But Thaine's warning echoed in her mind.
"She serves her purpose," Eliam said, tone giving nothing away.
"Which is?" Lady Sarelle pressed.
"Mine to determine."
Perhaps it was his tone, icy and final, but none inquired further and Briar resisted the urge to meet Eliam’s gaze though she could feel it searing into her like a brand.
The first course appeared without warning offering much needed distraction. It was bowls of something that looked deceptively normal until Briar noticed it moving. Soup that swirled without being stirred, with things floating in it that might have been vegetables or might have been alive.
She watched the others, trying to determine which spoon to use. There were five beside her bowl, each slightly different. The fae picked up various implements without a pattern she could discern.
"Oh, this is painful to watch," the golden skinned fae said. "It doesn't even know how to eat."
"Perhaps it wasn't trained properly," Lady Sarelle suggested. "Some masters prefer their pets ignorant. Makes them more... malleable."
Briar reached for what looked like the safest spoon.
"No."
Eliam's voice stopped her cold. She looked up to find him still watching her with those inhuman eyes.
"The third one," he said.
She switched spoons, face burning. The soup, when she managed to bring it to her lips without spilling, tasted familiar and foreign simultaneously, like beef… or chicken… but wrong somehow. She forced herself to swallow, though it seemed to writhe down her throat.
"How was the bone garden?" a new voice asked. Briar looked to see a fae with bark-brown skin and moss in her hair watching her, gaze hungry with anticipation. Her gaze shifted to Eliam. "We heard the screaming from the Summer Tower. Very impressive."
They weren't addressing her directly. Of course they weren't. She was a thing to be discussed, not spoken to.
"The marks suggest it was educational," Lady Sarelle observed. "Look how they've spread. Like his lordship's claim is eating it alive."
"Three months," someone wagered. "Before they reach its heart."
"Two," another countered. "Look at the rate of spread. It won't last winter."
"Unless his lordship intervenes," the golden skinned fae said slyly. "He does seem... attached to this one."
