“Your milkshake is melting,” Tate informed her. “And I know a wee miss who’s going to drink it for you.” He turned back up the staircase, Aelin clinging to his back, pausing after just a few steps to glance back at her.Silva turned, glancing back to the dark side of the basement, where she heard a telltale scratching sound.
“You look lost, little dove.”
She turned back to where they waited, sticking her tongue out. “Not lost. Just deciding . . Which of your milkshakes am I going to drink first when I beat you upstairs?” She pushed past them, taking the steps two at a time as Aelin squealed indignantly and Tate laughed.
Not lost all. Are you family? Of course, we are. Forever.
Ris
Saddlethorne had dressed for the occasion.
Ris had stressed to Grace that she wasn’t interested in Mason jars and burlap ribbons.
The bubbly human had laughed, waving her hand. “Say no more. I understand the assignment. This is upscale. We are telegraphing to a well-heeled community what they have to look forward to here, and it’s not a hoedown.”
Ris had melted in relief, having twisted over whether or not she was going to be offending the farm’s event planner. “Exactly. Some of these folks are from the enclave, so we need to make sure they understand this is a viable alternative, not the discount version.”
Round tables dotted the space beneath the huge tent, draped in smooth linens the color of moonlight. A large faceted hurricane glass sat at the center of each, the candlelight within refracted against the facets, glinting like honey. Arrangements of tall, twisting branches of birch and dogwood, heavy with white blooms, gave the tables height and sophistication. Against the far side of the tent, a long, reclaimed-wood bar stood, mannedby three Saddlethorne employees. The plated dinners were served right on time, silent auction catalogs delivered to each table along with the after-dinner aperitif, and now low, jazzy music filled the space, as attendees mingled.
Ris stood with the flute of sparkling wine that she hadn’t yet taken a sip from, moving from cluster to cluster, her eyes never stopping, likely in danger of losing her voice by the following morning.
She hadn’t intended for any of them to purchase tables.
After all, this was an effort to bring in outsiders, to show them what they were planning, not to make the existing volunteer staff go broke.
And then Tate had bought a table.
Ris certainly wasn’t going to argue with Silva, not after the confrontation they had had at work, early in the summer. It had been her fault. She recognized that, and had admitted so the same day.
It had been several days after Tate had appeared at her door, coinciding with the first time she managed to catch Silva in the break room, turning away from the refrigerator with her drink.
She hadn’t intended her voice to be as sharp as it was when she told Silva what happened, recounting the incident at her door in a shaking voice.
The Silva they had once known would have gone all to pieces, would’ve thrown her arms around Ris, offering secondhand apologies, leading her to a chair, offering up the perfectly coordinated cardigan on her back. That was the old Silva.
The new Silva shrugged. “Do you know what I remember about what was, objectively, the worst day of my life?” Silva’s voice wasn’t hard, wasn’t sharp, was almost conversational. “I remember your boyfriend calling me horrible names. Even though we had literally just suffered the exact same loss together. Even though we’d heard about it at the exact sametime, sitting two feet apart.” She shrugged again. “And that didn’t stop him. I’m not really interested in hearing about Ainsley’s hurt feelings, Ris. I’m assuming he’s not interested in hearing about mine. I didn’t accept his apology. You don’t have to accept Tate’s. We can agree to move forward from there or . . .”
Another Silva shrug, leaving the break room without glancing back.
Ris sought her out that same afternoon at her desk, apologizing. She had no business bringing their personal lives to work that way, and Silva was right. Ainsley had been terrible to her, especially after he found out that Tate had put the apartment above the Pixie in her name. Risdidn’tneed to accept Tate’s apology; it wasn’t hers to accept in the first place. And she shouldn’t have brought that to Silva, particularly at work.Some HR manager you are.
Tate had bought a table for the fundraiser and had, surprisingly, brought guests to fill it. Ris recognized the grizzled orc from behind the Pixie’s bar, cleaned up surprisingly well for the evening. The pierced tiefling, the beautiful moth from his restaurant, an orc she didn’t recognize, a tall, reedy troll, and Elshona.
Her heart had sunk.
She knew Ainsley was already feeling a bit reticent about this night. He wantedherto shine. Didn’t want her to have to babysit him for a moment, and now here were his two former best friends, yukking it up across the tent.
When Lurielle had relayed the news that Tate had bought a table at home, Khash could not be outdone, buying one of his own. He was engaged in conversation with two of his co-workers invited to the affair. One of the wives was perusing the silent auction menu.
Cal from Saddlethorne had purchased a table, unsurprisingly, and Lurielle had made the minotaur next door to her fear for his life when he’d mentioned that he might take a spot at his friend, the centaur’s, table, rather than her own.
Perhaps the most surprising turn of events:Silva’s parents. Her mother looked as if she were convinced someone was about to rob her at knifepoint, but they had come, put money down, and were deep in conversation with Rael Kaspard and his wife.
“I would like the record to show that there is not a single speck of vomit, yogurt, or any other mystery smear on this dress.” Lurielle twirled, her French blue A-line dress making her eyes pop like sapphires.
Ris laughed, accepting a hug.
“Look at this.Youdid this. Even better, look at that!” She gestured beyond the open side of the tent, where the giant field of mud was staked off and illuminated.
