I’m alone in my detachment. It’s like I’m watching the party from outside of myself. When we’re served dinner, it takes enormous effort to follow the conversation, and eventually I abandon the attempt entirely. Oddly enough, I find myself wishing Cygnus were here. His presence might anchor me, or at least steer the dialogue in a direction I could follow. I can’t keep from continuously glancing toward the princes. I swore to myself I wasn’t going to—that I’d ignore Finn entirely—but that invisible tether between us keeps turning my head. He’s now deep in conversation with Prince Roman—his eyebrows bob as the prince of Sulnik says something interesting.
“Wine?”
The interruption cuts through my absent thoughts. Sandria holds out the decanter. Behind her, Daisy chats with the good-looking imperialist soldier with acne scars who traveled with me from the cottage.
“Sure.”
Screw it. I already feel a million miles outside myself. Why not go a little further and try something new?
Sandria pours me a glass. I lift it to my lips, then gag as the foul taste hits me.
“It’s rotten!” I say, shoving it back toward her. A bit sloshes onto my dress.
Great. One sip and I’m a sloppy drunk.
“It’s not rotten.” Sandria laughs. “It’s excellent.” She sips the bloodred drink appreciatively.
“If you say so.” When she hands the glass back, I set it next to my plate. It’s undisturbed for the rest of the meal.
The food makes up for the wine. Tonight’s spread is decadent: whole roast peacocks, towering cakes with sparkling candles, platters overflowing with sausages, vegetables, and woven breads. We eat until we’re stuffed. Then the band strikes up, and the crowd joins in a round of drinking songs with lyrics reworked to suit the occasion. When a song recounts an escapade involving Finn, Sebastian, and the Sulish royals, the whole crew roars with laughter.
I finally reach for the wine. Force a sip.
The alcohol seems to work a little. The room grows fuzzy and dark; though I hoped the drink would make me feel more present, morehuman, I fear it’s done the opposite.
Davina takes the stand for an announcement. She’s radiant in a long-sleeved gown of Verdish velvet. The queen waits for silence before addressing the crowd.
“Twenty-three years ago, ourbelovedPrince Sebastian turned me into a mother,” her speech begins. “Anyone who knows my son can attest that a more clever, beautiful, compassionate boy has never lived. I am forever grateful to theAlmighty for entrusting us with such a son. Our family has been immeasurably blessed by his goodness and light. Hopefully, one day, he will share that light with the entire kingdom.”
Clapping rings through the chamber. My eyes go to Finn, whose face is hard.
“Tonight, my sweet boy, as we celebrate your golden name day, I wanted to impart a gift that’s as special as you are.” Davina smiles at Sebastian and stretches a hand toward the doors. “So, without further ado…”
The doors swing open, and the party turns as one to watch a team of soldiers march in. There’s half a dozen of them working together to hoist a huge metal box. I know I’m not alone in my confusion when the hall starts accumulating whispers. At first, I think it’s a coffin. My chest twists as I recall the horrors of the last feast.What do they have planned this time?
As the soldiers approach, I realize my mistake. They’re not carrying a coffin. It’s acage.It’s made of thick slabs of metal, and I can tell it’s heavy from how much they’re struggling. But I can’t understand why they are carrying a cage until they’re closer. And when I realize…
It’s like I’ve burst into flames.
The fyrehound they’ve captured is juvenile. Barely more than a pup. According to the stories, full-grown fyrehounds should stand taller than a horse; the creature within the cage can’t be much larger than Dante. But I’d guess he can probably breathe fyre already. The pup’s size is comically mismatched with the ominous cage that it’s trapped in. Through the bars, I catch glimpses of coal-black fur with snowy tufts, and big golden eyes wide with terror.
Davina resumes speaking. “Tonight, we will celebrate this special occasion—”
But then she’s interrupted by an agonized howl.
Glass shatters as several guests drop their cups. Many clutch their ears, and whispers erupt. One lady starts shrieking.
Davina flounders. She’s lost their attention but chooses stubbornly to continue. “In commemoration of the light that you are—” Her voice rises forcefully, but the howling drowns her out. She gets louder:“TONIGHT YOU AND YOUR GUESTS WILL CELEBRATE THIS TREASURED NAME DAY WITH AN HONORED TRADITION—”
“Get on with it already!” a drunken man roars.
“SO LET THE HUNT BEGIN!”
A cheer erupts, rising almost to the same volume as the howling.
The pain of my Talent is all that I can think about, a fire that rises to match the hound’s agonized pleas. I’m far, far outside myself. I might be watching from the clouds.
I lose sight of Finn amid the shuffle of revelers. Everyone’s jovial, everyone’sthrilled. My guts feel leaden as the cage is lofted and the soldiers carry it out toward the sprawling lawn. A cacophony of scraping chairs and clattering plates follows.
