Then I am sitting on my cot, sweaty forehead plastered against the cool stone as someone wipes a cold rag down my arm. Blinking, I look at Briar, a healing kit resting on the cot. When did she retrieve it? She smears salve on the injury and I hiss, flashing my incisors. A natural sign of aggression I rarely give in to—one my father always did.
“I know,” she mutters. “I know.”
After wrapping the injury, Briar lowers me onto the mattress. I don’t protest. The room wavers, my head pounding.
“As we’ve both taken the blood oath and are sworn to secrecy, I can explain more when you’re ready. For now, you must rest. We cannot call on a Healer because any magic done to the wound may interfere with the contract. You can request a Healer once the skin has scarred to help with any residual pain, but not before then. We have a few hours until evening service. I will come check on you before then, and you can begin your first shift.”
I nod, a heavy fatigue settling over me like snow. For a moment, I feel a brisk brush of hair from my forehead.
“Welcome to the night service, Avery,” she says.
A stubborn hope blooms. No one in my family has ever been a Night Crest before—and no one has paid off their debts. Maybe this life cycle, things will be different. Maybe I can save not just Jeremee and Benji but my descendants, too. My future children. Maybe it can all begin and end with me.
I do not hear the door shut as sleep pulls me under.
Chapter Five
Only an hour into service,and I am going to dump this wine on Kassandra. I pour her a glass, hand trembling, my shoulder sore. Sweat trickles down my neck. Briar and I had prepped the dining room for company, laid the table for two, and brought up dozens of platters of vibrant fruits and vegetables and sliced boar and jam and pastries. This, at least, is another benefit of the night shift. More High Fae food to thieve for Unluckies.
Kassandra glowers at her untouched meal, sneaking looks at the main door. What has she even eaten today, if at all? We both know her breakfast ended in disaster, so shouldn’t she be ravenous? Especially with how much energy she’s wielding.
She siphons the plane in small strips, the energy resembling the wriggle of a heat wave. She layers it across her shoulder blade, her wrist, her spine, storing power for some larger Illusion that, once complete, will release the magic to the plane once more. If faeries can only send appeals along the plane, like a fallen branch down a river, then High Fae can build dams. We can follow the current of energy; they can redirect it. Perhaps this is the true power of the High Fae: They save while we simply survive.
I top off her wineglass with an easy, medium-bodied red from the vineyards outside Remiti.
“Avery,” Kassandra says. “Imagine my surprise seeing your application to Night Crest service. I can’t imagine why.”
The glitter in her mercury gaze tells me she knows exactly the reason why. My vision blurs.Because you are a spoiled child who wanted revenge. Because you have saddled Jeremee with an impossible burden. And because no matter how much I abhor you, I still must serve you.
“Thank you for approving the switch, mistress,” I manage to say past the knot of anger.
Her nostrils flare. A delicate finger traces the rim of her wineglass. Briar returns the boar to the warming station set up against the wall.
I head to the serving table to grab another bottle.Is night service always like this? Wasteful and empty and depressing?No wonder Kassandra naps throughout the day and struggles in her lessons. More wine must run through her veins than blood.
I pop the cork from the new bottle.
The plane yanks in the direction opposite Kassandra’s. I waver, the blood oath burning. Briar finds my elbow and squeezes.
The dining room doors fly open, slamming against the walls. A silver-haired, towering High Fae male strolls into the room. A tight whirlwind of energy buzzes along the plane.
My mistress sighs. “You’re late.”
“You missed me.” His coal-black eyes seem to suck up all the candlelight. The resemblance is striking, and yet his sharp features make Kassandra look warm. A wolf, if I have ever seen one.
“I’m hungry,” she says. “Sit down so I can eat.”
The click of a tongue. “From the reports, you’ve been eating plenty.”
My ears prick up, throat tightening. My lies to the cooks are leaving evidence behind. But surely she can’t believe this male. Kassandra is small for a High Fae, physically frailer than both Briar and me. Yet no retort comes.
“Lord Dominik,” Briar says.
The wine decanter almost slips from my grasp. Lord Dominik Morella—the heir of House Illusion. Fierce strategist, enigmatic entertainer, and Kassandra’s older brother. In all my years as aDay Crest, I have never collided with his notorious presence, only the rumors of violence and chaos he leaves behind.
“What can I serve you tonight?” Briar asks. “We have wild boar, mashed potatoes, apples, some lovely fresh bread—”
“All of it.”
