Taking a breath, I lace to the Pith.
I land on the wooden parquet floors, which rise to greet me. The fireplace to my right is cold and empty. The king’s bed to my left is made, sheets tightly tucked into the corners. The apartments are empty. Did I misinterpret the message?
A floating bottle of sparkling wine appears before me, accompanied by two crystal goblets. A note attached to the bottle instructs me to pour. So I do.
Uncorking the bottle, I grasp it midair, then tip the liquid into a goblet. Before I can reach for the second crystal goblet, it drops to the floor, shattering at my feet. I stare, the bottle in one hand, the filled goblet in the other, shards all around my shoes.
“You always were clumsy.”
I force myself not to jump, lest I step on the glass.
Maxian materializes before me in a loose white shirt and dark pants. Simple, clean, skin clear—he is the opposite image of a few days ago. His dark-honey hair falls in waves; his eyes spark with amusement. He does not look like a halfling, not at all, and suddenly I do not understand what a halfling is supposed to look like besides a tattoo on each wrist.
He extends a hand. I offer the goblet. He shakes his head, smiling.
So I offer him the bottle. Still he shakes his head.
“I want your hand, Avery.”
“Yes, Your Magnificence.”
I start to lower the bottle to the ground.
“Weren’t you ever taught manners?” he says. “Never put an opened bottle on the ground. Someone might knock it over and spill it.”
I watch him.What does he want?My gaze settles among the bottle, the goblet, and his outstretched hand. Bringing the goblet to my lips, I sip the wine. It’s sickly sweet, bubbly. Maxian smiles, quirking a brow. I down the whole goblet, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, the feeling acrid on my teeth.
“Again,” he says.
So I pour a new glass and swallow that one down, too.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“I thought you would. It’s the wine from the coronation.”
The bottle and goblet feel heavy in my hands, these strange weights leaving me vulnerable. Already, the two glasses of sparkling wine fizzle in my empty stomach. Perhaps coming here before dinner was a mistake.
“The wine from the coronation?” I ask.
“You had some, did you not? When Death arrived?”
There’s a mischievous glint in his eye.
How could he know that? If I lie, will he perceive it as an affront? As a reason to wrap Benji in debt once more? Or will hefind me rolling over and showing my belly to be boring? I go with the safe option: praising his intellect.
“I did not realize you knew,” I answer. “How?”
“Well.” He clasps hands behind his back. “I could smell it on your breath.”
“I see.”
“Shall you have another?”
“Do you want me to?”
He startles, blinking. “I want you to be relaxed. You’re my guest, of course.”
