“If the cooks prepared less food, then there would be fewer options to choose from,” Carter says.
“Mm,” the king muses, digging into the apple pie, dismissing the conversation. Carter and Lila steal glances my way, and I keepmy expression blank. A new feeling pumps through me, deep and delicious, breaking up the mucky waters of my grieving mind.
Influence. A no-name faerie servant. An unassuming moth flitting about, blending in with the dust and the night, small enough to slip under the crown and whisper in pointed ears.
Why offer up a sack of food to one faerie when I can garner new laws for all? One is navigating the current, the other is redirecting the flow of the river. Why not start at the source? A beautiful monarch whose fancy is as flighty as a butterfly.
Chapter Seventeen
Banging on my door wakesme from a fitful sleep the next day. Groaning, I roll over. Dusky light filters through my window, indicating the late afternoon. Who needs me at this hour?
“Avery!” Briar shouts from the other side.
“What?” I mumble.
“Wake up!”
I drag a shawl across my shoulders and stumble to the door. Briar gathers her hair into a bun, stray pieces falling out.
“Get dressed.”
“My shift doesn’t start for another few hours,” I grumble. “And I don’t return to Illusion for at least another moon.”
“Change of plans.” She rubs her eyes. “The Upper Court is indulging in games in the state gardens this afternoon, and we’re required to be there.”
“Why not the Day Crests? I can’t miss my shift—”
“The king will be there, but dress as if you are an Illusion Crest still. The lady’s orders.”
I’m still an Illusion Crest,I think glumly, but do as I’m told.
—
The spring sunis high and warm, the breeze soft and soil-scented. I shade my eyes and follow Kassandra, clad in a flowy whitesundress, a lacy white parasol propped against a shoulder.You’ll look like a bride,Briar had said, to which Kassandra snapped,I look boring.
My lady then turned sharp eyes on me for the first time in half a month and tutted,Your genius smells different. Before I could respond, she declared she was ready for her picnic.
We approach the lawn where several figures mill under a white tent pitched off to the side.
Kassandra groans, glancing at us over her shoulder. “I hate this game.”
I scan the flat lawn. “What game, my lady?”
“Prize of the Pith.”
Only when we reach the edge of the lawn do I understand. Red, black, gold, and silver squares wind around the entire grassy area, forming a giant square that spirals inward.
“They painted the plant to make the board,” Kassandra says.
We reach the tent and the cluster of fae in its shade: Death, Eli, and the king, clad in lavender. My blood sings at the sight of the royal in that color, for while small, it’s my doing. Kassandra slows, Briar and I stopping short. The males take her in.
“My king,” she says, curtsying. “Lord Eli.”
“Lady Kassandra.” The Head of Healing nods, smoothing down his embroidered red waistcoat.
“You look lovely today.” King Maxian kisses her hand.
“You as well. That color suits you.”
