Nadya bumps her shoulder lightly against mine, grinning. “Small, she says.”
While the staff gathers dishes, Nadya grabs an apple from a wooden crate on the counter. She flashes it at me, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Hey, I didn’t get a chance to show you last night. Watch this.”
I raise a brow. “Nadya?”
Before I can stop her, she mutters something under her breath, fingers curling loosely around the apple. A shimmer washes over it, like a ripple through glass. The apple vanishes from sight.
I stare into Nadya’s seemingly empty hand. “Nadya—”
“Shhh,” she hushes, casting a furtive glance toward the servants. No one seems to notice.
I gawk, my heart kicking up in my chest. “What did you—how long can you hold it?”
She bites her lip, concentrating, but then the shimmer falters, and the apple snaps back into view. She tosses it up and catches it with a proud, little smile. “Not long. But I’m getting better.”
A flicker of pride wars with my worry. “You need to be careful with that,” I murmur. “If anyone sees—”
“I know. I will. I just wanted to show you.”
Before I can press further, one of the servants waves us along. “Ifyou’ll sit in the dining chamber, Your Highness, we’ll bring your meal shortly.”
We thank them and head into the adjoining hall, where the long, oak table is already being laid with plates.
I glance at the spread: sliced salmon peppered with herbs, a plate of olives and soft, warm bread, figs stuffed with nuts, and a pitcher of chilled citrus water. It smells divine.
We each take a seat, and the moment I pop a fig into my mouth, I realize just how hollow I’ve felt all day.
Nadya watches me with a small grin. “Feeling better?”
I nod, though the ache in my muscles is a stubborn thing. I take a bite of the salmon, almost moaning at the deliciousness. “I’ll live.”
“You gave me a scare, you know.”
I offer her a faint smile. “It wasn’t exactly pleasant on my end, either.”
Nadya tears off a piece of bread, her expression turning thoughtful. “You should talk to Ezra. See if he can help you regain some of your strength.”
“Where is he, anyway?”
“With the Messanyan magister,” she says. “Apparently, the man has an entire library of sea-based potions and remedies. Ezra couldn’t resist.”
I’m about to ask more when Nadya suddenly stills, her gaze fixed over my shoulder. I turn to see Dante leaning against the doorframe, arms folded loosely across his chest.
But then I catch the tightness in his jaw. The way his shoulders are squared just a little too stiffly. There’s something simmering behind his gaze.
He steps forward, closing part of the distance between us. “We need to talk.”
The words land differently than expected—no teasing, no easy charm.
I narrow my eyes. “About the trial?”
His silence answers me.
I push back my chair and rise. “Let me guess. Somewhere private?”
Nadya waves me off with a grin. “More for me!” she says, already reaching for the olives.
Once we’re alone in the hall, Dante keeps his voice low. “I want to take you somewhere.”
