“More than the ten I’m aware of,” Revelin replies, his tone suggesting this was a conservative estimate. He doesn’t even look bothered, though that’s not surprising. His father is a royal asswad, and he knows it.
“Seven to eight eggs per clutch,” Khol interjects, the scales along his arms shimmering with an almost mischievous light. “Basilisks rarely crossbreed, though, so who knows?”
His jibe is clearly the last straw for our witch. The edges of her control fray like the hem of a well-worn cloak and sparks of purple magic start shooting through the air. I step closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as I unleash a soft, reassuring purr. It usually calms her, and hopefully now is no exception. She leans into me, her body relaxing incrementally.
Thank hell. We don’t need to draw that kind of attention in our first hour here.
“Find a fucking potions store,” she mutters under her breath, yet loud enough for us all to hear. “I need stronger ingredients.”
“Worried about the birth control spell?” Dezi guesses with a laugh, and we all join in, our mirth a mixture of affection and teasing.
All we get for our efforts is a glare that could slice someone’s arm off.
“Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves, Fi,” I say softly, still purring. “One adventure at a time.”
But even as the joke winds down and the laughter fades into the background noise of the market square, I know she’s panicking internally. Family is a sore spot with the sisters since they discovered theirs wasn’t what it seemed. That makes it even more imperative that we set out after dinner tonight to get a feel for the area.
Perhaps it will give a clue where we need to head for the first artifact.
Dezi exhales slowly as our humor fades. It’s a sound that seems to carry the weight of centuries, but when he looks at Fi, his gazesoftens immeasurably. His eyes scan the bustling town square. “I have business to attend to,” he says finally, his eyes lingering on us with a protective glint. “Tiernan, Khol, you two are on witchling duty. Keep her safe.”
“Always,” I assure him, feeling the familiar thrum of responsibility in my veins. I would never let my mate roam unprotected, though I suspect she’ll fight us later on when having so many people around constantly gets under her skin.
Revelin steps forward, his regal posture never wavering despite the casual setting. “My costume manager has contacted the local couture boutique,” he informs us. “They’ve set aside selections for our girl. After you track down a suitable witchy shop for her needs, take her to select what she’ll need for this week. My mother asked that in deference to the local economies, we buy what is needed for anyone outside of me at each stop to show our support.”
He rolls his eyes because the rebellious git hates politics—despite being heir to a throne—but I understand why the Queen asked him to do this.
“Don’t be a brat, princeling. Your mother requested that, so you are seen not only taking adoration from fans in the kingdoms, but giving back as well. Any fool could figure that out.”
The prince rolls his eyes as he makes a face at the vampire. “Duh. It’s just harder to match us up when I can’t plan. I’m not stupid, bloodsucker.”
Fiadh’s glare could wilt flowers at twenty paces. The prospect of trying on clothes handpicked by someone else clearly doesn’t sit well with her independent nature and she hates when those two snipe. “Fine, I’ll be your rockin’ dress-up doll ButIdecide what I wear, not these ninnies.”
“Of course,” Revelin concedes with a smile that hints he’s used to getting his way, regardless.
As Dezi and Revelin depart, their shadows briefly merge before separating like dark ink spilled on cobblestone. Khol and I flankKnuckles, her curvy form looking vulnerable amidst the throngs of unfamiliar Fae and creatures milling about. The air hums with the promise of discovery and the undercurrents of danger that always accompany this land, but since we’re not in the court I’m used to, it sets off my predator senses.
“Ready?” I ask, casting a glance at Khol, whose scales catch the light in a subtle display of readiness.
“Let’s get this over with,” Fiadh mutters with resignation in her voice.
She’s not happy about having to go shopping, but she didn’t fight us on it, either. I call that progress.
We weave our way through the crowd, each step taking us deeper into the heart of Arrowwood. The potion shop is in a back alley behind the herbalist stand, making our girl mumble things about ‘real practitioners’ and ‘magical chops.’ I don’t think she means it negatively, but I keep my eyes peeled for any random Fae-kind who might take offense at her directness.
The Fae are artful at conversation and rarely say what they mean, like Fiadh does.
“Knuckles, considerhowyou speak to the people in the shop. I’m not saying you’re rude, but…”
“Oh, she’s totally bitchy when it comes to magic,” Khol cuts in with a grin. “Luckily, I’m happy to stab anyone who gets shitty about it.”
Fiadh pulls her hand out of mine and turns to us with a serious expression. “Listen, you two. I know you want to protect me and that asshole made it your job, but… Magical folk talk about their craft and ingredients in a certain way. I highly doubt even the Fae would respect me if I allowed them to pull tricksy bullshit like a newb. Sopleaselet me handle the negotiations? I promise I know what the hell I’m doing.”
Khol squints at her for a moment, then scratches his head. “If they get froggy, I can gut them with you?”
A sharp blade glints in the light as she pulls it from fuck know where within seconds. “Absolutely you can. We’ll have a pointy party. Fair?”
I don’t think so and I’m the one with the most experience in this damn realm, but that’s not going to matter.
