I get what he means by that now—we’re cocooned in this fancy cage, but it’s also protectingour peace.
“Should be quite the reunion,” Tiernan mumbles into his phone after he answers it. He stands, pacing away from the living area to the plush carpet near the bedroom doors. “Yeah, all hands on deck. We can’t afford gaps—not with these stakes.” He’s orchestrating a mass migration of his teams for the concert, voice laced with authority and a tinge of something I read as concern.
“Will it cause issues? Yanking them from their posts?” I ask as when ends the call. My fingers are picking at the edge of a napkin, imagining the ripples we’re causing in faraway places. I’m sure Feray is having similar issues, but I honestly haven’t thought about it much. There’s too much going on here to give attention to things not right in front of us.
“I’ve called in enough favors so when the other teams leave to join us, their assignments will be covered. Team Alpha will pop through the Veil within the hour.” He nods towards Khol, who’s skimming through notes already, his brow furrowed in concentration. “They’re bringing intel from our friends.”
“Always one step ahead,” I murmur, though I can’t help but wonder what new puzzles we’ll have to piece together now.
Revelin glances at the golden clock perched on the mantelpiece, grimacing. “We’d better get mentally prepared. Tanya, Basil, Orchid, and Gwennon will be here soon with wardrobe options.”
“Amber Hollow designers, right?” I remember the clothes I saw in windows as we traveled to the schools the other day. They were a cascade of opulence and whispers of silks. The thought of being draped in such finery after seeing Willowshade makes my eye twitch, but I know we can’t solve every problem right now. Instead of being annoyed, I try to picture myself garbed in their creations, but the image doesn’t quite hold together.
This is gonna suck.
“Yep,” Revelin confirms, his voice pulling me back. “We need to look the part tonight.”
“Speaking of which,” Tiernan starts as he reclines beside Dezi, “you should know who you’ll be rubbing elbows with at this shindig.” His smirk suggests a lesson is about to begin, and I brace myself for a parade of names I’ll struggle to remember.
“King Eamon and Queen Annalise,” Revelin begins the roll call, each name punctuated with a tidbit of trivia or an anecdote painting a vivid tapestry of the Harvest Court’s royal family. “Eight children, ranging from Bonner, the eldest male heir, to little Oliver, the youngest and the charmer of the lot.”
“Don’t forget. In between are Naida, Aelfric, Linetta, Brucie, Avery, and Shailagh,” Tiernan says. “The number of boys and girls is equal, and Brucie and Avery are twins.”
“Least threatening court, my foot,” I grumble, because despite the soft edges they’re trying to sell, there’s tension in every corner of Harvest since we arrived. ‘Under attack’ seems to be our default state, and I can’t shake the feeling that Seelie royal smiles hide daggers just as sharp as any Unseelie’s.
“Bad apples in every orchard,” Khol agrees, raising his glass in a mock toast. The light banter sparks laughter, a temporary balm for our collective paranoia.
“We can only worry about surviving tonight,” Revelin chides softly, though his eyes dance with shared humor. “Watch each other’s backs. That’s how we’ll get through this.”
“Cheers to that,” Tiernan adds, clinking his glass with Khol’s.
The suite’s door swings open, and there they are, the heralds of transformation: Tanya, Basil, Orchid, and Gwennon, flanked by racks of Amber Hollow finery that glint with the promise of enchantment. Their arrival stirs a flurry of activity; clothes cascade in a waterfall of silk and satin, colors rich enough to rival any fall scenery in its glory.
“Fiadh, darling, this will absolutely sing on you,” Tanya declares, holding up a gown that seems to capture the purple, peach, yellow, and orange hues of the twilight sky just before nightfall. I can’t helpbut let the fabric slip through my fingers, its cool caress whispering secrets of elegance and allure.
I’m definitely going to get pictures taken in this thing and I’ll never live it down.
“I could do without the cinching and poking,” I mutter under my breath, though the reflection in the mirror—a stranger cloaked in grace—tempts a smile onto my lips. These stylists, with their deft hands and keen eyes, sculpt us into artful creations, one brush stroke, one drape of cloth at a time.
Across the room, Revelin stands like a mannequin as Basil adjusts the shoulders of his jacket, a modern cut that evokes tradition while breaking from it entirely. Khol is next, slipping into an outfit that melds the sharp lines of formalwear with the rebellious twist of street fashion; he wears it as if born to challenge norms and turn heads.
Dezi, meanwhile, has Orchid fluttering around him like a conspiring sprite, working wonders with a suit that hugs and releases in all the right places. Even Tiernan, usually so nonchalant about appearances, submits to Gwennon’s expertise, emerging with an understated elegance that only underscores his natural presence.
“Looking sharp, everyone,” Revelin nods approvingly as we converge, a tableau of readiness against the backdrop of our suite. The air is thick with perfumed anticipation, each of us cloaked in bespoke armor for the social battleground ahead.
“Remember, we’re not separating at all tonight,” Revelin reminds us, his voice steady but not without its own undercurrent of nerves. “No matter what happens, we can’t let anyone catch us unaware, even if it’s for a stupid interview.”
I inhale deeply, the rich scent of my jasmine-infused hair oil mingling with the collective aroma of our anticipation. The suite’s opulent door stands before us like a portal to another world—one lined with velvet ropes and flashbulbs. “Sir, yes, sir.”
“Really? You’re saying that tohim?” Khol asks, his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and the slightest hint of mischief.
“You cannot possibly believe that was for him,” Dezi growls back, his lips curved into a smug smile.
Rolling my eyes at all of them, I wait until they’re quiet. “I don’t have a good feeling about this event. There’s something… making me anxious.”
Revelin’s hand finds its way to my shoulder—a silent solidarity. “We’ve been through worse things. This should be a breeze compared to a skull monster showing up. I mean…. unless one does.”
“That’s comforting,” Tiernan says, adjusting the cufflinks at his wrists as though they’re armor preparing him for the skirmish ahead. “Way to make us less nervous.”
