Taking a small spoonful, I smelled it first. It had a faint fishy scent to it, but not the pungent aroma of the trout from back home. I risked a small nibble, and the burst of citrus acidity that combined beautifully with the subtle brininess of the seafood, danced on my palate.
“How can food be this refreshing?” I asked in awe.
The side of his mouth tilted up, and amusement danced in his eyes. “I’m pretty sure they use magic,” he said, winking, then reached for another platter.
Endymion continued offering me his favorites, explaining each dish and why he loved it.
“So, Nyleeria,” a cold, familiar voice said loud enough that all murmurings halted.
I was about to take another bite of food, but set my fork down, turning my full attention to the high lord of the Autumn Court.
Chapter 33
Unsatisfactory Answers
“I’ve heard you’ve known Thaddeus since childhood,” Wymond said.
I stayed silent, not wanting to reveal more than necessary—besides, he hadn’t technically asked me a question. Within a few seconds, his nostrils flared, likely realizing I wasn’t about to say anything unless prompted.
Eyes narrowed, he broke the silence first. “How did you first meet?”
It was a careful question. I’d been occupied and hadn’t noticed if Wymond and Thaddeus had exchanged pleasantries; he could be testing me to see if our stories were aligned.
“I’m sure the table is uninterested in my childhood memories,” I said in a soft, innocent voice.
“On the contrary, when it comes to you, I’d say this table is acutely interested in every last detail.”
“Oh, well, King Thaddeus is the dreamer, and a much better storyteller than I,” I said, glancing at Thaddeus. “Would you tell our story, old friend?”
Wymond kept his eyes on me, but Thaddeus didn’t miss a beat diving into our fictitious story.
A genuine smile bloomed on my face as he told a tale of old. Not because of the nonexistent memories it stirred, but because he wove the story in such a way that I found myself lost in it. I’d witnessed this skill firsthand when he’d shown me via spellcraft how the spark had come to be. Only then did I fully appreciate that those vivid images were born from his beautiful imagination—a dreamer indeed.
Thaddeus had everyone enraptured in the tale, laughing at how he’d seen me trip, covered in mud head to toe, but kept my chin held high, unwilling to yield any dignity to the, then, princeling.
I’d interject here and there with comments, sighs, or laughter, my participation helping to establish the tale as true to those who heard it.
Thaddeus didn’t stop at our first meeting but launched into recounting his father’s sudden death less than a year ago. How the letter had come, and how we’d made our way here. By publicly sharing the story, he’d effectively taken away Wymond’s ability to pick apart our past, trying to trip us up. Now everyone had a firsthand account of the story, including myself.
Thaddeus finished the tale at our arrival at the Summer Court, and at that, Caius raised a glass and said, “And how joyous an occasion that we are reunited after so much time.”
Shortly after, dinner platters were cleared, giving way to desserts adorned with fruits in every hue imaginable. I admired the vibrant spread but didn’t serve myself, as the feast had more than satisfied my appetite.
The gentle cadence of conversations around the table continued, and I found myself lulled into a trance, lost in my own thoughts.
Why had Myron and Fiora only traveled as a pair? What was more important to Wymond than joining the soiree? Where had Caius hastily valenned to after we’d returned to the grove? Would Amos’ wisp truly no longer thrust visions upon me? Even so, Idoubted my dreams would offer the same courtesy. What happened next—when we returned to reality and put the pretty dresses away?
Thought after thought consumed me, and I knew there was only one way to silence the incessant chatter. A deep craving filled my chest as my fingers rubbed together, missing the cool steel between them. Ineededthe reassuring weight of my dagger, the sweet, satisfying thunk of blades hitting true, the slickness of my body from the effort.
Perhaps Thaddeus could instruct me in the art of swords as well as spellcraft. I’d never forget watching Nevander and him spar. Their power and unwavering trust in their weapons flashed in my mind. The idea of learning from warriors who’d perfected their skills over centuries sent a thrill of excitement through me, but most importantly, I needed to start training again.
Exhaustion hit me as the evening progressed, and I had to will myself to stay. I hoped my companions garnered more information than I had. Fiora and I had conversed about nothing of importance, and Endymion had gone distant since I’d refused to answer Wymond’s question.
I slid my gaze down the table, and Tarrin caught my eye, giving me a nod of understanding, and encouragement to stay here, stay engaged. I blinked slowly to him, conveying just how tired I was.
I know,his kind gaze answered.
I brought my focus back up the table to find Thaddeus engaged in conversation with Myron, Fiora, and Caius.
