“Because Antoni is a total playfae.”
“Youslept with him.”
“My point exactly. Half of Luce has slept with him, and that’s only because the other half are males, and Antoni doesn’t swing that way.” After a pause, she adds, “To Phoebus’s massive regret.”
“I still don’t see why my liking him is wrong. Unless you’re jealous? In which case, I’ll back off.”
“Honey, I’m totally not jealous.” She pats my leg. “Hand over some salt, so I can prove it.”
“I believe you.” I bend my knees and gather my legs into my chest, rankled that, like Nonna, my best friend isn’t being supportive. “I’m aware Antoni has a reputation, but I still don’t see what’s wrong with me taking advantage of his skills.”
Sybille sighs. “Because you, my dearest Fallon, get attached, and I know he’s offered you marriage, but he’ll never deliver on his promise.”
“I don’t want to marry him.”
“Are you telling me you’d be fine about becoming one more notch on that man’s bedpost?”
“Yes,” I growl, annoyed. And tired. But mostly annoyed.
After a beat of silence, she breathes out an, “Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, I’ll support your decision.”
“You’re my best friend. You’re obliged to support all my decisions, even the dreadful ones.”
Sybille flops onto her back, arches her spine, and stretches her arms over her head. “Yes, yes.”
I finally toss my legs off the side of the bed and get up. “Now regale me with every last detail of the revel.”
Sybille leaves nothing out, and by the end of her account, I feel as though I attended the great ball, sandwiched between her and Phoebus and thousands of other glamorous Fae.
Keeping my gaze on the mirror over my dresser, I ask, “You didn’t happen to see any bird statues around the palace, did you?”
“Bird statues?”
Although my wavy hair is already soft and glossy, I keep running my boar-bristled brush through it. “Someone mentioned a pretty statue, and since you know how much I love animals . . .”
“Didn’t see any, then again, we were corralled in the garden piazza, and there were literally hundreds of Fae by square centimeter and just as many sprites, so it was crowded. I could’ve missed it.”
Sybille rarely misses anything. At least, not before her third glass of faerie wine. What her answer reveals is that the crow statue I’m looking for isn’t displayed in the gardens, which leaves, oh . . . the entire castle.
I think of the people who might know.
My grandmother?
Can’t exactly ask her.
Cato?
My curiosity would get back to someone at court, be it my grandfather, one of the two sovereigns, or worse, Nonna.
I lower my brush, my mind latching on to someone who’s been inside the king’s private quarters. “Catriona . . .”
“You heard? So tacky.”
“Heard what?”
