“You are my servant, Liora; not his. Now serve.”
Dante keeps quiet as though he knows better than to intercede in the Nebbans’ conflict.
Pierre leans over the table and whispers something in Nebban to Eponine that makes the fine hairs along my nape stand to attention.
I fold my napkin and place it on my decorative presentation plate that is painted over with grapes. “How exactly does this salt-blasting compound regenerate?”
Pierre retracts his gaze from his daughter’s and turns it back toward me, but it’s Lore who answers, “The chemical feeds on the salt instead of merely destroying it.”
Eponine readjusts the jeweled headpiece that graces her forehead. “At the rate the compound is being dumped, our oceans will be salt free before Yuletide. Can you imagine? If I were you”—she taps the side of her nose as though to impart a secret—“I’d start designing swimwear, as every Fae and their great-grandparent will take up swimming.”
I frown. “There’ll still be the matter of the serpents.”
She snorts. “Because you think serpents can—”
“Eponine, can you go check on what is taking the cooks so long to deliver our food?” Dante’s tone is ice.
Silence stretches like boiled sugar between the two—scalding and tacky.
Finally, her chair is pulled back and she gets up. “Why certainly,micaro.” She wobbles, which elicits a grumble from her father. “Got up too fast.”
I’d heard rumors Eponine was a bit of a ship wreck. Although I don’t much care for gossip, the future queen seems to live up to her reputation.
“Signorina Amari, accompany me to the kitchens, will you?”
“I—”
“She’s our guest, Eponine,” Dante says.
“But I need a crutch,” she whines, “and she’s the perfect height.”
Syb blinks up at Eponine. “I—um—”
“We’ll only be gone but a minute. I’ll make it worth your while, Bibble.”
Bibble?My nerves are so shot that a grin drapes across my lips.
“My name is actually Sybille,” I hear my friend mutter as she stands, and my chest spasms.
Not the time, Fal, not the time, I chide myself, focusing hard on the painted grapes on my plate.
“I’m sorry about your pets, Signorina Rossi,” Eponine says.
My hilarity withers. “My pets?”
The future Queen of Luce winds her fingers around Syb’s forearm. “Your serpents. I may not be Shabbin but I do care about the balance of our world.” She wobbles as she heads toward the stairs.
“Perhaps you should care more about your own balance.” Pierre looks about ready to hurl her onto a Crow’s beak.
Although his voice is low and she gives no reaction, I’ve no doubt she’s heard him. After all, her ears are pointy.
“Why is Eponine sor—” My palm rises to my lips at the same time my heart rises into my throat.
Serpents cannot live without salt! By ridding our oceans of salt, Dante and Pierre will also be ridding them of serpents.
“You cannot do that!” I blurt out.
The soldiers in forest green shift closer to Pierre. Are they worried I’ll spring out of my chair and claw his face out with my very human nails, which, granted, are sharper than they’ve ever been, but still not as useful as iron talons?
