Every time I ask anyone, be it Ilya, Salom, Borat, or one of his many guards, I’m met with the same roster of answers: “He’s in a meeting. He’s visiting the army barracks…a grieving family. He’s touring a new construction…a new factory.”
“Is your brother back from…? Where was he this time again?” I ask Izolda as I reshuffle the deck of cards and begin to deal.
Her lips hook to the side as she picks up the glossy little rectangles of inked paper and scrutinizes each in order to avoid my gaze. She knows what happened. Elio and Lachlano, who are seated on either side of us, do as well.
“Apparently”—she twists her lips—“the meeting has turned into dinner.”
I huff out an exasperated sigh. “Of course it has.”
“I didn’t think anyone could beat El at holding grudges,” Lachlano muses.
Elio hikes up an eyebrow and looks down his perfectly straight nose at him.
“Aside from Naev,” Lachlano adds. “And maybe that character inEmpress of Ice. Cauldron, she’s stubborn.”
Izolda is biting at her lips, which come apart around such a sudden gasp that my heart misses every beat.
“What?” I choke out. “What’s happened?”
“Holy baby cherubs…” She springs out of her seat and races to the couch, then returns with one of her favorite novels, which she’s currently rereading, flipping it open to the dedication page.
“What?” My voice is thready with panic, even though I’m unsure what there is to be panicked about.
She jabs her finger at the inscription above the author’s signature. “I know where Mestyla’s hiding!”
36
ISLA
“The Countess never lets anyone into her house!” Izolda yells into my ear as we fly over the starlit sound toward the romance author’s home. “She hates people! Except her staff. She loves her staff. The day my parents poached Olena, she was so angry that she said her door would remain permanently shut toallKorols!”
Yet it’s possible she let one in. After all, her soft spot for Olena—according to Izolda—extended to Svyato, to whom the Countess had given seed money to build the tavern.
I stare at the moon’s reflection on the choppy water. It’s mere days’ away from being full. Two, possibly three. Will tonight be the night?
My heart pounds so fast that my saliva tastes like blood but feels like plaster—metallic with a side of cloying paste. The texture and taste don’t dissipate, not even when I recuperate my human form on the busy Voshnan wharf.
“Perhaps we should let Elio go inside alone,” I say as the boys land under the wary gazes of the Faeries either strolling or sledding along the harbor on their way into the old town. “He can pretend to be a diehard fan of smut, and?—”
“I came prepared.” Izolda brandishes a sky-blue bakery box she picked up in the castle kitchens while the rest of us went to fetch coats.
The air is so chilled I regret not swapping my silver gown for my usual leathers
“The Countessloveswhat’s inside this box,” she says as she swishes up the stone steps that have been cleared of ice and snow.
“Good, because I don’t know the first thing about smut,” Elio murmurs, following her up the hill toward the manors dotting the peninsula.
“Barely knows the first thing about sex,” Lachlano adds, which wins him a scathing look from our half-blood friend.
“I know plenty about sex, you ass.”
“Then you know plenty about smut, since it’s just another term for sexually explicit storytelling.” Lachlano fists his honeyed-brown dreadlocks, then rerolls the strand of leather he uses to keep them bound. “It’s actually pretty riveting. Almost got me killed, though.”
“How does risqué storytelling almost get one killed?” Izolda asks, whirling to look at Lachlano while pursuing her ascent.
How she doesn’t trip is a feat of verticality.
“I was reading out loud to Isla from thatEmpress of Icenovel, and lo and behold, your brother burst into the room, imagining Isles and I were getting our rocks off. You should’ve seen the look on his face.”
