“Should’ve seen the look on yours,” I say with a smile I’m feeling, in spite of my clacking nerves.
Izolda barks out a laugh. Elio, too, guffaws.
“How I wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall,” she says.
“In retrospect, it was quite funny.” Lachlano’s grin is as incandescent as the streetlights lining Dragosvet Avenue, the wealthiest district in Voshna.
It’s not only where the Countess lives, but also where Lev’s family resides. As we walk past their manor, I glance up at the stone spires, trying to catch sight of the dwellers within. The home is stunning, both from the outside and from within.
Naeva and I visited, under the cloak of magic, the day after Konstantin removed Lev’s hands. Even though, by that point, I was full-on team-Konstantin, I’d felt a pinch of aggrieved guilt at the sight of Lev’s stubby wrists.
Not enough guilt to prevent Naeva from painting a listening sigil inside his private chambers, though. A listening sigil, which is in dire need of being refreshed, since the paperweight I filched grizzles with imperceptible chatter nowadays. Not that it offered us anything worthwhile in the past. It was like Lev had known he was being listened to. He probably did.
A shadow moves in front of his bedchamber window, stops. I catch the burn of auburn eyes. The shine of dark curls. The harsh twist of lips. His hate is palpable.
“This is it.” Izolda nods to the looming gates emblazoned with a golden ‘A’ and ‘Z’.
I redirect my attention to the lofty metal pickets, then past them, to a house Naeva and I never entered. “Was the Countess not on your list of Jubilee attendees?”
Izolda pokes at a gold doorbell mounted into the gate. “No, because I knew she’d never come. She’s a total recluse.”
As we wait for the gates to open, my chest prickles with renewed unease. “Lach?” I call him over, index finger already pressed against my spiky earring. “I’ll make you invisible. Wander around. Just…keep an eye on yourself.”
He nods, understanding what I mean by that last part: that my spell will be more fleeting than any my Shabbin peers can cast.
He winks out of existence just as torches flare beyond the gates, illuminating a stone path over which soars a spritesporting a tailcoat and an extra-high ponytail that gives his head the appearance of a fountain.
Once the palm-sized Faerie reaches the gates, he hovers there, gaze thinning at the sight of my stripes and the feathers tattooed on all three of our cheekbones. “May I help you?”
“We’re here to see the lady of the house,” Izolda announces with a friendly smile that the sprite doesn’t reciprocate.
“I’m afraid the Countess is unavailable at the moment.”
“I’m sorry, but I was told she’d be in and that I should just stop by. I believe there’s a codeword I’m supposed to give? What was it again?”
“Smut?” I suggest.
“No, that’s not it.”
The winged butler puffs out his chest, making the tucked ends of his cravat pop out from beneath his shirt. “There isnocodeword.”
“Olena said—” Izolda scrunches up her brow as though giving this real thought. “What was it that Olena said?”
The sprite’s eyes seem to take on a brighter glow. “Olena no longer works here.”
“I’m aware.”
“I’ll let the Countess know you stopped by, Princess.”
“Unnecessary, we’ll let her know ourselves. Isla? A little help?”
I morph, which makes the tiny man spring backward and flit to the manor’s front door as though to warn the Countess—or Mestyla?—that her visitors didn’t take no for an answer.
Izolda and Elio climb up the ladder of my wing and settle astride my back. Thankfully, both are rather light, so I manage to take off and land without a hitch.
Izolda raps on the locked front door. “Countess Zubrowa, I know you abhor my family, but I urgently need a word with you.”
We wait for five entire minutes before Izolda nods to the lock, then to my hand. “I’m afraid we’ll have to let ourselves in.”
