“It does, doesn’t it?” She jiggles the hangers to finalize my wardrobe selection. “Which one?”
I choose a pearlescent-gray gown with bell sleeves and a crystallized belt. As Naeva completes my outfit with a wide diamond choker, I splash one of her perfumes onto the exposed skin at my sternum, then sit still as she brushes out my hair with gentle strokes, regaling me with all I’ve missed—mostly tales about who stumbled into whose bed after last night’s welcome party.
“Ever since Eponine proclaimed her nephew Crown Prince of Nebba, everyone has been fawning over Elio. It’s hilarious to watch.”
I grin, imagining how uncomfortable this turn of sexual fortune must make our painfully shy best friend.
“Lach’s horribly jealous.” Naeva sets down the brush, then mists my shiny raven locks with oil that carries the rich, golden aroma of the south. “You should’ve seen him. He actuallycounted the number of people who lined up to slip Elio their name and address.”
I laugh as I don my leather boots—Naeva and I may have the same body type, but her feet are a full-size smaller than mine.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, tossing me a white cloak. “It’s never the same without you.”
As we link arms and head out, I think of Shoshair, and how I wish I could’ve brought her with me. Her absence, paired with my guilt for abandoning her, weighs heavily on my chest. Nevertheless, one glance at Alyona’s portrait reminds me that I was meant to be here.
Before my empathetic cousin can sense my dilemma, I force the Alyona-prophecy from my thoughts and concentrate on my surroundings.
We’ve stepped out of the hallway and through a set of double-doors that open onto a room aglow with golden-hued mirrors and an oil mural of plump, pointy-eared cherubs drifting through clouds. Judging by the tables covered in blue felt, dice, and cards, and the corner bar, I assume this must be a recreation den. Do the Korols have game nights, or is this a place to entertain guests?
The next room is a library. Leather spines with gilt lettering glimmer on shelves made of polished white quartz. I can imagine Izolda lounging on one of the white leather couches that cinch the glass fire pit, a novel in hand.
Every time Aodhan flies her to Luce—not often enough—I fly her down to the Public Library in Tarecuori where she checks out dozens of books at a time, while I amble down aisles and pretend to search for very specific titles I never find. I think she’s caught on that reading isn’t my thing, even though she doesn’t know why. I’m not big on sharing my shortcomings.
Has my arrival reached her ears, I wonder? I find out when we emerge into a towering quartz atrium—which Naeva tells me is the Great Hall—and my name is squealed.
Izolda crushes me in a hug before pulling back to ask, “You sneaky thing, when did you arrive?”
“Just before it started snowing.”
“Is Arin here as well?”
“Just me.”
“But she’s all right?” Izolda asks, ever the worrier.
“Yes.”
“I’m so glad to hear it. I made her a basket of Glacin treats and included those roots we talked about last time I visited.” If there existed an award for Most Thoughtful Faerie Alive, Izolda would win it year after year.
“She’ll love that.”
“Oh, and a potion brewing book! Obviously, it’s not real potions, but I thought she’d get a kick out of it. Anyway, I’d like to introduce you to my brother.”
I almost tell her that we’ve already met when she beckons over a golden-haired male. This must be the younger one, Ilya.
“Ilyusha, meet Isla, Lorcan and Fallon’s daughter.”
“The elusive Crow Princess who is always absent when I show up in Luce.” He takes my hand and carries it to his lips, brushing a polite kiss to my knuckles.
Izolda rolls her eyes. “You’ve traveled there twice in the last decade.”
“I took my military training very seriously,” he says, releasing my hand. “Which shocked everyone—including myself—since I takenothingseriously.” He punctuates his avowal with a chuckle.
Where Konstantin is all severity and retinue, Ilya is all ease and liveliness.
“Welcome to Glace, Isla Ríhbiadh of the Sky Kingdom. I’ve heardsomuch about you.”
“That sounds ominous,” I say, though surely he wouldn’t be this friendly if he’d heard about his brother’s split lip.
