“You know how chatty Lach can get under the influence of Faerie wine. This one”—Naeva nods to Ilya—“kept refilling his glass.”
“What can I say? I live to entertain.” With a wink, he adds, “And gather blackmail material.”
Izolda laughs. “You’re incorrigible. Simply incorrigible.”
“According to our mother, it’s the influence of your Crow mate.”
Her smile weakens. Even though Ilya’s tone was playful, I’ve heard Milana Korol doesn’t approve of Aodhan, which weighs heavily on Izolda.
“Speaking of your mate…” Ilya gestures toward the other end of the Great Hall, to the handsome Crow, who according to many, used to be insufferable until he bonded with Izolda. “Aodhan was looking for you. Something about Ksenia’s jewelry.”
That sands down what was left of her smile.
“I’ll see you all up at the Lodge.” As she walks away, cream dress swirling around her hourglass frame like puffs of Selvatin sand, she calls out, “Behave, Ilyusha, or you’ll be banned from the rest of the festivities.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior.” Yet his blue eyes flash with the promise of wickedness. The good kind.
“What’s wrong with Ksenia’s jewelry?” Naeva asks.
“It’s, um…” He tugs at the standup collar on his sky-blue jacket, which matches his brother’s getup in both color and cut. “Tawdry.”
I presume that bytawdry, he means made of ivory.
Back before peace was ratified between Shabbe and Glace, serpent tusks could still be fashioned into jewels and home decorations. Though ivory trade has become illegal across all four realms, wearing or displaying objects predating the ban is unfortunately not.
To stop dwelling on serpent killings—since that’s the only way to prize tusks off sea creatures—I raise my gaze to the opulent source of light: a crystal chandelier with over a thousand shivering wicks. I’ve never seen one quite so massive, not even in the vestiges of the Faerie castle on Isolacuori, which Zia Syb has transformed into the grandest restaurant in all of Luce.
“Handblown in Luce three centuries ago,” Ilya says, having trailed my gaze. “Since it was a present from the Regios, the plan is to take it down.” Under his breath, he adds, “I’m not sure why it hasn’t been done already.”
Because your brother might not be as fond of the new shifter regime as he pretends to be…
“At least it’s not made from animal bones,” a familiar voice pitches in—Antoni.
He and Enzo are shuffling up the stairs toward a glass vestibule that must be the castle’s main entrance. Although neither blood brothers nor mates, the two are inseparable. Enzo acknowledges me with a nod, but not Antoni. He’s too busy peering at the arm Ilya has just fed through Naeva’s to escort her up the stairs.
Even though my cousin calls me delusional every time I allude to her fellow Serpent’s attraction, I’m convinced I’m not. The male isalwayswatching her. She calls it misplaced hatred for her father. I’ve been on the receiving end of hateful glowers, and the fire blazing behind Antoni’s black eyes isn’t fanned by hatred. At times, I wonder if Naeva is deliberately oblivious to his fascination because, to her, her beloved father’s opinion is law.
“Will you do me the honor of riding in my sleigh, Miss Ríhbiadh?” Ilya offers me his other arm.
“Absolutely.”
As we start up the very long flight of stone steps, Ilya asks about my accommodations.
“We’re sharing a room,” Naeva says.
“To share that room too…” he muses in a tone that comes off as playful instead of depraved.
I snort. “A true rake.”
“Inot onlylive to entertain but also to please.” He adds an eyebrow waggle that only serves to narrow Antoni’s glower.
Which narrows some more when Naeva laughs.
Misplaced hatred, my feathered ass.
When we reach the esplanade, a long line of ornate, wooden sleighs awaits us, gleaming in spite of the weather. Unlike in Luce, no horses are tethered to these. I seek out train tracks in the thickening white carpet but find none. I surmise it’s the air-Faeries standing on the rear and front platforms that must propel the luge, just like they propel our gondolas back in Luce.
After aiding Naeva aboard, Ilya proffers his hand to help me climb. I settle in front of my cousin, whose violet hair is already salted with flakes, as though she’d been sitting there for an hour instead of mere seconds. Ilya hops aboard and drops down on the cushioned bench beside me. I think we’re about to take off when another passenger lumbers on: Antoni.
