Speaking of which… I try to shift. When it doesn’t work, I surmise the medallion’s keeping my Crow at bay.
“Correct,” I finally reply, pressing the pad of my index finger against the ruby spikes at my ears.
Before he can rescind his invitation to divest him of a body part, I wrap my fingers around his to steady his hand. I’m momentarily shocked by how soft his skin is—like velvet. Most men I’ve touched have calluses. Most women, too. Especially Shabbins.
Focus. And not on the pliancy or warmth of his skin.
I sketch a circle around his top phalanx with my other hand. His fingertip doesn’t break off. Then again, the ruby band doesn’t even penetrate his skin.
I lift my eyes to his, only to find him already staring down at me. “Seems like you’re Shabbin-proof, Vizosh.”
He doesn’t say anything, yet I can feel him thinking. If only I knew what was running through his mind. No, no, I take that back. Knowing would mean sliding into his thoughts, and then he could slide into mine, and, well…that would prove most inconvenient.
“Thanks for letting me experiment.” I lower my gaze and thumb off the excess blood. “Wouldn’t happen to carry a handkerchief?”
“What exactly are you two doing?” Izolda’s voice startles me so hard I jump.
“Your friend was trying to saw my finger off with magic,” Konstantin deadpans, as he slips his hand out of mine.
What the—Is he serious? A glance at his curved mouth reveals that he’s not.
“A real shame it didn’t work,” I say, which catches on the steel flecks of his irises.
Izolda snorts. “Well, sorry to interrupt your magical butchering session, but no one can sit until you do, Kostya.”
She gestures for him to head to his place at one of the tables arranged to mirror the shape of the Lodge.
Once he’s out of earshot, she murmurs, “He never cracks jokes. He so rarely smiles. And yet you get him to do both? I may have to kidnap you and keep you in Glace, Isles.”
I’m aware she’s jesting, yet I think of the prophecy and how this winter—or another—I’ll be back, and not as a source of entertainment.
She winds her arm through mine. “By the way, you’re sitting between me and a very lovely Glacin arms dealer who’s begged me for an introduction. He’s good people. Unlike his father.”
Since she never badmouths anyone, I take it that the father must be quite the scumbag.
“Anyway, Lev is a childhood friend, whose company you’ll enjoy immensely.” Right before we reenter the Lodge, she murmurs, “Did I mention he was easy on the eyes?”
“So if I don’t enjoy his conversation, I’ll at least enjoy the sight of him?”
“Exactly.”
It turns out that my neighbor, Lev Zaslofsky, is not only easy on the eyes, but also incredibly charming.
For a heartbeat, I even find myself daydreaming:What if it’s him? What if he’s to be my mate?
“Will you be touring our factories with your parents tomorrow, Príona?” he asks, using the Crow term forprincesswith surprising fluency. Then again, he speaks my father tongue better than most Lucin Faeries.
“Your factories?” I ask.
“Most monarchs will be visiting our factories instead of heading to Voshna.” Lev flips a mahogany curl off his brow. “I was just wondering whether you’d be on that tour, or on Izolda’s?”
“Please choose mine.” Izolda seizes my forearm and squeezes. “Please? I swear to make it more fun than a factory visit.”
My father must sense my temptation to pick the factory, because he says,Once you’ve seen a shotgun, you’ve seen them all.
Except, I’ve never seen a shotgun…
If there’s anything of interest, I’ll tell you about it.
