As though she senses my thoughts, she says, “I’m sorry my condition kept you away from the Jubilee.”
“Please. How fun can a royal Jubilee be?”
I shush my mind when it pitches in:epically fun. My grandmotherneedsme. Besides, I’m immortal. I’ll have many more occasions to visit Glace and attend formidable revels.
As I hand the stein to Shoshair, I donotpicture flying over the northern land steeped in shimmering snow.
I do not think of the tallest peak—the White Fang—where my parents waged an exacting battle before my birth.
Iabsolutelydo not imagine myself stealing away to visit the underground palace Izolda has told me everything about.
The same way I don’t dream of all the sleigh and train rides to be had.
My grandmother watches me over the rim of the cup she tips to her lips. “Your father was telling me there’s much unrest in Glace.”
“I heard. But surely no more than in Luce?”
“More.”
I narrow my eyes. “Yet not too much unrest to throw a big party?”
“Faeries,” she says, as though their propensity for merrymaking was explanation enough.
Her tongue darts out to swipe a smudge off the corner of her lips.
Shit. I forgot to change the color. Hopefully, she won’t notice that her berry shake is green. Come to think of it, her white skin now appears a tad greenish too. Because of my cocktail?
Goddess below, I pray that isn’t the case.
A deafening gurgle rises from her stomach. We both blink—first at each other, and then at her abdomen that is…that isswelling. My grandmother gathers the hem of her tunic and hauls it up.
“Sweetheart, did you—” More gurgling distends her stomach, and then a burp interrupts her speech. She startles as thoughthis were the very first time she’d produced such a sound. “What sort of—berries did you use?”
I bounce my knees. Drum my fingers. “You wouldn’t be allergic to…anything?”
Her abdomen swells some more.
“Isla?” Alarm tightens her tone.
“I ground some fungi inside your drink, Shoshair.”
Another belch.
“I found it in one of your jars.” My knees bounce even harder, as though hooked onto springs. “The label said—it said—it—I was only trying to help.”
“Shh. I know. It’s all right.” She reaches over and clasps my wrist. “Just show me the bottle so I can—take something to—counteract…” Her forehead glistens with sweat.
I race back to the Sky Tavern and seize the jar. After three unsuccessful attempts at screwing the lid back on, I forfeit the task, stick both inside my trousers’ waistband, and streak back to Shoshair’s room to find her moaning, feet flush with the stone floor and upper body bent over her thighs.
Oh, Mórrígan, what have I done? What have Idone?
“Shoshair?”
She peers up at me, features contorted with pain.
My arms bob as I hold out the jar.
One glance and her greenish skin turns a further shade of sick. “Ah…”
