I know the truth before the question leaves my lips. “He lied to me?”
“Ididnotsay that,” she asserts, a single finger pointed in the air, “And I trust you to make sure he knows that.”
I can hardly hold it against him when I recall how we were with each other at the beginning. Before Niya. Besides, Adora’s hard work and imagination created a masterpiece that is utterly unique in its own right. I can’t imagine anyone else made the same selection. Even if none of that were true, I am in no position to judge the male for anything he has done. I won’t let myself hope that it is a grace he will extend to me after tonight.
My steps are hesitant when Riah takes me into the halls. I’m not sure what I expect. Surely the guests who have arrived this evening are barred from this portion of the palace. She takes up her place beside me, the jovial face I’m accustomed to seeing on her transforming into that of the military commander she is. The general certainly had a vision of the way he would have me presented to the feyn this evening.
The guards are far quieter than I’ve seen them before. All are tense. Not one nods in acknowledgement as we pass. The only noise in the halls, the faint laughter and easy conversation drifting in from the party above the clinking of crystal and the hum of the quartet.
Clutching the last of my costume, I bring up the thick piece of sheer lace, tying it tightly at the back of my head as I situate the mask over my eyes. Riah tracks the movement, my hands rushing to hover over the blades at my thighs when she gasps.
“Focing fates, Shivaria,” she gapes, “Is that shadowbane?”
Her eyes are glued to the small flowers strewn about my curls. She plucks one out, presses it against her nose, and takes a long drag of the bitter citrus scent before asking, “Where in all of Terr did you find these?”
I open my mouth, unsure of what story will spill from my lips. I only know whatever it is, it won’t involve the sisters.
“Stop,” she says with a hand in the air as she squints her eyes shut. “I don’t want to know.” She repeats the last to herself, as if it might somehow make it true. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Know.”
She pockets the tiny bloom and levels a commanding gaze at me when she says, “Just promise me you won’t slip them into anyone’s meal.”
I think she might be joking, until I’m suddenly very certain she will remain here all night until I do just that.
“I promise,” I say, my brow drawn in confusion.
I can tell that it’s barely enough to convince her as she hesitates and, with a deep sigh, resumes toward the domed fea room.
The coiled tension of the ring before a sparring match is nothing compared to what I feel when I round the corner into the party. Hundreds of feyn glance up from their conversations. They gaze across small plates of delicate morsels and over the rims of etched crystal full of bubbling libations. It is only with great effort—and the hand that Riah places on the small of my back to usher me forward—that I continue into their midst.
Awri commissioned a handful of feyn that she considers artists of the highest caliber, and I will never argue that artists they most certainly are. Some have grown a stunning array of flowering vines, creeping toward the twilight sky painted overhead, the shape and color of the blooms unlike anything I have ever seen. Subtly, they alter the magnificently painted walls with astounding depth.
Living vines weave along painted trees as if they were bound one to the other. I imagine the artist’s attempt to mimic the lush forests of Brax, the true home of the fea.
I’m lost in wonder when Riah jostles my elbow, pointing her chin toward a large table. Riesh piles delicious fair onto a wide plate, as Awri and Nurai speak with a group of feyn nearby. A few of the strangers disperse as I approach, eyeing me warily as I pass.
“Shivaria.” Awri welcomes me warmly, and I can’t help but wonder if the small glass of red in her hand has anything to do with the improvement of her mood.
Her costume is made of a fine green tule, artfully sewn to portray the concealing leaves of the sprites. For a moment, I find myself wishing for the company of the sisters and can’t help but think they would enjoy the festivities that honor their kind.
Awri’s eyes shine as she looks me over with approval and appreciation.Nurai stands beside her, the female’s smile clearly hiding a frown. I’m not surprised to find her dressed as a naiad. Though, if anyone asked my opinion, I would have suggested the more terrifying version of the fea and happily supplied the mossy fish eggs for her hair.
One of Awri’s companions steps toward me, and my gut pits. It is not the wrathful fire in her eyes that has me steeling myself as she dips her head, unable to hide the disdain she clearly feels for me. It is the memory of the last time I saw the female, and the command she issued as I fled.
Though she does wear a dress resembling a water nymph, it is not the image of the nymphs of Kator the female threatened the general with when I first met her.
“I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Ishara.”
My brow draws down in puzzled confusion and I reply, “We have met. At Adora’s.”
She recoils when I say it, hissing, “I told you to forget that.”
Icey tendrils of her gift skate up my spine as she levels an expectant glare at me before her brow creases. She schools her features in a practiced way when she looks to Awri and says, “I suppose you thought it would be amusing to deceive all of A’kori into believing the general chose the company of a human over mine.”
“I have done nothing, Ishara,” Awri insists.
But it is Nurai that manages to settle the female by grasping her arm and warning, “Let it go, dear. The general made his choice. Now, I suggest you leave, before the king finds you here.”
There is a moment that something passes between them, an understanding that cools the fire of her rage. Ishara nods once that she understands, departing without another word.
