I do my best not to flinch under the general’s glower as he steps forward.
“You can hardly call it spying when you’re speaking with an open door,” I say.
“He’s only joking,” Awri reassures me. “We don’t hoard secrets in A’kori.”
Not like the La’tari. The words she leaves unsaid feel like an unintended jab, and I want to tell her that the things they were discussing are exactly the types of secrets they should be hoarding. But I bite my tongue and thank the stars for small favors. I’m not sure what any of it means, but I tuck away the conversation to ponder at another time.
Kishek’s eyes are heavy with dark circles as he eyes me thoughtfully. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.
“Is everything all right?” I ask.
He offers me a stiff nod and turns to Awri. “I’ll go and get some sleep.”
Awri’s eyes are tinged with worry and follow him as he disappears down the corridor. When she finds me watching her, she offers me a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
Riesh excuses himself when Awri begins toward the domed fea room and I make my way after her. It takes me a moment to realize the general followed after us. The bruise below his eye has almost healed completely and it’s the first time I’ve ever envied the feyn. I’d known many who’d wished for their powerful gifts or coveted their long lives. If I ever had to choose from among their traits, their natural ability to heal would be mine. I can’t help but wonder if the trait heals more than wounds of the flesh.
Awri walks to a large table littered with lists for the party and leafs through them. I’m not sure what she’s looking for. I’m not even suresheknows what she’s looking for. My friend seems prone to moods of whimsy when it comes to planning the masquerade.
“Your legs are bare,” the general says behind me, and I turn to find him glaring at the naked flesh, laid bare by the flowing panels of my dress.
“They are.” I smile at the male as if he just unearthed some great secret lost to Terr. “Have they offended you?”
I quirk an eyebrow when he meets my eyes and his jaw tenses. A quick glance at Awri tells me she’s as perplexed by him as I am.
“I’ll have another word with the tailor,” he says, taking note of the guards stationed at both the entry and exit of the room.
“Gia.” He summons a beautiful, black-haired female with a light scar on her cheek. She jogs over, dipping her head as he speaks his command. “Relieve Redik and Andrin of their posts until the masque. Auna and Kaila are to replace them.”
“As you say.” She rushes to dismiss the males guarding the southern door, reissuing the order for their replacement to a female standing by.
I glance at Awri and find her watching the general with great interest. Her face is contorted in curiosity and sheer confusion. The general gives her a flat look, and more passes between them than I’m able to perceive because without a word she smooths her face and hands me a sheet of paper from the stack.
“Cake?” I ask.
And why am I surprised. At the rate my indecisive friend is planning this party, I have no doubt it will take the better part of the day to have it ordered.
“We just need to decide on a shape and flavor,” Awri says, as if those two decisions won’t take her hours, with or without my help.
“What are the options?” I ask.
“The options are endless,” she beams, clearly pleased by that fact as she bounces excitedly, listing every choice in alphabetical order.
It takes an hour to agree that the cake will be made in the shape of a woodland mushroom, frosted in a thick layer of blue with maroon spots on the cap. Apparently this particular fungi is an old favorite of the fea, eaten with lively enthusiasm and only mildly intoxicating.
Awri and I go back and forth debating flavors and when I give up on offering my opinion the female begins arguing with herself.
Even the general starts to look sorry for me when he finally offers, “Chocolate.” It’s all he says, but it’s enough to silence Awri into short-lived contemplation before she narrows her eyes at him.
“Don’t you have something better to do?” she says playfully.
“There are many things I should be doing,” he admits, “but I’m beginning to doubt your ability to complete the task the king set out for you.”
She levels him with a glare, and I’m proud of her when his feet shift beneath him and he begins to walk toward the door.
“Make it chocolate. It’s his favorite,” he says over his shoulder.
“I’m his favorite,” Awri retorts.
