“Everything unsupervised in this place develops a personality,” Theo adds, flicking his wrist and catching a scone mid-air before biting into it. “Hmm. Mildly aggressive with a good crumb. Also, it’s of the cheese variety, which is my favorite.”
Cheese? Yum.
“Stop eating the rebellion,” Gwyneth snaps.
Boo.It’s their job to nourish the warriors of the world.
We gather around a long table and sit in the mismatched chairs. One wheezes like it’s got dust allergies, and another growls when Malachi sits on it. It’s the most normal thing I’ve seen in the last turn.
“Do we have to send someone to the Hallows kitchens to steal food?”
Genie huffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’d find you in a tempo.”
I wasn’t suggesting I go, merely asking how to get our bellies to stop groaning.
Food appears in a shimmer of magic. Steam curls into the air, carrying with it the scent of roasted meats, buttered vegetables, and something sweet enough to make my teeth ache in anticipation.
I take a seat between Nash and Theo because I enjoy living dangerously, and they’re still eyeing each other like they’re debating on who would win in a dragon versus shadows battle.
Nash is quiet. Too quiet. His shoulder brushes mine, tension wound tight beneath his skin like a storm waiting for permission. I nudge him with my knee.
“Eat,” I tell him. “Brooding burns calories.”
His mouth twitches, but he obeys. That’s progress.
Charming pours wine as if he’s hosting a royal banquet instead of a circus of unlikely mismatched heroes. Hart leans back in his chair, boots stretched out, watching everything with that lazy, dangerous focus. Malachi is already halfway through his second plate. Theo is… Theo, which means he is both present and somewhere else entirely, eyes flicking to me like I am the only thing tethering him here.
Gwyneth paces between throwing bits of food into her mouth. She’s busy putting complex stuff together, which she once told me she can only do while standing. I prefer not to have to conquer both gravity and plans at the same time.
She clutches a book to her chest, ink smudged across her forehead, eyes bright with understanding that says she has either solved everything or made it significantly worse.
“I found something,” she says.
We all pause. Even the chair stops growling.
“That sounds ominous,” I reply, spearing a piece of meat. “But go on. I do enjoy a little impending doom with my supper.”
She ignores me, like any elder sister does.
“There is a spell,” she says, pacing now, words spilling faster. “Old. Pre-Hallows. Before the Idol system was formalized.”
“Before they became insufferable?” I offer.
“Yes,” she says without hesitation. “Exactly that.”
Charming huffs a laugh into his wine.
“It redistributes power,” she continues. “Not by force, not by theft, but by consent. It breaks the concentration and spreads it across the realm, giving everyone autonomy without tethering them to narrative expectations. It reverses, or rather returns, the flow to what it was always meant to be.”
Silence settles over us, and hope takes shape in my heart. My fork lowers. “No exploding Idols?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“And the catch?” Hart asks.
Gwyneth’s mouth tightens. “It requires blood.”
“Of course, it does.” I sigh and tip my head back. “Nothing good ever happens without a little light bleeding.”
