I searched the masses, letting my inkling guide me down that rope.
There he was. Tucked in the shadows behind a pillar,Pogue.
Glacial eyes branded me in place. His face was unnervinglycalm, wiped clean of emotions. An overstretched mask concealed everything away, maybe a secret that liked being kept.
His brazen stare didn’t waver, and neither did mine. We both held onto the connection, not knowing exactly what it was, but silently accepted its presence.
A second figure caught my attention, not far from Pogue.
Finley. Holding two bubbling flutes, his eyes drilled into Pogue, frosted and accusing. Then he looked at me. His gaze softened, almost mournful.
When I glanced back, Pogue had vanished.
Flares shot off in my mind. Pogue, Finley—something was off between them. Whatever it was, it was winding tighter like an overstrained cable ready to snap.
I needed to know what was going on. If they were keeping me in the dark, then I knew just the person to ask. The one who seemed to know everything . . .
“I’ll be right back,” I said, placing a hand on Breena’s shoulder. “I’m gonna get our tokens from Lochlainn.”
“Aine has ours already,” Breena chirped. “Go get yours and we’ll do it together!”
I nodded, trying to keep my face from cracking with worry. Turning, I weaved through the swell of bodies.
Dancers swirled in giddy clusters, laughter chiming like bells. Others hugged the walls, gossiping and barking stories over pints of sparkling drink in their hands. I adjusted course, fixing my sights on the far corner of the ballroom where a familiar ginger-haired bastard loved to gamble and grin through every one-upping he dished out.
But I didn’t get far.
Deep red hair—closer to my own shade—and gold-flecked eyes blocked my path.
Not the ginger I waslooking for.
Faelad.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the honor yet,” he said. His voice had a deep rasp that slid over his tongue like velvet. A hand extended—an invitation to dance. Perfectly casual. Perfectly polite.
God, Ireallyneeded that drink.
Refusing the host of the party would be bad manners and refusing the Lord, bad all around. So I placed my hand in Faelad’s and forced a cordial smile to my face.
“I’d be honored.” I dipped into a brief bow.
He guided me into position with meticulous care, ever the regal robot of etiquette.
The music slowed, no doubt the musicians having spotted their Lord. He led and I followed. Slow, gliding steps. A sophisticated dance meant for viewing, not words. I kept my gaze pinned over his shoulder, but I could feel it—the constant, quiet weight of him watching me.
“Ya look so much like your mother,” he said reverently, studying my face as if searching for her ghost.
My jaw slacked, startled.
I knew David and my mother confided in Faelad before I was born, had shared concerns about the realm and made plans. Something in Faelad’s voice suggested their relationship wasn’t all politics.
“You knew her well?” I pressed, trying not to stumble over my own feet.
“As well as I was able.” His smile curled slightly, slow and sad, a silhouette of dimmed brightness. “She had the most wild energy about her. Truly magnificent—most beautiful.” If only in the smallest fraction, his face brightened. “And her wit—by golden stars, that sharp tongue of hers was brilliant. Could cleave a man in two.” A faint chuckle escaped him.
A warmth settled in my chest. Hearing about my mother,how vibrant, clever, and fierce she’d been, felt like kindling dropped into the icy hollow of my heart.
There was compassion in the way he looked at me, although seemingly more complicated. A fondness—like I was both memory and an echo.
