“That’s what I wanted to speak with you about, actually,” I say. “I was rather hoping we could keep that between us. We’d both been dosed with love potion and the kiss was a mistake, but you know how Bram gets when he’s jealous. We wouldn’t want to upset him now, would we?”
They turn and blink in sync. I have the uncanny feeling they can read each other’s minds.
“What are you offering?” Maybe-Chessa asks.
My expression hardens. “I’m sorry if I gave the impression thiswas a negotiation. You tellanyoneI kissed Ivy Benton and I’ll tell your father about the bargains you made with the selkies for those pretty pearl earrings.”
Lord Gunner’s prejudices against the small folk are well known. Like mirror images, his daughters both gasp and reach up to grab the pearls hanging down their necks.
“Papa will lock us up!”
“So, he won’t find out. Will he?”
They do that blinking thing at each other again, then turn back to me. “I suppose not,” Maybe-Nessa says glumly.
I put out my hand for a handshake, something I’ve found faeries believe to be binding.
They both put their cool, damp hands in mine and the three of us shake.
“A pleasure doing business with you girls. Enjoy the revel!” I call over my shoulder.
Thalia has just finished with Lord Yarrow and looks pleased with herself. “How’d it go?” she asks. She was the one who told me about the sisters’ selkie deal this past summer; she has eyes and ears in every pocket of the Otherworld.
“I learned from the best,” I say. “And you?”
“Yarrow is so easy, I just threatened to tell his wife about his trysts with the winged sprites from up north and he folded like a wet piece of parchment.”
I take a satisfied sip from my goblet, though it’s just water at this point. “Do you want Lord Garrett or the maid?” she asks.
“Garrett,” I say. He’s so drunk, there’s a good chance he doesn’t even remember.
“Wrong answer.” Thalia smiles. Nothing brings her greater pleasure than seeing me uncomfortable.
“The maid is in love with me,” I say. “I don’t want her.” I hate the way she blushes and drops her tray whenever I come across her. It’s so unbearably awkward.
She rolls her eyes. “They’re all in love with you. Poor, sad, beautiful Emmett.”
“Not all...”
She quirks a single brow.
I shrug. “Only most.”
“I hate fighting like this, darling.” She plants both her hands on my back and shoves me in the direction of the kitchens.
Lyra is standing over a tray of candied flowers, delicately dipping them one by one into a pot of molten sugar. Sure, she could replicate the candies by magic, but the court prefers things be done by hand as some sort of status symbol. That, and magic sometimes leaves an odd, burnt aftertaste.
It was Lydia who suggested the humans she found in the dungeons her first time in the Otherworld come to work in the kitchens, where she could protect them. They work alongside faeries like Lyra who have been employed here for hundreds of years.
Lyra startles and the violet in her hand drops and shatters at my feet. “My lord!”
“I told you, you don’t have to call me that,” I say.
She blushes deeply under a curtain of her white-blond hair. “What can I do for you?” she asks, a quiver in her voice.
“It’s a bit embarrassing, but I came here to talk about something you may have seen earlier.”
She nods. “Queen Lydia crying in the courtyard?”
