“One thing you can’t say is that our family’s a bunch of wallflowers.” Blair rolls her eyes. “Y’all go on inside. I’ll stay here with Addie, make sure she doesn’t get eaten.”
“You go, Phillip,” Mama says.
My father never misses the opportunity to study a building with old-looking architecture. He loves it. It’s one of his passions, along with recording the subspecies of every dragon he’s ever seen. With a huff that I know is fake, he stalks off.
Mama turns to me. “How are you?”
“You keep asking me. I’m fine. Good. Everyone’s nice.”
“You’re sure?”
I can’t handle this anymore. “Where’s Ovie?”
Mama doesn’t answer, so Blair does. “Uncle Charlie’s in town.”
My stomach pitfalls. “Is he coming here?”
“I—we don’t know,” Mama says, dropping her chin. “But anyway, tomorrow you and Feylin will walk behind me and Dad. There’ll be the traditional taking over of power, and you as the oldest will be given the bookshop.”
“But Mama?—”
“No buts.” She glares at me. “Until you’ve proven that youcan’town it, it’s yours. Besides, no one can pick books for a reader like you. It’s meant to be yours.”
“Clara!” We look over our shoulders to see my father waving at us. “Clara, you’ve got to come here!”
Every head turns. All the fae lords in their silk suits and the women in their satin gowns stare at my father. Distaste fills their eyes at the wizard waving his hands.
The tops of my ears burn as my mother murmurs an apology and walks off.
“Don’t worry,” Blair says, patting my shoulder. “Things can only go up from here.”
I laugh and she joins. When our laughter dies down, I say, “When did Charlie come home?”
She sneers. “This morning, before we came to see you. Ovie didn’t want us to mention it, so we kept quiet.”
I fiddle with my blousy sleeve. “How long do you think he’ll stay this time?”
“Oh, long enough to get money, or whatever it is he wants. Then he’ll leave. Again. Like he always does, and Ovie’ll be heartbroken because he didn’t stay this time.”
Bitterness sharpens her words, but I can’t argue because everything she’s said is true.
“Blair?”
She drags her gaze from my sisters frolicking at the hammocks to me. “Hm?”
“Last night, when Mama and Daddy found out about the engagement, they seemed…mad. Really mad. Like they know Feylin and dislike him. Do they know him?”
“Are you asking if there’s history there?”
“Yeah.”
She clears her throat. “I’m not the person to ask.”
“Then who is?”
She opens her mouth to answer, but another voice cuts usoff. “Why, if it isn’t little Addison Thornrose, all grown up and getting married.”
Devlin Ross approaches with a woman on each arm—blonde twins, no less—as was already reported by Chelsea earlier today.
