Sylva instinctively stepped behind Lucy. “Keep it away from me.”
“You are taller,” Lucy said, amused. “Why am I your shield?”
“Because you are sturdier in spirit,” he muttered.
Lucy’s smile turned smug. “I’ll accept that.”
Esther pressed her fingers against her mouth to hide her laugh. Her nerves hummed under her skin, but the absurdity helped.
The Baroness swept into the garden at that moment, skirts flaring, hair impeccably arranged. She took three elegant steps, caught the edge of a stone, stumbled, flailed, and then straightened as if nothing had happened.
“No one saw that,” she announced.
“We all saw that,” Lucy said.
The Baroness chose not to hear her. She pushed forward, eyes shining as she looked Esther over.
“Esther, darling, you look radiant—and also vaguely like you might faint,” she said. “Excellent. Bridal perfection. Let me see the dress again.”
Esther glanced down. Her dress was simple, cream, soft, and light, the fabric flowing when she moved. Golden thread traced phoenix feathers along the hem and bodice, climbing like flames that chose to rise instead of consume.
“It is perfect,” the Baroness said firmly. “Understated, symbolic, flattering. Your mother would be proud.”
Esther’s chest ached in a good, painful way. “I hope so.”
The Baroness’s expression softened. She reached out and adjusted a loose piece of hair beside Esther’s face.
“She would be more than proud,” she said. “She would be unbearable about it.”
Lucy stepped close and clasped her hands. “I would like to formally report that you are the prettiest person in the garden and I am offended.”
“You look beautiful too,” Esther said.
“I know,” Lucy replied.
A familiar quiet presence drifted in at the fringe of the chaos.
Basil had arrived.
He wore formal robes that still somehow made him look like he should be holding a stack of books. His eyes were sharp, taking in the arrangement of runes in the garden beds and the subtle glow of protective magic around the gathering area.
“Basil,” the Baroness said, seizing his sleeve. “Tell me you handled all the magical safeguards. If anyone sets themselves on fire trying to light a lantern, I will simply lie down and never rise again.”
“I have layered protections over the entire area,” Basil said. “No uncontrolled fire, no stray lightning, no accidental explosive bursts.”
Lucy raised a hand. “What about controlled chaos? Asking for a friend.”
“If that friend is you,” Basil said, “there is no spell strong enough.”
Lucy gasped. “Was that… a joke?”
His mouth twitched. “An observation.”
Sylva stepped closer, holding a small velvet pouch in his hand.
“Esther,” he said. “I brought something for you.”
She turned toward him, curious. “You did?”
