Luna smiled like a cat presented with entertainment. “Oh,” she purred. “The rest of the circus arrived.”
“Another circus,” came a voice from the stairs. “I just got rid of Karl. He was so filthy, even the hellhounds didn’t want a bite of him.”
“Sable?” Basil’s eyes widened. “What happened to your face?”
“Rude,” Sable said, instead of answering.
Lucy squinted. Sable did, in fact, look like someone had tried to rearrange his face using only their fists and a strong sense of spite. One cheekbone was bruised, her lip split. She carried herself like it didn’t hurt.
Which meant it probably hurt a lot.
“And you,” Basil continued, pointing accusingly at Luna’s hair. “Why is it pink today?”
“Why not?” Luna twirled the end of her ponytail around her finger. “It brightens the room.”
“That is not an answer. You change it every week—purple, blue, teal, chartreuse. Do you use potions? Why is your hair a seasonal wardrobe?”
Luna gasped dramatically. “You remembered all my colors. How touching.”
“I remembered because they were distracting,” Basil grumbled. “And chemically questionable.”
Lucy leaned in, delighted. “So it is potions?” Her newest life goal was to change her hair to scream trouble.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Luna winked. “Everything’s potions if you’re creative enough.”
That sounded like either life advice or a threat. Lucy wasn’t sure which, and somehow that made her like Luna immediately. She was bright, sharp, and too comfortable in a room full of people who clearly knew better than to annoy her.
Before Lucy could demand instructions for hot-pink hair, Basil straightened, the way he always did right before doing something he didn’t want to do. He gestured stiffly.
“Luna, this is Baroness Irene Levon.”
The Baroness stepped forward as if approaching a wild animal she intended to domesticate through sheer social status. “Good afternoon.”
“And this is Lucy,” Basil finished. “Princess Esther’s maid.”
Lucy gave a little wave, because this entire situation was so absurdly not within her job description that manners felt like a weapon. “Hello. I promise I only bite when provoked.”
Sylva’s ears twitched, then deliberately settled. Lucy got the distinct sense he was choosing not to listen to something.
Lucy added quickly, “That was a joke. Mostly.”
Luna’s mischief-filled eyes flicked over Lucy like she was reading an invoice. Then she beamed.
“Oh, I like you already. Come sit. The actual tavern won’t open for a while, so we can talk freely.”
The Baroness hovered as if the barstool might be contagious. She chose a stool anyway, with the grim acceptance of a woman performing charity work.
Lucy hopped up without hesitation.
Luna poured water into mismatched glasses, and Lucy noticed the way she poured: not into the center of the cup, but slightly off to the side, as if avoiding a mark carved at the bottom. Basil noticed too. His jaw tightened.
“Haven’t seen you in a while, Sylva,” Luna said, not looking up.
“You know each other?” Lucy asked, eyes narrowing.
“Sparrow business,” Sylva said simply. “Sometimes Luna requests aid.”
“Mostly via bribery,” Luna added cheerfully.
