The boy nodded. “That’s all. Find out what you can. In the meantime, I’m going to see the Merchant. We’ll meet back here—say, at dusk? Don’t worry if I’m a little late.”
The wind huffed. It never worried.
The boy laughed and threw open the window. The wind sped out on a hot breeze and shot toward Manhattan.
It didn’t take long to find the trickster. There were only so many places a conjurer would be on the day before his wedding. Unlike humans and their weddings, or animals and their pairings, conjurers had very strict requirements for what happened on the day before a wedding. Some of them thought the day before was even more important than the day of.
The wind had never bothered to pay attention to the intricacies and the rituals; it only knew a conjurer bride and groom would build their wedding hall together while the immediate family looked on. The illusion they made together supposedly portended the success of their marriage.
The trickster and his bride were at the Bard home. The wind was surprised. It hadn’t seen how the trickster and his father had cleared and cleaned the site since it had burned. The old mansion was gone, but it’d been replaced with a half-constructed building gaudier than the last. While previous generations had shown a hair of restraint, the current Bards had apparently decided restraint was for lesser mortals.
The wind wound around the travertine marble and glided on oceans of gold. It rolled on a sumptuous carpet and fluttered at the edge of the wedding hall. It was at the center of the unfinished mansion, hidden behind an illusion of cleared rubble and construction equipment.
The Bard and his wife sipped champagne with the cruel one and his father. The wind popped the fizz at the top of the Bard’s glass, spilling the liquid. It laughed as the Bard hissed in annoyance.
“Take note, sister,” the cruel one called. “Your husband-to-be shows a lack of enthusiasm. Do you need assistance motivating him?”
The cruel one’s father snorted, but the Bard and his wife—as cold and thin as an orchid’s stem—showed no reaction to the taunt.
The cruel one smiled when his sister’s shoulders tightened and the illusion she’d been conjuring wavered. She looked over at the trickster and scowled at the gray stone arch he was slowly constructing. It was the arch they’d be married under.
It was easy to see what the trickster had made and what the cruel one’s sister had conjured. There was no harmony in this wedding hall. Their designs clashed and receded. They repelled each other. The trickster worked with Bard glamour and excessive flash. He filled the hall with floral-carved sandstone, gold-trimmed benches, and a flower-strewn stream that moved idly toward the marriage arch.
The wind tapped on the trickster’s pulse as he conjured another heavy stone and fit it into the arch. His pulse thudded slowly. His skin was clammy and covered in a light sheen of sweat. Ah. It knew what this was. The trickster had nearly spent all his strength building this hall. His hand had the slightest tremor as he twisted his fingers.
No one noticed but the wind.
The trickster turned to his bride and said, in a laughing voice that carried across the hall, “I tried enthusiasm once. It gave me a stomachache. Are you almost done?”
Her lip curled as she took in the trickster’s flushed face. “Nearly. I want to fix a few things.”
The trickster smiled blandly and waved his hand. “Feel free. Do what you like.”
The cruel one’s sister tilted her head, watching the trickster like a bird about to snatch a worm from the soil. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
The wind rode over the trickster’s neck as he slowly swallowed. His pulse beat quickly, but he spoke in a slow, amused voice. “Well. I aim to please.”
The cruel one’s sister turned away and twisted her hand. Her half of the hall had been built from polished bone and jagged rock. There were vines, but instead of flowering, they choked and suffocated.
The wind shrieked as her illusion covered the trickster’s half of the hall. She split apart his stones, leaving cracks and fissures. She melted his golden flowers. She turned his gurgling, clear stream muddy and dark. She covered everything in a thick, poisonous vine, twisting it and holding it captive.
The trickster stared at her work. His face held no expression whatsoever.
The cruel one’s sister watched him as the marriage arch was wrapped in her vine, the tendrils leaking poison over the stone. The vines bloomed with white flowers, and they carried a strong scent through the hall.
The trickster turned to the cruel one’s sister with an amused smile.
“Do you like it?” she asked, watching him intently.
“What’s not to like?” His smile widened, and his eyes glinted. If the wind hadn’t felt the tightness in his chest or the drumming of his pulse, it might have believed the trickster was as unconcerned as he appeared.
“Have you finished?” the Bard called, and when the trickster nodded, the Bard gestured for everyone to join him for another glass of champagne. “To an alliance that will last generations. To children who will rule the world. To marriage.”
The wind bounced in the clink of glasses and swirled in the dizzy chug of champagne. Then the cruel one’s sister sidled next to the trickster and whispered, “Can I speak to you alone?”
The trickster frowned and looked around the hall. “Now?”
The cruel one’s sister nodded, looking up at the trickster from beneath her eyelashes. The wind thought she was trying to look harmless, but instead, she looked like an ambush creature preparing to strike.
