“Good, we’ll have all afternoon, then. Sit, sit.” He tugs me down onto the sofa and gestures for the wedding planner to continue. “Eurain here was just showing us some fabrics and I want your opinion. Which shade do you think I should choose? Should I go for a cravat or a tie?”
I’m still reeling from the whiplash of his signal, so I blink at the samples. I hear a small snigger and when I look over, Nettle is hiding her mouth behind her drink. Her brown skin reflects the gold of the goblet, and when she catches my eye, she shakes back her tightly coiled hair as if she couldn’t care less if I were here or not. It’s at times like these that my envy over Card’s collection of friends rears to the surface. Swiftly followed by guilt for feeling that way. It’s not anyone’s fault that he’s better at socializing than I am.
“Yeah, Fliss, what doyouthink?” Nettle says, and crosses the legs of her hunting trousers, revealing a small knife sheathed on her thigh.
I sigh.
I take a sip of wine.
I stow my annoyance away.
“Go on, then, show me the choices.”
Card’s beam stretches across his wine-flushed cheeks. I smile. I won’t tell him about Lark—just like I didn’t tell him about Pigeon or Will. This is my best friend’s wedding after all, and there’s just over a month left until the big day. I can put myself aside for him for that long. It’s not like I haven’t done that before. And with the guilt ofruining his engagement party—no, ofLarkruining his engagement party—I owe it to him to make his wedding the most perfect it can possibly be.
I end up being persuaded to try on my maid of honor dress to check for alterations, and with pins in place, I twirl myself in front of a large ornate mirror. The skirt is beautiful—magnificent, even—made from layers of shimmering periwinkle fabric that twinkle in the light. It’s fit for a princess. Like Will called me. I can’t imagine what he’d make of this dress. Would he make a typical sarcastic remark, or would he do what Lark wanted me to do, and tell me I’m a star fallen to earth?
A sudden blush spreads across my cheeks, and I glance at Card and Nettle. For once, never being the center of attention works in my favor. They don’t notice my panic. Well then…maybe they also won’t notice if I take another trip into the northern forest.
Chapter Eight
I wait a week. It’s less of a choice and more that it’s the earliest I can get out of the citadel, what with Card summoning me to the castle every day on top of my usual workload. There’s always something else to plan for the wedding—now less than a month away—and healwayswants my opinion. There’s the decor, ranging from the flowers that he’s given me full control over, to the table decorations, napkins, ribbons, and abundance of formal tableware that I have no experience with; the handpicked guest list that includes royals I’ve never heard of who need specific seating arrangements (I don’t understand how Card expectsmeto be able to offer insight on that); the orchestra arrangement, what instruments they’ll play, where they’ll sit; and the food, which actually hasn’t been that frustrating to help out with. I’m more than happy to sample different flavors of wedding cake, and there’s plenty left over for me to fill a basket the morning I plan to visit Will.
It sends a thrill down my spine to use “Will” and not “Willoh.”
Will.
I wake up extra early so I can get ready before Card can send oneof the guards to my door, and even though I’m yawning the whole time, I’m out of the house before Mum comes down for breakfast. She doesn’t have a shift at the tearoom today, so she can take care of any customers, like she does all the other times I need to leave for the day. I hope the short note I left for her suffices. Although my curse doesn’t allow me to speak lies, there are no restrictions when it comes to writing, which I suppose makes sense after Will confirmed that the curse is wrapped around my voice box. My hands don’t freeze up like my throat does, but whenever I’ve tested it out, gestured or written something untrue, it always gives me this nagging, burrowing guilt in my stomach. So instead of making something up, I simply wrote that I’d be out all day and left it at that. No details.
Dawn is a haze of pastels and sleepy shuffles as the citadel wakes around me. I pass the bakery, inhaling the smell of fresh bread from the dimly lit kitchen, and smile. The bouquet I’d had Marcie deliver from the baker’s son had been a success. I’d caught wind that Drew, the recipient of the bouquet, had stormed right into the bakery, flowers in hand, and gone on a rant, saying that he assumed they were already dating and that Rane was a complete idiot for thinking otherwise. The rant had lasted until Rane interrupted him with a kiss. Gods, I love my job.
When I leave the citadel, I glance back at the formidable stone walls and armored guards posted at the northern gate. Hmm, I guess if I were Pigeon and I’d only ever lived in a small village surrounded by trees, that sightwouldbe pretty intimidating.
I continue into the forest though nerves start to nibble at my insides. I’ve been desperate to do this all week, but now that I’m on my way, I wonder if this is a good idea. I know I can get past the wards, but would Will feel comfortable with me turning up without warning? The barrier is there for a reason, and he said he liked privacy….
In the clearing, the cottage is as beautiful as ever, and now that we’re in the middle of the morning, the wildflowers are open and swaying. Bees and butterflies flit around my knees, and ahead, at the end of the pebbled path, the sun paints half the slatted roof tilesin light. To the left of the ivy-framed front door, a fluffy white loaf snoozes on the bench in a patch of sunlight.
“Good morning, Gill,” I say to the cat, and scratch between his ears. He raises his head and blinks slowly. “Anyone home today?”
Gill unfurls his paws and has a long, arched-back stretch before deciding he’d like to see what I’m up to. He hops down off the bench and winds himself between my feet.
“Coming too?”
If Will is in a bad mood, having Gill here will hopefully make him less annoyed that I’ve come out of the blue.
I knock on the door and wait. There are a few seconds of silence, and when the door swings open, a woman around my mum’s age stands before me in a stained navy apron over a simple blouse and long skirt. Her hair is the same warm brown as Will’s, cut short like a pixie, and her eyes—I hold in a gasp. Perhaps they were hazel once too, but the irises have clouded over to a soft beige like a milky tea, and instead of trying to focus on me, she closes them altogether.
“Hello,” I squeak, gripping my basket in both hands. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I, um…”
“I don’t think we’ve met before,” the woman says, her voice resonant and reassuring. “I assume you’re the one my son let through the wards recently?”
“Yes…”
After all the anticipation, I’m unsure what to do next. This is Will’s mum and really, it should be his choice to let me in on this part of his life. I don’t want to overstep. Gill pads through the open door into the main room and curls up in front of the fireplace. It looks cozy. Inviting.
“Would you like to come in?” Will’s mum asks, pleasantly. “Willoh’s out at the moment, but he should be back shortly.”
“I don’t want to interrupt. I can come back another time if you’re busy.”
