Not much time at all, then.
From over by the floor-length mirror, my sister Brynne glares. “Where were you, anyway? Don’t tell me you went spying on the fae king?”
Evelyn gasps. So does Carina. Three pairs of hazel eyes pin me in place.
The weight of their stares makes me squirm, but I can’t lie. Brynne will know, because like all my sisters—likeeverywoman in my bloodline except for me—she’s earned her Grace already. The goddess gifted my eldest sister with farsight, which means Brynne has probably spent the last half-hour watching me from here, her rosebud lips pinched in distaste.
“I wasn’tspying,” I say stiffly. “I just wanted a glimpse, that’s all.”
Another collective gasp from Evelyn and Carina. Brynne smooths down her skirts, her expression unchanging—a dead giveaway that shehasbeen watching.
I look away. This is why Brynne and I don’t get along. Her constant surveillance unsettles me.
Carina takes a hesitant step, her hands trembling as she knits them at her waist. “If you saw Amriel, maybe you could…um…you could tell us what he’s like?”
The question comes out whisper-thin—at twenty-three, Carina holds the title of not only youngest, but also quietest, and she oftenspeaks as though she doesn’t have a right to. As though her own questions frighten her, somehow.
Usually, I’m gentle with her. We all are. But right now, I can’t stop the truth from tumbling out. “He’s exactly what everyone says. Cold. Frightening. Definitely dangerous.”
A squeak flies from Carina’s throat. “I should probably change, then. Try not to draw any attention.”
I grimace. I hate that she looks so terrified. Actually, now that I peer closer, all three of them do. Brynne hides it better than the others, but the tension in her jaw makes me want to rush to the door and lock us all inside.
Because not one of us would survive life in the fae king’s castle, where all manner of heathen things take place. As children of Ishanna, we need order. Discipline. An austere marble temple in which to spend our mornings on our knees, communing with our goddess.
Or, in my case, striving to earn my Grace.
Carina scurries toward Evelyn’s closet, presumably to find a dress even less likely to attract notice than the drab thing she’s already wearing. The moment she passes from earshot, Evelyn’s narrowed gaze finds mine. “Did you really have to scare her like that?”
Acidic guilt eats its way up my throat, buteverythingscares Carina. She still sleeps with a candle lit, afraid of what lurks in the shadows of her bedroom. “Sheasked. What should I do, lie?”
Evelyn grumbles something indecipherable, then swivels back to her vanity and frowns at her reflection, as if she, too, hopes to find some way to diminish herself. “Just tell me Amriel was in his fae form, at least? Because if he shows up as a goblin tonight, nothing will stop Carina from running away screaming.”
Her question gives me pause. It’s rumored the fae can take two forms—one essentially human, the other…not. Which I believe, because our cook gossips relentlessly about the goblin who joined the fae delegation on theirlastvisit to court.
“The fae king’s Shadow,” she likes to say, clutching her moon pendant so hard her knuckles turn white. “That’s what they call him, and I’ve never seen anything so unnatural, so…beastly. And Ishanna help me, I hope I never lay eyes on the likes of him again.”
That term has always stuck in my mind—the fae king’s Shadow. I don’t know what it means, exactly, only that our cook makes him sound like some kind of cross between a guard and a warrior. One whoalwaystakes his goblin form. In my imagination, he looms as a monstrous shadow, grotesque and misshapen.
But I saw nothing that gruesome down in the hall just now, so maybe the king’s Shadow didn’t come, this time. “Actually, they were all in their fae forms. You have nothing to worry about.”
Evelyn goes to work taming her brown curls. “Well. Thank Ishanna for that.”
“Oh, what does it matter?” Brynne cuts in, a sour twist on her lips. “Fae or goblin, it’s not like the king will choose any of us. He never does.”
Her words sink deep, sparking warmth in my marrow. She’s right. Since the end of the war, Amriel has come to choose a mate eight times, and eight times, he’s walked away empty-handed.
“Actually,” Evelyn says, “I think tonight, he’ll…”
She trails off, and both Brynne and I snap to attention. We know exactly what it means when Evelyn “thinks” something.
Sure enough, Evelyn’s gaze turns glassy, her attention shifting to some landscape beyond the mirror. I step in. So does Brynne, catching the hairbrush just as it falls from Evelyn’s hand.
I brace to catch my sister if she topples. Evelyn may be Graced with foresight, but sometimes, when a vision grips her, her body shuts down. Once, she fell and hit her head so hard our surgeon had to stitch up her scalp, afterward.
This episode passes quickly, though. After a handful of heartbeats, Evelyn blinks in a way that lets me know she’s rejoined reality. Still, I let a few moments pass before lowering my hands.
Evelyn stares into the mirror, her cheeks ashen, her fingers clamped around the vanity to steady herself. “The kingwillchoose someone,” she murmurs. “Tonight. I saw it.”
