Petunia taps the coin jar. “One silver for a try, two for good luck.”
“One silver it is.” Rakos catches Bell’s wrist. “Hey, I’m winning this for you. It’s no fun if you pay for it.”
Bell isdefinitelyflushing now.
Petunia sets her silver disc on the table and arranges three cups behind it. “The game is simple. I’ll cover the pebble and shuffle the cups, and all you have to do is watch the cup the pebble’s in. Then you’ll point out which cup you think the pebble’s in, and I’ll lift it up, and you’ll be wrong. Think you can remember how it works?”
“You’re surprisingly honest about this,” Rakos says.
Petunia’s eyes crinkle. “Nothing’s fun if it’s easy, is it? Now, watch and see if your youthful eyes can keep up with this crone’s aging hands.”
“Come on, you can’t be a day over forty.” Rakos needs one more moment, his magic slipping out from his core, a mental muscle relaxing its grip. The shadows beneath the cups welcome his power, and the enchantment fades with the slightest mental flex.
Behind him, Bell sucks in a breath.
“Don’t insult me, lad, I’m proud of my years,” Petunia says cheerfully. “I was still young and stupid at forty. Watch closely, now.”
Her hands are as quick as she promised. The cups flick and clatter across the table, obscuring the sound of the disc hitting the sides of its cup. She probably doesn’t even need the enchantment to confuse most people, but Rakos is used to spotting enemy forces on the ground and tracking his wing from far across the clouded sky. When Petunia stills the cups and spreads her hands in anticipation, Rakos points.
“Am I lucky?”
“Oh, dear, let’s see, you are—yes?” The silver disc gleams beneath the lifted cup. Petunia, to her credit, only falters for a moment before forcing a thin smile. “Congratulations, I suppose.”
“It was tough.” Rakos withdraws his magic. He only used a touch, and the enchantment should restore in an hour or so if it was properly set. “Pick your prize, Bell.”
While Bell inspects the hanging prizes, Rakos slips another few silvers into the cup, and Petunia’s sour expression recedes. She doesn’t say anything, just gets up to grab the prize Bell indicates—a wreath of blue and green flowers, woven with white silk ribbons.
“That suits you,” Rakos says with a grin.
Bell grins back, his eyes as bright as the lanterns. In his hands, the wreath seems to blossom, the petals deepening in color. “It isn’t for me. Duck down.”
“Seriously?” Rakos asks, but obeys. He closes his eyes as Bell sets the crown on his head, and the fragrance of the flowers surrounds him. Bell’s fingertips brush through his hair as he pulls away.
Bell reaches up again and adjusts Rakos’s new crown. “It suits you.”
“Fucking adorable,” Petunia chimes in. “Now scram. I have other valued customers.”
Rakos salutes, then seizes Bell’s hand and pulls him away.
Wandering through the festival with flowers in his hair and a handsome minstrel at his side, Rakos can’t remember the last time he felt like this. At ease. Giddy. There’s something freeing about walking among people without being avoided or revered for his station.
He buys Bell a stick of honeyglass to crunch on, and ends up eating the second half himself when Bell complains it’s too sweet. Licking the sweetness from his fingertips, he feels Bell’s eyes on him.
Bell’s growing interest isn’t subtle. Rakos just hasn’t decided what to do about it yet.
He knows what hewantsto do. But none of that would be fair to Bell when Rakos is lying about so much.
Melodies rise from a nearby tent. Rakos touches Bell’s bare arm. “Hey, there’s a singing contest over there. You should enter.”
“What? Why?” Bell’s eyes widen, then veer away from Rakos’s. “No, it looks a little crowded.”
“Come on,” Rakos coaxes, moving forward. “You can win me a prize too.”
“Okay, okay.” Bell relaxes. “One second. I want to listen in on the other contestants first. Know your enemy, and all.”
“Quite the master strategist.”
“Wrong brother,” Bell says absently. He stops under a tree, its branches bare except for the lanterns hanging from it, and leans his shoulder against the trunk.
