Heads whip toward me at once.
The golden-haired queen surges to her feet with a delighted squeal. “What a show!” she cries, clapping so enthusiastically her bracelets jangle. “Did you see her vanish, Solara? And now she has reappeared! Oh, that was splendid indeed!”
Her sister, Solara, rises more gracefully, offering a cool, approving smile. “It is a great honor to earn such high praise from Zephara. I, too, was quite entertained.” She begins clapping, and soon the entire court follows suit. The platform erupts in applause. The crowd joins in, cheering and stomping their feet until the air feel like it’s trembling.
Declan stands at the center of the stage, eyes fixedon me. His expression mirrors the sinking feeling in my gut—bewilderment, unease, the shared understanding that whatever just happened wasn’t part of the act.
For what seems like the hundredth time today, I have no idea what just happened.
The card burns against my palm, its edges biting into my skin as if reminding me it’s still there.
People leap from their rugs and cushions, swarming toward me. Questions volley faster than I can breathe.
“How did you vanish?”
“What inspired your story?
“Are you and Mr. Thorne betrothed?”
I lose sight of Declan in the crush. Perfume, sweat, and incense press in as hands reach for my sleeves, my hair, my skirt.
“Stay back,” Dav booms, his voice cutting through the din. He carves a path through the people encircling me and plants himself at my side with one hand hovering near his sword.
Tarek bounds through the crowd behind him, a grin plumping his round cheeks. “By the sun, that was magnificent! We thought the gods themselves had swallowed you whole! And then your return…as if conjured from thin air. What drama! What theater!”
Declan muscles through last, shoulders squared, jaw tight. “Glad we could entertain,” he mutters, nodding to the crowd as they gawk at him and hurl questions and compliments. His dark eyes snap to me. “Are you all right? What happened out there?”
I shake my head quickly, forcing the words through a tight smile. “Not here.”
My pulse thrums against my ears, the applause andchatter blending into a single, roaring blur. I can still feel the heat of Fortune’s presence clinging to my skin, the shimmer of magick thick in the air. My fingers ache from gripping the card, its edges digging into my palm.
It’s proof. Terrifying, impossible proof.
The Wheel of Fortune isn’t metaphor or coincidence—it’s real. And if this place holds that kind of power, what else might it be capable of?
I can’t catch my breath. I can’t begin to explain.
Beneath the confusion is fear tangled with awe so potent it almost hurts. I’ve spent years hiding behind the idea of magick, treating it like armor. Something to sell, to believe in just enough, to hold between myself and the world. But now that it’s staring back at me, alive and undeniable, I feel small. Naive. Afraid of what it might want from me.
The circle parts again, and the crowd quiets as the Player glides forward.
“The queens are most pleased,” she says, gaze flicking between us. “You will perform again tomorrow night. As you see, the people hunger for another tale.”
My throat dries out. “Tomorrow? I thought we could leave—”
“And journey where?” Her smile is all edges. “Back to Cups?”
“Why would we return to the lesser Kingdom of Cups,” Declan replies smoothly, “when we have clearly come here to share our gifts with Wands?”
She inclines her head. “Well spoken, Mr. Thorne. Yet mark my words—so long as you dwell beneath our sister queens’ favor, youwillperform each night. It isthe custom of this kingdom, and no soul stands above its law.”
Dav barks at the gawking onlookers to clear a path, and he and Tarek guide us through the narrow lanes of tents. The cheers fade behind us, swallowed by the hiss of the torches and the thrum of blood in my ears.
Questions radiate off Declan like heat, but he keeps them behind his teeth, both of us silent until we duck inside.
A platter of food waits on the low table near the bed—bowls of roasted vegetables glistening with oil, charred flatbread, figs split open and glistening like jewels, and a small pot of something that smells like honey and spice. I barely register it before throwing the tarot card onto the bed, half expecting it to burst into flames or suck us into another realm.
“It was Fortune.”
