“My queen,” Declan murmurs and lifts Cinder onto his lap. Immediately, she starts purring and licking honey from his shirt. He strokes her head with a gentleness that makes me wish I could curl up in his lap too.
Cinder rubs her sticky head under his chin, and he laughs. It’s a low, rumbling sound that sends my pulse skittering.
I tear off another piece of bread, more forcefully than necessary. “We need to talk about what we’re doing,” I say under my breath, keeping my smile pasted on for anyone who might be watching. “We can’t just wait around for Fortune to reappear.”
Declan leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, voice pitched low enough to hide beneath the market chatter. “Maybe there’s a way to speak to the queens. They have influence, power. If anyone else knows how magick works here it’s them.”
He reaches for another fig, and a glob of honey plops onto Cinder’s head. She blinks up at him, offended, while he chuckles and wipes her fur clean.
A blur of silk skirts and jangling beads barrels toward the stall. Three girls no older than sixteen skid to a stop in front of me, breathless and wide-eyed.
“Oh, by the gods, it’s her! You are truly spectacular,” the one in the middle gasps, clasping her hands like I just descended from a cloud. Her cheeks are flushed pink from running, her crystal-blue eyes glittering like chips of polished quartz. Gold bangles slide down her wrists, clinking as she bounces on her toes.
“The Story Witch,” the girl on her left breathes,her round face framed by golden curls she immediately wraps nervously around her finger. The cluster of freckles scattered across her nose crinkle with her wide grin. “We saw you at rehearsal, but we couldn’t speak then. As soon as we were released, we had to come find you—the brilliant storyteller!”
Their adoration lands like glitter bombs, and suddenly I’m sparkly, dazzling. My chest fizzes and warms like I just chugged a bottle of champagne.
“Who, me?” I scoff, batting at the air with theatrical modesty. “No way!”
“Celine!” the girl in the middle shrieks, seizing the third one by the shoulders. “Celine! I have forgotten my question. What was my question?!”
Celine shrugs her off and smooths her sleek black braid over one shoulder. Her gaze slides past me to Declan, and she leans across the counter, lashes fluttering. “So, you’retheMr. Thorne.”
Declan freezes. Color drains from his face. He looks at me, then at Cinder, who is shooting glowing yellow daggers at the young woman. “I—uh—” He clears his throat. “I should probably see if I can’t arrange an audience with the queens.”
“Wait, we haven’t—” I start, but he’s already charging across the market, waving down Dav with Cinder draped across his broad shoulders like a smoky cape.
“Oh, wait! I remember now.” The girl at the center claps her hands together. “The vanishing act. How did you do it? You were there, and then—poof—you were gone.”
“Nessa hasnotceased speaking about it,” the one on the left says, still fiddling with her curls.
“Romy,” Nessa whines, jabbing her friend in the side with her elbow.
“Ow! What? It’s true. You’ve spoken of little else. I think it was wondrous too, but honestly, it’s all you’ve spoken about since last night.”
Celine, lips tilted in a pout at Declan’s escape, pushes off the counter and folds her arms over her chest. “It must have been some trick built into the stage. Not true magick. No one possess real magick anymore. It’s all misdirection and illusions.”
“And what of the storm of smoke that carried her onto the stage?” Nessa demands, one hand on her hip. By Celine’s exaggerated eye roll, I can tell this isn’t the first time they’ve had this argument. “Do you suppose she used great hidden fans?”
Celine purses her lips and blows out a sharp exhale through her nose.
Nessa spins back to me, her whole face brightening again. “Can you teach us?Please? We wish to learn your Story Witch ways.”
“Yes!” Romy blurts, nodding so hard her heavy gold earrings slap her cheeks. “It would make our performances that much better! Everyone would turn their heads from the same old fire tricks to watch us.”
Celine shrugs, inspecting her braid as if she’s only partially invested. “I suppose there is always room to improve. The queens do not look kindly on stale acts.”
I straighten and brush the crumbs from my lap. “You want me to…teach a class?”
“Yes!” Nessa squeals, clasping her hands like she might explode if I say no. “Please teach us.”
Heat swells in my chest, bright and buoyant. Aftereverything that’s happened, it’s a relief to have someone look at me like I’m actually in control. Last night’s performance might have been built on a borrowed plot and magick that I had nothing to do with, but these girls don’t care. To them, I’m powerful. I’m the Story Witch.
And maybe I’ve tripped and fallen directly into my calling.
“I can’t teach the disappearing act—”
“I thought as much.” Nessa nods gravely. “You’d want to keep that one and the smoke cyclone for yourself.”
