Her smile widens, drinking in the words like sunlight. But my own chest feels oddly hollow, the affirmation echoing back at me like lines from a script.
“When will you hold another class?” Nessa asks eagerly.
A flash of white fur blurs past.
“Fennel!” I shriek as the donkey barrels straight through the towers of flower crowns, a bundle clampedbetween his teeth. Petals scatter, trailing behind him as he plows past the dancers.
A woman sprints after him, skirts flying, arms flailing, shrieking curses that only make him tuck his ears back and run faster.
“Fennel!” I call again, and he skids to a halt, nostrils flaring, eyes bright. “Fennel, wait! Stay right there.”
With him stopped, the woman makes up ground and shouts, “Damn donkey!”
His ears flick back, his muscles tense.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn.
He bolts. The crowns dangle from his mouth like he’s just been named prom queen.
Cinder streaks after him and leaps onto his back, claws dug in like she’s riding into battle. Together, they break through the gathering crowd, sand scattering up from his hooves.
“Shit.” I drop the garland and sprint after him. “A little help?” I shout as I bolt past Declan and Tarek.
Declan abandons his flaming arrows with a muttered curse, cutting across the square at full speed.
We fall into a rhythm as we attempt to corral the donkey and cat team. He dodges left, I dart right. He cuts Fennel off near the troupe of acrobats, sending them stumbling out of the way. I reach for the crowns as the little menace swerves.
The crowd claps, cheers, laughs—our donkey/cat rodeo turned into prime-time entertainment.
“Got him!” Declan lunges, catching Fennel’s flank.
The donkey bucks hard, nearly unseating Cinder. Declan dodges Fennel’s hooves, and I grab his arm to steady him, the momentum spinning us together, chestto chest. We’re tangled together, trying to reach around each other to grab a piece of the four-legged troublemakers. Fennel brays, and Cinder’s lemon-yellow eyes go wide as he barrels straight between us. We jump apart as he zooms past, narrowly missing our shins.
We chase the pair in a loop around the festival grounds, dodging onlookers, nearly colliding with a spit of lamb, finally boxing them in against the shrine. Cinder, sensing the end of the chase, abandons ship with a regal leap onto the dais and settles in among the offerings.
Fennel jerks left at the last second, nearly bowling Declan over, but Declan plants his feet and clamps one muscled arm around the donkey’s neck. Then, in a move that makes the entire crowd howl, he swings a leg over and ends up straddling the miniature beast.
I dive for the prize, prying the soggy crowns from Fennel’s stubborn jaws while Declan hangs on for dear life. Petals fly. Fennel brays. My fingers slide against slobbery teeth, then snag in the woven flowers, and finally the crowns tear free.
The crowd erupts into applause.
Declan straightens, chest heaving, dried flower bits clinging to his dark hair while I wipe sweat and grime from my cheek with the back of my hand. We exchange a glance, shrug, join hands, and take a bow.
Fennel exhales in great gusts, his sides shuddering, nostrils flaring like bellows. He sidles up to me, breath hot against my thigh, and drags his damp nose down my leg.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, petting his soft ears. He snorts, then trots off to a patch of shade and drops like a stone. Within seconds, he’s out cold.
The crowd disperses in ripples of laughter, and fromacross the grounds Tarek keeps clapping, grinning like a man who’s already had too much festival mead. He strides toward us, calling, “Look at you two, stealing the people’s hearts before the hour of spectacle! At this rate, they’ll be tossing flowers at your feet instead of the queens.”
I try to scrub the donkey slobber off the crowns, but the woman who chased Fennel storms up and snatches them from my hands, spitting curses under her breath.
“Sorry!” I call after her, though why I feel responsible for the braying menace is anyone’s guess.
Nessa returns to untangling the garland we abandoned, still giggling. “Fennel is rather adorable. Were he not, his theatrics would be only half as entertaining.”
Declan brushes sand from his pants, then reaches over to pluck a dried marigold petal from my hair. His knuckles graze my cheek as he tucks the loose strands behind my ear. “Shrine duty or donkey wrangling. Which do you prefer?”
“Neither. Both.” I smile and lean into the warmth of his touch. “Depends on if I get hazard pay.”
