Page 90 of The Trick of It

“I’ll put some there tomorrow,” she told him, rolling her eyes and tossing the candle back to him before fluffing the blanket like a queen’s regalia and huddling back down over his chest. Then her performance cracked, her teeth flashing in the low light, and she nuzzled down to steal a very quick kiss from him. “Use one to write to the Brighton Parish.”

He grabbed her chin and extended the kiss, taking two, and then a third before he released her. “Are you going to try the father’s magic?”

“Yes, I think so,” she replied, tilting her head to the side, her hair spilling down around her like a cloak. “It sounds … appealing.”

“Aye,” Rhys agreed. “I don’t know if he’s got extra godly power or if he’s just very intelligent.”

“Same thing,” said Seph, shrugging. “I walked in on him standing on Master Yuri the other day. Just … standing on the other man’s back, hands in pockets, admiring the wallpaper.”

Rhys covered his mouth, a little titter escaping. “Did they see you?”

Seph frowned. “Yes! And they both just silently stared at me until I left.”

At that, he lost the hold on his amusement and gave a bark of laughter. “Excellent.”

“I also saw him wiggling Nini’s arm until something popped. Nini moaned in pleasure,” Seph continued, shaking her head like a tattler, giving the good bits to their mummy.

“Yuri’s got sciatalgia,” Rhys said. “He grouses about it constantly. Maybe Father Wheeler was stomping it out of him.”

“And Nini?” Seph asked, raising her brows.

“That was just restorative therapy from how her arm hurts after reaching into everyone’s heads so often,” he said, and he was smacked lightly with a throw pillow for his trouble.

He nodded at the lantern. “Should we douse it? It’s low, anyhow.”

“‘So shines a good deed in a naughty world,’” Seph quoted, scooting off him to see to it. “You did well, little flame. It’s been a long night.”

She glanced back at him, hand on the dial, and slumped a little at his expression. “Really, Rhys? I didn’t have fancy tutors and I know Shakespeare.”

“I know Shakespeare!” he protested, watching her roll her eyes before she submerged them in darkness. “I know everything Mercutio says.”

“Because you played him, you dolt,” she argued, crawling back onto the dark bed and finding her place beside him. “You love stories. Why would you ignore the Shakespeare lessons?”

“Because he talks in ridiculous ye olde rhyme?” Rhys suggested, shrugging. “Besides, I prefer prose. The stage play is not engrossing to read.”

“Says one Welshman against the whole of the Western world,” she returned, shaking her head and stifling a yawn. “I did cry, by the by. When you died. As Mercutio.”

For a moment, he could only grin in response. He felt her, still and waiting for him to react, but he just couldn’t yet. He grinned until his cheeks hurt.

She huffed, shaking her head. “You are too convincing an actor,” she declared. “And Mercutio is too close to exactly who you would be, if you were from that story and not your own. You looked truly hurt. You looked weak and angry and hurt. That was what made me cry.”

“Don’t worry, gwrach,” he said into her hair. “I’ll never die again.”

She sniffed. “Good. Thank you. I love you.”

He nodded, stroking her loose hair as he planted a kiss on her head. “I love you too. Cariad.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Once the old trick had been mastered, they began to build in the new elements. The updated patter. The ropes. Even the bits of fool’s gold both had brought without telling the other from Seph’s shop.

By the time the thirtieth had arrived, after countless nights of wonders and a few of simple games and conversation, Seph was finally ready to step into a changeling’s skin again.

She was ready to become, and be undone, and become again.

The night she had reclaimed her costume had given her an idea for enhancing the performance as well, and when they set up all five black velvet curtain frames in the ballroom that evening, before dinner, they set mirrors between them.

They didn’t hide the mirrors. What would have been the point in a room of professionals?