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He hesitates to let me go but steps back for me to follow Legion toward the restaurant’s holly-adorned doors. Inside the tree house, jovial accordion music is the backdrop against conversations. The architecture inside is more tree than manmade. Glass windows are manufactured between gaps in low-hanging branches pulled aside like curtains.
With a start, I realize we’re inside an overgrown Weeping Willow—my namesake. It was unrecognizable from the ground level. Disturbingly, this seems to be a pattern in this city. Much of the architecture is artfully constructed so the upper levels have the prettiest views. I can’t see the ground level through the windows. It’s almost like the city street we walked through doesn’t exist.
After closing the door against the cold, sycophantic attendants remove Legion’s gifted wreath and our outer layers. They usher us up a staircase of artfully entwined roots. Our table is the only one on a mezzanine platform overlooking a beautiful half-frozen lake on one side and the main restaurant floor on the other. It is packed with reveling citizens dressed in their finest luxury, each with a smile beaming on their face.
Every so often, eyes turn our way. Some are interested in the striking males I accompany. Others are curious about the Nothing they brought.
My ears twitch when the waiter can’t meet my eyes. He cringes as he deposits a napkin on my lap. A powerful, elegant hand whips out, latching onto the waiter’s wrist.
“Do be careful with our Shadow.” Legion raises an indignant eyebrow.
The waiter blusters, cheeks reddening.
“Groveling will redeem your foolishness.” Legion eases back in his seat.
The waiter bows and apologizes profusely.
“Not me, fool. Her.”
The waiter turns his attention to me, fawning and complimenting me to the point of embarrassment. The effect is the opposite of what I suspect Legion intended, or perhaps exactly what he intended. The waiter hurries around the table, lighting the centerpiece candle, then pouring a glass of mulled wine for us, including the fourth vacant setting.
“Leave us.” Legion’s short temper startles the waiter, who then scurries away.
“Somebody’s hungry,” I tease.
“You have no idea.” His tone lowers to gravel as his hungry gaze lands on me.
Bodin exhales through his nose and asks, “Fox?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Legion replies quietly.
“Did you read the report about the bodies?”
My ears prick up. Bodies?
Legion nods. “All male, pale, tattooed and with short black hair.”
Why does that description sound familiar?
“Willow?” Bodin asks.
“Me? Why would I know anything about that?” I blurt.
Legion’s lips flatten at my lack of an appropriate title, but before he can complain, Bodin sighs, “Spare the formalities tonight. It is just us.”
We settle into an uncomfortable silence until Legion notes, “Our colors become you, Willow.”
The compliment throws me. I tug at the neckline, irritating my scar. Fuck it. I’m just going to say it.
“Are you mocking me?”
“On the contrary. We are most fortunate you are our protégé.” He sips his wine, eyes roaming the crowd below.
Bodin’s eyes crinkle as he takes me in. “Tales of your calamity reached me in Heliodor.” He seems almost proud, not pissed off like Emrys was.
“Calamity. You mean a few days ago with the Marquess?”
“I refer to the Shadow you sparred with.” Bodin’s brow furrows. He turns to Legion. “What happened with the Marquess?”
