She steadied the goblet with both hands and passed it over.
I took it, eyeing each of the others in turn, not sure what I was in for. Then I touched my lips to the rim and tilted the goblet.
The scent hit me first. Something like blueberries and blackberries, with an herbal, minty edge. The juice flowed across my tongue, slightly sweet, but bubbly like champagne. Suddenly my mind filled with long-forgotten memories of golden light, puffy white clouds, and warm breezes from long-ago Florida beach vacations. Lost sensory impressions of the warmer months wrapped me in sapphire-berry-induced bliss. “Whoa,” I said.
Mom reached for the goblet.
“Hang on a second.” I took another sip. Sun-heated grass beneath my feet. The soothing drone of bumblebees. Sea salt in the air. I licked my lips involuntarily, almost sure I could taste the beach and wasn’t just remembering it. “You’ve been holding out on me, you two,” I said, pointing to Berron and the Princess of Arrows.
“Do you like it?” she asked.
“Like it? I wish I could bottle and sell it!” I peered into the cup and realized I’d only left a sip. My cheeks warmed. “Here, Mom. Finish it off.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking the cup. She tossed it back neatly. “Mm-mm. That’s just lovely!”
The Princess of Arrows took the empty goblet and looked gratified. “It is one of our seasonal brews.”
“There aremorelike this?” I said.
She nodded. “Oh, indeed there are. You must return to us many times, my dear friends, to sample them all.”
“We should be back several times,” I said. “Mom needs to practice her magic.”
“Oh, yes,” my mom chimed in.
I blinked at her. This was my mother, the same woman who—barely an hour ago—declared she was too old for this and should probably pass off her magic to someone else, if possible.
She gave a tiny shrug, almost sheepishly. “Why not? Especially if it involves such charming people,” she said, gesturing to Berron and the Princess of Arrows. “And suchdeliciousbeverages.”
“Fine,” I said. “If the Gentry and their drinks can get you to try out your magic, I’m all for it.”
“Right-o!” Poppy said. “Shall we begin?”
I looked around. “Where are the dogs? I’d kind of like to know before we start slinging fire.”
Poppy cupped her hands around her mouth. “Georgiana! Yoo-hoo!”
“Jester!” I called.
Nothing.
I tried again. “Treat time!”
That got them. With an answeringwoofto guide me, I spotted them toward the top of the Fortress of Apples, standing on the green grass spiral that wound its way around the structure. They dashed around and around, pink tongues flapping in the air as they ran, all the way to the bottom.
“There they are,” Poppy said. “Mummy’s big fuzzy baby. Isn’t that right, Georgiana?” She fed the wolfhound treats from her hand, expertly keeping the dog distracted until she clipped on the leash.
I did the same with Jester. “Now,” I said. “Who wants to mind the canines?”
Jester was already investigating Berron’s shoes. Berron put his hand out for the leash and I handed it over.
“I shall take Georgiana,” the Princess of Arrows said.
Berron and his sister retreated to a safe distance, then sat comfortably on the grass with the dogs.
“Let’s see,” Poppy said. She took my mother’s hands, peered at them, flipped them over, then raised them into the air at Mom’s shoulder height, as if she might flap them and fly.
When Poppy let go, Mom relaxed her arms to her sides. “Well?”
