The two humans who’d been leisurely trailing behind Barcroff had finally reached the knight-lined walkway—a middle-aged man and a young woman, walking arm-in-arm. The man’s cane rapped on the stone, punctuating a flare of familiarity in Elyria’s chest. She recognized the long nose and proud brow of the nobleman who had been with Cedric in Luminaria before the Crucible began.
“You must give our guests some room to breathe, Tobin,” said the noble, tone coolly amused. His black robes billowed in the breeze as the pair reached the group, a circular mana token resting against his chest. “Perhaps you might consider allowing the Victor of Nyrundelle to reclaim some of her personal space.”
The young woman giggled, strawberry-blonde curls bouncing along her shoulders. She looked from the noble to the steward to the Arcanians, a glint of amusement in her striking amber eyes. Eyes that matched those of the man on her arm.
“You were so quick to run ahead and greet our guests you seem to have left your decorum behind,” continued the noble.
“My apologies, my lord,” said Barcroff. He dipped his chin and immediately took two steps back, thin cheeks reddening.
“Oh, do give our poor steward a break, Father,” said the woman, her voice light, smooth. “He is excited. Can you blame him? This reunion between our peoples is so very long overdue.”
“My daughter, the optimist.” The lord patted her hand as he extricated her arm from his. “It is a rare thing, to be sure, having a legendwalk among us. To think, we have the fair Lady Victor to thank for so many...unexpected outcomes.”
His amber gaze locked on Elyria for a split second. A heartbeat of hesitation, barely enough to call a glance. Still, it was strange. She’d seen him only once before. So, why did a cold ripple run through the ball of shadow in her chest, feeling almost like...recognition?
If the lord felt similarly, he did not show it. He bent at the waist, inclining his head at Kit. “I am Lord Paramount Leviathan Church.” A lock of gray-peppered brown hair fell across his forehead. “And it ismyhonor to welcome your party to our fair city.”
Barcroff winced.
Lord Church handed his silver-capped cane to the young woman at his side before smoothing his hair back with both hands. “This”—he lifted a hand, his expression full of fond exasperation—“is my daughter, Portentia.”
Portentia’s pale blue gown rustled as she gently shouldered Barcroff aside before returning her father’s cane. There was something mischievous in the crinkle at the outer corner of each eye when she said, “But you can call me Tenny.”
Elyria liked her instantly.
The dainty token hanging from Tenny’s neck dangled as she gave a graceful curtsy, and Elyria was momentarily enraptured. Not just by the token itself, though it was quite pretty, but by the craftsmanship. She knew Cedric’s mana token to be a rough cut of silver-streaked stone, and Lord Church’s resembled something like a large, dark coin. But Tenny’s looked like little more than jewelry—a single gem wrapped in gold, sitting on a delicate chain. It was only due to the faintest glow emanating from it, the quiet hum of mana sitting within, that Elyria could tell it was more.
Tenny glanced at her father, who nodded, before beckoning the entire party forward. “Let’s get you inside before someone faints with the effort of pretending they’re not absolutelyfascinatedby you,” she said to Elyria.
Kit snorted as she brushed past. “Imagine that—someone else making a scene for a change. What a novel concept.”
Elyria simply shook her head as she followed.If only.
Elyria didher best to keep her expression neutral as Barcroff led them through the palace.
As it turned out, her best was not nearly good enough.
The tour through the palace had left Elyria queasy. So much so that Tenny had asked Elyria if she was feeling well multiple times before she and her father peeled off from the group with assurances that they’d all see each other again soon.
They ascended a wide, curving stairway, and Elyria drew in a slow, chest-broadening breath through her nose. The more she saw of the seat of Kingshelm’s power, the more she hated it. The opulence was overwhelming. Though she certainly had plenty of opinions about Aerithia, with its white cobblestone streets and gold-roofed buildings, the gap between the fae and even the lowest-class citizens was nothing likethis.Here, it felt like the humans put the disparity on display, a grotesque painting in a gilded frame.
Towering doors opened into an atrium lined with columns of pristine, gold-veined marble. Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows that painted the polished floors with a rainbow of color. Servants and attendants wereeverywhere, bowing and curtsying as the group passed, expressions carefully schooled.
Elyria caught Ollie’s eye as they turned a corner, and though he maintained his composure far better than she did, she could see his own disapproval in the clench of his jaw. Just as she saw it in the increasingly frequent sighs coming from Tenebris Nox, and the way Thraigg kept shaking his head, something akin to disbelief creasing the dwarf’s forehead.
Utterly ignorant of the delegation’s feelings toward all the painted peacockery, or perhaps simply because he didn’t care, Barcroff only continued prattling on about the logistics of their stay.
“The king is most eager to meet you. You arrived sooner than we anticipated, so he is, alas, previously engaged. But he looks forward to receiving you at the welcome ball the day after tomorrow.”
“I see,” said Kit, exchanging a look with Dentarius. Definitely not what they had hoped for.
“You’ll find we’ve prepared our finest rooms for you, and you will each have a private attendant to see to your every need,” Barcroff continued. He looked over his shoulder to where Thraigg and Nox trailed a few paces behind Ollie, Shep, and Jocelyn. “Your guards and, uh, escorts have been given beds in the barracks alongside the knights of Kingshelm and?—”
“They are not ourescorts,” Elyria grumbled. Dentarius shot her a look, and it was only the lingering queasiness in her stomach that kept Elyria from sticking her tongue out at him.
“She is right.” Kit slowed to a stop. “Sir Ironfist and Saer Nox are as much part of this delegation as our Lady Victor, Lord Jaen”—she gestured to Dentarius—“and myself. They are champions of the realm. I expect they will be treated as such.”
“Very regal,” Elyria whispered, so quiet that only fae ears could have picked up the words. “I’m so proud.”
