“Are those real?”
“Enchanted.”
“Yeah, but are theyrealfire?”
“Don’t—”
He stuck his hand into the torch flame.
“Ouch.” He yanked his hand back. “Real fire. Good to know.”
I grabbed his wrist, pulled his hand to me to examine the damage. His fingertips were red, already blistering. The skin was hot under my thumb.
“Why would you put your hand into a fire?”
“Pain helps you understand what’s real. Haven’t you ever heard of the saying about pinching yourself?”
I lifted my eyes to his, trying to understand. “I told you it was real. And it’s clearly fire.”
He grimaced. “I know. But how could I be in a real castle? There must be another explanation.”
I reached into my satchel and pulled out a little of Ilyndra’s healing powder, sprinkling it over the wound, watching as it absorbed into his skin, healing the damage.
“Okay, that bit definitely looked like I’m tripping balls on mushrooms,” he muttered. “Or another hallucinogen. You whooshed the owie away with purple powder.”
“You must dress to meet the Queen of Qoksmere.”
He snickered.
“Are you laughing at the Queen?”
“No. It’s just… Maybe it’s this translation ring thingy, it keeps… I swear you said…” He burst into a fit of giggles.
“Qoksmere?” I frowned.
He slapped my chest, laughing. “I think it’s lost in translation, you know. In my language, those sounds form a… statement.”
“The rings don’t translate proper nouns. Ilyndra worked that out when she discovered her name translated to something unseemly in Troll.”
He giggled again.
“Nevermind. Let’s get you in more appropriate clothing.”
“These are my good shorts. I think the Queen would appreciate them, don’t you?”
“They are short.”
“Yeah, that’s by design. I work hard for this booty, I don’t want to hide it!” He gave his butt a shake. Again.
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. I had led soldiers into battle. I had negotiated treaties with fae chieftains. I had survived a meeting with the Trollish Trade Council, who communicated primarily through headbutts of varying intensity.
“Fine. We’ll tell her this is twink formal wear. Something specific to your culture.”
“Short shorts, the cultural dress of twinks. Yeah, that tracks.”
I sighed. At least the Queen enjoyed spectacle. Arriving with a half-naked human in sparkly shorts would entertain her. It would likely be the most interesting thing to happen at court in months.
I guided him down the grand hallway, my hand hovering at the small of his back. I moved my hand to his shoulder, where it was safer.
