As though startled out of their private reverie, Deckard and Evylin whipped toward him with wide eyes. Evylin took a deep breath before saying, “Yes. We’re fine.”
The smile she offered wasn’t quite believable, but before Thom could press the issue, she added, “You all go on. Jonn and I... We need to discuss some things.”
At her side, Deckard cupped her arm gently. He gave Thom a grateful nod, trusting him to take care of the others.
Thom returned the gesture. “I’ll have a glass in your honor,” he teased. He tilted his chin toward the stairs. “We’ll make your excuses and see you in the morning.”
Though the others shifted with disappointment behind him, the appreciative and relieved smiles of Deckard and Evylin were all Thom cared to see.
While the couple made for the staircase, Thom turned to Brea. He proffered his arm. “Shall we drown ourselves in Schonese wine,mi’ambrosá?” he said.
Pulling her dark, watchful stare from Deckard and Evylin’s retreating forms, Brea took his arm. “Those names are getting better,” she quipped dryly.
“I consulted my Schonese dictionary for that one.”
“No wonder it sounded forced.”
Vayden shook his head, coming alongside them as Ethenn and Ilain led their way to the ballroom. “May I give you some advice, Thom?” Vayden said.
“By all means,” Thom replied.
“Schon is a playful yet direct country. Poetry is seen as frivolous. Delicate nicknames like ‘my stunning one’ are regarded as flippant.” A flicker of wistful sorrow passed over his expression as he likely thought of Isla, before his face resumed its wry tilt. “If you want to woo a Schonese woman, don’t use flowery speech. Be candid. She’ll like it better.”
Though Brea showed no signs of discomfort, Thom struggled not to tense at Vayden’s pointed comment. Thom hadn’t thought his true feelings for Brea were that obvious. He liked her, he desired her, but he never intended to “woo” her. Even after his revelation of loving her, he knew he’d have to let her go. Why give himself false hope?
Plastering a smirk on his lips, Thom kept his head high. “Then it’s decided,” he said and clutched Brea’s hand in thecrook of his elbow dramatically. “I shall henceforth call youmi’stelá briantes.”
Brea immediately scrunched her nose. “Brilliant star?” she said incredulously. “I’m nothing like a star.”
“That’s the point,” Thom said.
As they reached the ballroom, Ethenn paused to guide Ilain in first, tossing Thom a knowing look over his shoulder.
Thom held the young man’s gaze. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought. He wasn’t going to take Brea from a life filled with joy, luxury, and power so she could dally with him in the dullness of normality.
Their arrival sparked enthusiastic cheers. Many rushed forward to greet them, eager to share drinks or a dance. Amid shaking hands and receiving manifold introductions, Thom quickly lost sight of Brea as he lingered near Vayden’s side. The older man recognized all the Alliance members who came over, skillfully carrying the conversations for Thom, who smiled and nodded, contributing only the necessary comments.
Shortly, Cris Lohen approached with Calyn at his side. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the room and wine, but she looked clearheaded and uncorrupted enough. Perhaps Brea’s nephew really was honorable.
Calyn stepped away from Cris with a thankful, momentary farewell and grasped Thom’s arm. “Where are Evie and Deckard?” she asked brightly.
“My brother has polluted your sister, I’m afraid,” Thom remarked. “He’s taken her off to bed.”
Calyn wrinkled her nose. “But it’s only nine o’clock,” she said innocently.
Thom decided not to make his euphemistic jest clearer. “Jonn is a tremendous bore.”
“No matter.” Calyn brushed her hand through the air, her newfound composure diminished in the festivities. She tuggedon his arm. “You must dance with me. This is the grandest party I’ve ever attended. And the musicians! They’re divine.”
Thom smiled at her, grateful for the escape from the politicking and small talk. “Yes, yes,” he patted her hand, “I’m yours to do with as you please.”
Letting Calyn carry him into the heart of the room, Thom tried to remember his minimal dance lessons with his mother. He’d never been a skilled dancer, though he enjoyed the levity of a reel or an up-tempo waltz. He tended to stand at the back of the party, drinking and making snide comments. But tonight, he preferred the distraction of Calyn’s effusive, sweet chatter over the scornful ruminations of his thoughts.
“Cris asked me to dance with him,” Calyn said as Thom attempted to lead her with grace across the polished wooden floors. At his raised brow, she concluded, “I told him no.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“I didn’t think I should say yes.”
