Ursula’s grin faded. “Not many would dare call me cocky to my face.”
“Exactly.”
“Fair enough.” Ursula’s nod was almost regal. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
“Thank you.” Emmaline leaned back. “Now, where’s my present?”
Ursula reached into her leather vest. “I like this version of you, Emmaline. Very demanding.”
Emmaline raised a hand in mock salute, eyes locked on the small black velvet bag Ursula withdrew.
“Why keep that part of you buried all this time?” her friend murmured, flipping the bag upside down, letting three small, unremarkable objects tumble onto the table.
Emmaline nudged the first item, a ribbon, with the tip of her finger, its thin black silk soft against the worn wood. “I was a sponsored student at the School of Light not long after the War.” She ran the ribbon between her fingers, feeling for any texture or pattern, but it was smooth as water.
She set the ribbon aside and picked up the fingernail—red, polished to a wicked point—turning it slowly between her thumb and forefinger. What was she supposed to do with a ribbon, a fingernail, and… she squinted… a human-styled wedding band?
“Seemed like the pertinent thing to do at first.” She frowned at the nail, brow furrowing. “I thought if I did what I was supposed to do and did it better than anyone else, I would… I don’t know.” She placed the fingernail down with care, then took the small silver ring between her fingers, rubbing her thumb along the inner band. “I guess I thought I’d get what I deserved.” She sighed. “Soon, that careful, polite version I pretended to be became who I was. Even the Caeliththingwas wrapped up in that identity.”
She set the ring back, her hands resting flat on the table, fingers splayed like they didn’t quite belong to her. Her gaze stayed fixed onthe objects, but it was distant, like she was seeing through them, or past them, or not seeing them at all.
“Then I met Deyric.” The words slipped out, too even, too measured, like someone else had decided to offer a clinical report on her own life. “And piece by piece, he unraveled me, peeling back every layer until there was nothing left but the truth I’d buried underneath.”
“You still want him.” The voice came from behind, low and calm, but it might as well have been a thunderclap.
Ursula was on her feet, knives already in hand, as shadows crawled up her arms, hungry and ready to strike. “Who the fuck are you, and why are you here?”
Emmaline shook herself free from the numb fog that had settled over her, rubbing her eyes like she’d been underwater too long. She turned just in time to see Aeren standing at the edge of the table, hands raised in empty-palmed surrender, though she didn’t back up an inch.
“Who are you, and why are you here?” Ursula repeated, her stare never leaving the green-haired woman.
“She’s my friend.” Emmaline stood, grabbing Ursula’s arm to pull her back down.
Shaking her off, Ursula raised a fistful of shadow. “Doesn’t look like Margo or Cassidy to me.”
“Emmaline?” Aeren’s voice stayed even, but instead of retreating, she slipped into the third chair, the movement smooth as pouring water. She leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, facing both of them head-on. “Maybe you should have told your very large, very stabby friend that I’d be joining you in your little endeavor.”
“You told someone?!” Ursula hissed, and the shadows flared darker, darting toward Aeren like vipers. But before they could rend flesh from bone, a shield of pale light snapped into place, catching the dark tendrils with a crackle like ice freezing over.
“Shadow witch,” Aeren growled, flexing her fingers.
“That’s Shadow Queen to you, bitch.”
Emmaline groaned, dragging both hands down her face. “Goddess, give me strength.” She reached across the table, grabbing Aeren and Ursula’s hands and slamming them down onto the scarred wood. “You’re both drawing too much attention!”
The tavern had gone deathly quiet, with every eye locked on their table.
Ursula’s mouth twisted. “Fuck.” She shot a sheepish grin toward the bar. “Sorry about that, Jerri! The wench owes me money. We’ll be leaving shortly.”
A door creaked open behind the bar, and a man built like an ancient oak stepped out of the kitchen, one meaty hand settling protectively on Jerri’s shoulder. “Make it sooner rather than later. We don’t need trouble here.”
“Of course.” Aeren turned the full force of her smile on him. “If you’d be so kind to give us a few minutes to finish our drinks, I’d be most grateful. You wouldn’t want to seeThe Violet Menacehere when she’s underhydrated.” She stage-whispered the last bit, eyes twinkling.
The man’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close. “Ten minutes.” Then, he disappeared back into the kitchen.
“Violet Menace.” Ursula huffed a laugh, shaking her head the moment the door swung shut. “Sounds like a burlesque act I’d actually pay to see.”
“Better than The Forest Fart, which is what my brother used to call me.” Aeren followed with a roll of her eyes. “As if his hair wasn’t greener than mine.”
