Page 96 of The Hocus Pocus Handbook

Before the quorum’s first session, I cast the masking-and-misdirection spell.

Now Lord Liskaal shouldn’t be able to punish me before Zeph executes their plan. It’s a peculiarly lonely day, the final one before all our fates are sealed. I speak with Tara and my dad, but not Rosa or Zeph. On the way to the great hall, those two pass without pausing. Likewise, Govannon doesn’t see me either. I’m braced for the worst when I turn the corner and spot Kerboros striding down the hall toward me.

I wait for him to pass. To not see me. And my dad’s words, written in the magical handbook, echo in my head: This spell will never work on people who truly love you.

But…Kerboros stops, a quiet smile lighting his usually somber features. “I missed you yesterday. I thought you’d be in our suite at night, at least, but—”

“I was with my dad most of the day,” I tell him. “And overnight. We had a lot to discuss. I didn’t have a chance to let you know.”

He tips his head, seeming curious. “Did you mention me? Is that why he took me for a drink?”

Oh no.

In fact, I did mention my feelings for Kerboros yesterday afternoon, and I didn’t think I needed to ask Da to be discreet, but apparently, I was wrong. “I wondered where he went.” Before he can respond, the announcements begin, a resonant-voiced staff member calling out titles of those entering the quorum. “We should go separately. It’ll be safer.”

“I’ll go first,” he offers at once.

And I understand the reasoning without him articulating why—he’s offering himself as a sacrifice. Lord Liskaal will be livid when Kerboros appears, after having failed his last task. Based on what I know of his past, there was dark magic, a compulsion binding his actions, and as far as Liskaal knows, Kerboros shouldn’t be free to refuse whatever Liskaal demands. The Lord of Winter could order Kerboros to fall on his sword, and he is willing to die for me, even though he could flee.

“Stay safe,” I whisper, watching him go.

He passed the test I didn’t intend to set for him. The spell doesn’t work on people who truly love you. And Kerboros sees me, always.

I haven’t run into Olive, but that might be for the best. We’re sisters, and it would hurt if she doesn’t love me, but it might be unreasonable to expect love so fast. For now, it’s enough that I like her and that she cared enough to search for me.

After counting as high as my patience allows, I slip into the great hall to take a position at the edge of the room. Liskaal is screaming invectives at his cousin, being held back by two burly boggarts in Autumn colors. “I will not—”

“Silence!” Lady Mirralee raps three times on the table where the other representatives are seated. I don’t recognize the rulers, but I can tell Summer from Springtide based on their colors. “Lord Liskaal, you will have an opportunity to address the quorum, but you have not been recognized.”

“Sit down, Liskaal.” The lazy order comes from a handsome fae in Summer’s hues. That must be Lord Sorren.

“You requested the first speech,” Lady Mirralee says to Zeph. “I am prepared to indulge you.”

“Of course,” the Springtide ruler says with a snicker.

I can see why people say they’re eccentric. “Call Me Pell” is wearing what looks like a dressing gown over a long skirt paired with sturdy mud-encrusted boots. If they’ve combed their hair in the last week, I can’t tell. They carry dishevelment to the next level, cultivating it the way some fae do perfect beauty.

Their levity earns a mordant look from Lady Mirralee, but Zeph glides to the center of the room, untroubled by the rising tension. “I’m here to address Winter’s inadequacies. They were entrusted with the task of renewing the peace accords between Summer and Winter. As of tonight, they have failed most ingloriously.”

“I will see you dead for that insult,” Lord Liskaal spits.

Lady Mirralee levels a killing stare at the Lord of Winter. “Have a care who you threaten in my demesne, or you will be the one to lose your life.”

Zeph continues as if the interruption didn’t occur. “This is the contract I prepared and signed. Please note the fine print.”

Lady Valnevi sucks in a sharp breath. “What—”

“Hope they can read my writing,” Rosa says with a muffled laugh.

A memory pops up—Rosa mentioning her terrible handwriting. I don’t entirely understand what’s happening, but Zeph presents the contract to Lord Springtide, along with a magnifying lens. “Please read this codicil aloud, milord.”

“Please! Call me Pell.”

Zeph smiles. “Please read it, Pell.”

“As you wish!” For some reason, the Springtide ruler decides to do so in an uncanny imitation of Lady Valnevi’s shrillest tone. “‘If the marriage between Thea de Winter and Devan J. Fenelon is not consummated within forty-five respites, the marriage shall be annulled, and the House of Summer can choose a different representative for the peace treaty. If Winter fails in this compact, they agree to select new leadership by rationale of incompetence, per past precedent for a vote of no confidence. The quorum of the four courts is bestowed with full jurisdiction in this matter.’”

Pell’s vocal stylings are so distracting—and amusing—that titters come from the crowd. Until people realize what’s actually been said. Then the room explodes with reaction as Liskaal thunders, “What trickery is this?”