Page 109 of The Filigree Key

After my third bite of pie—a supersized version of the beef pasties Mrs. Bilberry had served at tea that afternoon in the atrium—the Stag Man cleared his throat expectantly.

“Eight witnesses, dress,” he drawled, pointing at me, “feast . . . but where is the seeded loaf?”

“That’s after the cake,” I replied. “Obviously.”

“Ah.” With a flick of his fingers, a knife of copper magic cut through the air and sliced the wedding cake into neat little squares. “Clear your plates,” the Stag Man ordered. “Now.”

That didn’t mean cram the food into your mouth as fast as you could. That meant quite literally upending your plate and dumping the contents on whatever spare piece of table you could find. Grumbling, the Brotherhood quickly obeyed.

I shot my friends a concerned look. It was too soon. Cake, fruit, cloak, seeded loaf—the rest of the wedding ceremony would take mere minutes at this rate, and Auggie hadn’t finished gnawing on the heretic’s fork. We would know if the snail had. I hoped.

“Cernunnos,” Daphne ventured lightly, “don’t you think you’re rushing this a little? Meadow’s only getting married once, after all. A wedding feast is to be savored—”

“That’s not the piece of the wedding he wants to savor,” Alec jeered.

My fork clattered against my plate as I forced a flush to my cheeks.

Sawyer spat out his chunk of beef and hissed, back arching.

“Well I never,” the mare exclaimed, playing her part perfectly.

“Watch your mouth,” Emmett snapped at the magic hunter.

“Yeah, shut up and eat your cake,” Cody said. “’Bout the only thing that one hand of yours is good for. Shoveling cake into your mouth and wiping your—”

“You dare talk to a Brother like that, beaver?” Carissa demanded.

“I dare to do a lot of things. But definitely not your haircut.”

The magic hunter passed a self-conscious hand over her hair before she caught herself.

“I like the Viking-braid look,” Shari said, still crocheting her chain stitch. “Very crafty.”

“Yeah,” Flora agreed, “I bet it gives something for these guys to hold on to at night when they’re—”

Carissa erupted from her seat. “Just what are you implying?”

“Well, had you let me finish,” the honey badger said with a mild look, “I wouldn’t have been implying anything. I would’ve said it straight to your face that you’re a slut.”

Carissa went red.

“What?” Flora asked, looking around at the other livid Brothers and feigning confusion. “Can I not say that? Your own leader, Mr. One-Arm Wonder Boy over there, implied Cernunnos—our king—is gonna treat our best friend no better than a rutting stag would a doe and we can’t make jabs at your after-hours behavior?” The honey badger crossed her arms over her chest. “Not fair.”

“Hear, hear,” Cody said, lifting his wine cup.

The Stag Man slammed his fist down on the table, making the plates quake. “Eat. Your. Cake.”

A surly hush fell over the table, then everyone viciously stabbed at their square of lavender-colored cake. The Stag Man leaned over to me, jewel-bright eyes glittering dangerously. “Get control of your friends or I may become displeased. Another inch or two and Faebane might nick a lung.”

I didn’t risk a glance at the bear, and I didn’t have the chance to retort, because someone dry-heaved and muttered, “Ugh, what is that smell?”

“Is that licorice?”

“Why does it remind me of soap?”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Anise is supposed to help with that,” Shari supplied helpfully.