Page 110 of The Filigree Key

“It’s my favorite,” I lied in a self-conscious mutter, careful to lift only a forkful of the cake and not the frosting to my mouth. It was quite terrible, but I smiled anyway and flicked my gaze to the Stag Man. Then I mouthed, Feast, which definitely implied I could not be properly wed until that cake was eaten.

“Everybody has a bite right now or I’ll break your necks,” he announced calmly, lifting his own fork. “And make it a big bite.”

The Brothers ate, each one of them gagging.

The Stag Man went rigid at the taste, jaw clamping shut to prevent him from swallowing. He forced it down anyway with a shudder. “Can’t say that’s my preferred confection.”

He drained his beer, sucked in a shaky breath, and poured himself another from the pitcher. “You can offer me the fruit now.”

Leaning to the side, I retrieved the basket where Shari had set it on the ground. With as much ceremony as I could, I set it down beside his plate. If intent was nine-tenths of magic, then confidence was nine-tenths of convincing Ossian this fruit was exactly that and not the cloch na wight.

His lips pursed, his fingers drumming against the tabletop. “A plum.” His eyes flicked to mine, unamused.

“You never said you had to eat it.” And by the Green Mother, I hoped he wasn’t going to. That was the whole reason I’d glamoured it to look like a plum.

“It was implied.”

I swept my hand towards Alec and Carissa, who were glaring daggers, knives, and all sorts of other proverbial pointy blades at Cody and Flora. “And look where implication has got us this evening.”

“I suppose it’s the offering that counts.” He snapped his fingers at me. “Get up.”

I rose, pulse thundering through my veins like a river broken free of its dam. Ossian fiddled with the gold clasp on his cloak, the movement jostling the chain around his neck and caused the filigree key to dance. Dress, feast, fruit, cloak, seeded loaf. It was all still progressing too fast and there was no sign that Auggie had been successful.

“Maybe we should dance first?” I asked. “That music is quite good.”

I made to leave the table, but Ossian clamped a hand on my shoulder.

“We are both means to our own ends, but tonight does not need to be unpleasant for you, Meadow.” His fingernails dug through the satin and fleece into my skin. “But continue delaying the inevitable and it will become so. For you and the bear.”

When I didn’t protest, he unbuckled the clasp of his cloak and swung it around my shoulders. My knees didn’t buckle but they certainly twitched under the surprising weight of Ossian’s cloak. He took my hand and murmured something hushed and nearly inaudible in Faerish. I felt invisible threads knit around our joined hands, but I knew they wouldn’t fully bind us together. Not until . . . after. His mutterings done, he lifted my hand to his mouth and brushed a kiss over my knuckles. It was all done with such cold, unfeeling efficiency, I was almost insulted.

“Now where is this seeded loaf you made such a fuss about?” he asked, leading me back to the table. “There is bread aplenty here but nothing like what you’ve described.”

“That’s because it needs to be baked fresh.”

His hand seized me again, this time around my biceps, and cinched down like a ratchet strap. “You are not leaving this hall. Gods above, Meadow, what did we just discuss?”

I reached up and gave him a patronizing pat on the cheek. “Of course not.”

He jerked away from me with a glower. Despite his frustration, his gaze still dropped to my breasts when I leaned forward to retrieve the little bell from where it nestled in the basket beside the plum. It was the same bell he’d spelled for me during my vigils in the rambler rose courtyard.

Its chime was pure and sweet, and Mrs. Bilberry knew what was expected of her when she heard it. She appeared a few minutes later with a trolley. Upon it was a five-gallon ceramic jar decorated with blue glaze and oxeye daisies with a matching lid. With a little curtsy, she parked it beside the table and returned to the kitchen.

Wrinkling his nose, Ossian gave an inquisitive sniff in its direction but didn’t touch it. “Smells rancid.”

“Sourdough’s not for everyone.” I surveyed the table, pinning Flora with an expectant stare. “Has everyone enjoyed the cake?”

I was banking on the voracious honey badger to come through for me—Mrs. Bilberry and the others needed time to get away—and she didn’t disappoint. “I could go for another slice. Make it a big piece, yeah?”

“I do love that lavender flavoring,” Daphne agreed. “May I have some more, too?”

Smiling, I made a show of serving them more cake and returned to my seat, folding my hands in my lap and preparing to wait until they had finished. And ignored the penetrating glower Ossian was using to try to will me to look at him.

“Meadow,” the Stag Man finally growled. “Midnight draws ever nearer. I think we can dispense with courtesy and just get on with it.”

“My lord,” Alec groaned. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Shut up, Alec.” Ossian gave me a skeptical look. “And you’ll bake that loaf here? With what oven?”