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We settled into silence after that. Shelby closed her eyes, content to bask in the midday warmth, while Amaria pulled a small needlework project from her bag. I spent the minutes watching those in the square, taking in the laughter and playfulness and contentment. I’d lost track of time when Callum’s voice cut through the din, just behind us.

“Is there enough room for three more?”

I twisted even as Amaria and Shelby rearranged themselves so that half the large swath of fabric was open. Callum wore a plain long-sleeved green tunic, its laces done up to the hollow of his throat. He didn’t wear his circlet, though Phoebe and the man behind him both did, the black stones in the center of the lotus glowing in the sunlight. I pressed my lips together as I tried to pull a name from the fog of those first few days. I’d heard his name, hadn’t I? But nothing came to mind. If I had been introduced, it was one of the names that was lost to the pain and haziness. Anticipation for the mirror Phoebe was supposed to bring back from my sister had my breath catching.

Callum eased onto the blanket beside me, a careful six inches between us, and then pulled small packages of food from the bag he’d had slung over one shoulder. The sandwiches were similar to what we’d eaten while traveling but even more aromatic. My stomach rumbled, and Callum offered a small smile. Instead of limellos, there were bonafide oranges. He held one out to me, and I managed a quiet, “Thank you,” as I took it and peeled it without waiting for the others to sit.

When they had, Callum gestured to the new man. “This is Simeon, our other personal royal mage. I’m not sure if you remember him. He and Phoebe were recalled to Embercrest shortly after we began our journey home.”

“Nice to meet you,” I offered.

Personal mage.

That made four people employed by the crown specifically for Callum, not including his guardsmen. The thought made me a bit dizzy. Callum’s kingdom certainly wasn’t hurting for money, that was evident.

The man inclined his head and then took the sandwich Callum offered with no comment at all. I’d worked long enough at the bar to understand he didn’t necessarily dislike me so much as the social interaction in general. There was a slightly different tightening in his shoulders than those put off by my looks. His reserved nature didn’t bother the others, so I let myself relax a bit more. Amaria set aside the needlework with a warm smile and peeled one of the other oranges, dropping into an easy conversation with Phoebe.

Despite the proximity and relaxed nature of the picnic lunch, Callum never once touched me, not even an accidental brushing of our knees.

I won’t touch you beyond this.

The promise rang through my mind. And… and he hadn’t. Since that morning a few days ago, he hadn’t done more than circle my wrist. Even at night, when we were sleeping in the same bed, sharing the same blankets, he kept his distance.

Something warm I didn’t want to name yet started simmering in my stomach. I dropped my focus to the rest of the orange.

32

AMETHYST

The air was cooler than yesterday, a small bit of snow dusting the uncovered stone pathways, as I slowly navigated the spiral stairs into the inner garden of Vincent’s home. I cuddled deeper into the oversized sweater I’d pulled from the large dresser in our room, full to the brim with clothes that were clearly Callum’s. He might have a set of rooms at the Crown’s Manor, but it was evident he spent his time here, with Vincent, when he was in Starguard. The wisteria and pine scent suffusing the fabric flowed over me, and something I didn’t want to acknowledge loosened deep inside me. Breathing was easier than it had been all morning.

Omega.

I breathed deeply again and nearly groaned in relief as more of the tension eased away.

What had Callum called this behavior of seeking scents? Had he given it a specific name or just explained it as a way for omegas to calm themselves and find comfort?

It was certainly working.

I settled into my favorite spot at the base of the fountain, making sure the sweater was an extra layer between the cool grass and the thick sleep pants I still wore. The water wasn’t running again, the basin drained. Given just how chilly it was, that guard creating water for it the other night was probably a special circumstance. A breeze cut through the garden, lifting my hair and raising goose bumps on my exposed skin. I tucked my nose into the collar of the sweater and then pulled the book I’d brought with me, turning it to the last page I’d tried to decode.

Learning a new language was miserably difficult. I hadn’t given the various language majors at college enough credit. Maybe it would be different if it was truly a full immersion, but the idea of having to navigate all of this without the translation spell had me wanting to hide in the bedroom in my best hermit impression. It was bad enough they all knew I had no idea what I was doing. If I also couldn’t talk to any of them without a lot of miming and hand gestures? No thank you.

Even still, I couldn’t handle another day reading that children’s primer. So, instead, I’d grabbed one of the books Callum had given about the pantheon. This one, in addition to information about the gods that I could only sort of parse out, had beautiful illustrations done with considerable skill. They reminded me of the scientific drawings from the Victorian era.

This page was no different.

A woman stood in an open field, red spider lilies that reached her knees surrounding her and spreading into the distance. Her eyes were a stark, bold red, darker than the flowers. They reminded me of Lillian and the woman who was with us when we interacted with those first Votarists on the beach. Her face was all hard, sharp lines, a narrow chin and high cheekbones and a full mouth with thin lips. Her coloring was fair, a pink tint to her cheeks, and her hair was as dark as mine, falling around her in a heavy sheet all the way to her hips. Resting on her hair just above her left temple was a luna moth, its green wings spread, the bottom points framing her eye.

Where some of the other goddesses, especially Freia, had expressions of warmth or understanding, this goddess only held uncompromising will, a fire burning in her gaze that had my breath catching. I picked over the entry, piecing together her name and title.

Oltia, Goddess of Death.

“Amaria said I might find you here.”

Phoebe’s voice was warm despite its lack of humor.

I carefully shut the worn book before glancing up. Phoebe sat on the bench nearest the fountain, a bag in her lap. She wore the same style dark blue tunic she’d worn every time I’d seen her, though this one didn’t have any embroidery along its hem or neckline. Today, her hair was pulled away from her face, and she didn’t wear her circlet. Instead, she wore a thin necklace that rested overtop of the laces of the tunic, the pendant a metal version of the raven in the center of my translation tattoo.