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“She mentions the blood moon.” Valen frowned. “My mother said the enchantress had mentioned a blood moon too.”
I didn’t like that. I didn’t like anything to do with fate magic. Not since it had nearly gotten us all killed.
“Why that face? Did you notice something, Mal?” Hagen asked.
“It’s just . . . look at how she spelled out Falkyn—it’s the way the Falkyns mark their title.”
I lifted a brow. “You think she’s talking about Niklas?”
“Is he here?” Valen asked.
“He’s in Skítkast. Ash just left last week to help him unload herbs from Furen—purchased herbs, of course. Not stolen or smuggled.”
“We should reach out to him,” Valen said. “If this—”
“Are we going to bleeding eat?” Raum shouted, drawing us apart. “Some of us do not spew everything we try to swallow and happen to still love food. No offense, Mal.”
“Thank you, I hate you,” she said with a sneer.
Raum’s silver eyes glittered with amusement, and he took the liberty of ushering everyone into the banquet hall.
“We’ll speak later,” Valen whispered, then joined Elise as though nothing was amiss.
Former servants of the Black Palace (still employed by us, I supposed, but never allowed to call me foolish titles like Lord, or Highness) had lined the table with meats and cheeses and sweet syrups for flaky rolls.
Malin wrinkled her nose at the cheese that had looked decent at the far end of the table, and opted for spiced ginger candies Herja sent every week.
We toasted the new Ferus princess. We laughed. We pretended as though something ominous were not hanging overhead.
All day we drank, ate, and relived overexaggerated heroics from the battle of the Black Palace. When the halls were quiet, and the hideous moon cast its bloody sheen into the windows, Malin and I stepped into a small study in the lower palace.
The pop of flames and hint of woodsmoke already filled the space. Valen held his daughter beside Elise on a plush sofa while Hagen and Herja spoke in low tones by the window.
I locked the door behind us. “All right, we need to figure out what Calista was trying to tell your brother and what Niklas has to do with it. I’ve already sent a note for him to come to Klockglas. I’d expect him in about two days.”
“I wouldn’t.” Herja let out a whimper. She was a warrior, but her eyes filled with tears, and when Hagen encircled her shoulders with his arms, she seemed almost brittle. “He’s not there.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Herja.” Elise stood and went to her sister. “What is it?”
“Something is dreadfully wrong, and we’ve all felt it for days now. I think . . . I think Gunnar and Eryka might be in danger. Maybe Ari and the others.”
“What do you know?” I didn’t mean for my tone to come out like a snarl, but it did, and I couldn’t take it back.
“Hanna told me this earlier, and I thought nothing of it until Hagen mentioned Calista’s note. Ash wrote to Hanna two days ago. He was excited and boasted that he . . . he was going on a journey with Niklas and Junius because they, too, received note from the girl he called a ‘little Norn’.”
Calista. My jaw tensed. “What journey?”
Herja’s chin quivered. “The Southern Isles. Ash told Hanna they were going to save someone Calista called a Golden King from deadly darkness.”
“Maj spoke of a darkness with a red moon,” Valen said, lifting his gaze to his sister. “She said the enchantress who cursed us during the raids mentioned darkness.”
Herja closed her eyes. Hagen held her tighter.
“Something is happening in the South,” I said. “We’ve all been without word from Gunnar, and it seems even your ambassador who never stops talking is silent.”
Elise paled. “What do we do?”
