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She squinted away her tears and turned. “Evert. Hello.”
He gave her a lopsided smile, his brows knit together. “I missed you last night. Did you get my invitation?”
“Sorry?”
He chuckled. “My party? My going away?”
“Oh.”Iwasthere.“Apologies.”
“You were there when I got the letter about the apprenticeship. Remember?” He smiled at her from behind a mountain of furs. “You were the one who convinced me to try for it.”
Ana recalled the two of them sitting by the hearth, writing and re-writing his entrance thesis until they were both speaking and thinking gibberish. She’d almost written to the guild as his sponsor, but after watching him work at his craft with such earnest passion, it would have been doing him a great disservice not to let his merits stand on their own. “I’m... I’m happy you took the advice. You have a rare talent, Evert. Whitechurch will gain much with your arrival.” She half turned and gestured toward the path. “It was good to see you, but I really must be going. Take care of yourself.”
“You broke his heart,” Evert blurted. “You really hurt him.”
Ana stiffened.
“And mine. And Addy’s. We both believed you were the one—”
“Evert!” Ana barked in exasperation. “Iwasn’tthe one. I wasn’t... What does it matter now? I hear he’s moved on. With my cousin.”
Evert snorted. “With that boring little princess? There’s a word for what he’s feeling right now, broken as he is. But it isn’t ‘love.’”
“I can’t talk about this with you. I’m sorry.” She reached a hand out and squeezed his arm, too quickly for him to react. “Best of luck in Whitechurch, Ev, not that you’ll need it. They’ll quickly see what a rising talent they have in Evert Penhallow, and you’ll be a guildmaster in no time.”
Ana hurried off, and mercifully, he didn’t follow. She held her swift pace until she was sure he wasn’t watching anymore, and she ducked behind a clothier to transition into Nessa.
She watched her clothes transform, revert, and transform. The coloring of her hands shifted, flickering.
“Nien. Nien, pros, pros. Focus. Focus!” She slammed her fist against the building and tried again.
And again.
Ana groaned and leaned against the building. She closed her eyes and whispered a plea to the Ancestors.
The illusion held. But her concentration was already slipping. She could feel her hips threatening to widen, her breasts aching to fill out. It wouldn’t be hours, but minutes. Despair stole over her as she realized she would need to leave Tyreste almost as soon as she arrived at the tavern.
She rushed the rest of the way without stopping. When she stepped inside the Tavern at the Top of the World, Tyreste was alone behind the bar. The rest of his family wasn’t around, but the tavern was swiftly filling with patrons warming up for the festival the next day.
He set aside the stack of mugs he was holding and rushed to greet her. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”
“No, but—” Ana shivered, despite the wave of warmth flowing over her from the sweltering tavern. “I can’t stay long. I wish I could, but my father needs me.”
“Oh!” Tyr smiled. “Well, he’s here now.” He turned and pointed toward the corner, where her uncle Grigor sat nursing a still-full ale. “Grigor! Your daughter’s here!”
Her uncle stared directly their way.
Ana backed up a step. Grigor’s eyes narrowed, locking onto hers. He sliced his jaw back and forth with a wrathful scowl that froze her insides. The illusion had been his idea, but the way he glared at her had her reassessing the advice.
Grigor made his way over, his long gait purposely slow. She reached for her hair and saw blonde creeping into the ends. The visual shape of her body began to shift, stretch.
“I have to go. I’m so sorry.” Ana leaned in and pecked the corner of Tyreste’s mouth. His hand moving to the spot and his eyes brimming in bewilderment were the last things she saw before she shoved past him and raced back out into the night. She heard Tyreste calling after her, but Grigor exited right behind her, grumbling something that stopped Tyreste from following.
“What iswrongwith you, girl?” he hissed and took hold of her arm. He dragged her onto the road and kept going until they were several yards from the tavern. After a look both ways, he practically hurled her into an alleyway behind a row of leatherworking shops. “You’ve been a right fool, Anastazja.” He snorted and ran his eyes over her. “Are you always so careless?”
Ana followed his gaze to confirm she’d fully transitioned back to herself. Back to the weak, helpless debutante who had failed at everything that had ever mattered. “It was... It wasyouridea, Grigor! You said to meuse your illusions.”
Grigor grunted. The sound started low and hollow and escalated to a near yell before he clipped it off. “I should not have had to remind you to also use your intelligence.”
