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Duke Graham looked from me to my mother, then to my sister, before rolling his eyes. “This is a waste of time. I’m going to return to the celebration and remind myself of all the things in Camdaria worth celebrating.”
With that, he stormed off, slamming the door as he left the lounge. My Uncle usually tried to remain much more composed around my parents, so it was interesting to see his mask slip.
“Well, as long as there isn’t some torrid affair you’re hiding from me,” my mother said uncertainly. “I know you had your dalliances while off on your military jaunts, but surely you understand we must preserve the royal line.”
I had to bite my tongue to not snap that Ayla would be more than worthy of our royal blood. In fact, we were the ones unworthy of her. But I knew better and just managed a nod.
“Good, now let’s return to the party, shall we? We want to be good hosts.”
“Yes,” I agreed, offering my arm to my sister, only to have my mother hastily take it. “We do.”
Chapter 6
Ayla
Socializing was hard.
I’d always considered it a risk, but I’d never realized just how utterly soul draining it was. My back hurt. My feet hurt. My throat was becoming raw, my eyes were dry, and everyone’s words were beginning to sound like a partially muffled trumpet at the end.
I was aware that people weren’t exactly my strong suit, but I hadn’t realized exactly how unrefined my social skills were after so much time in isolation.
Thankfully, I had Darla, Seraphina, and even Aodin at my side, and they all worked as excellent buffers when too many people approached, one right after the other, or lingered for far too long. I was incredibly grateful and owed them big time. I knew that Mad Dog also would have helped if he was there, but he’d disappeared to get fresh air and never returned. I hoped he was okay, but I wasn’t too worried about it. He’d already come close to dying of a curse-driven plague. How much more trouble could he get into?
But they couldn’t always be totally vigilant. After all, they had their own conversations and social obligations, or in the case of Darla, potential suitors, as well as minds to read. So that meant occasionally I was on my own in the conversation, approached by people who were interested in the rumors about me, or looking for an in with the prince.
Strangely, none asked Darla or me military questions beyond surface level ones. I expected at least a little shop talk from nosy nellies who saw an opportunity to get information the king would normally keep in a vise-like hold, but nothing went deeper than a puddle.
“Oh, greetings. You are Healer Everton, are you not?”
As if life was reflecting my thoughts, an older couple approached me. They didn’t smell like shifters, but their eyes were a brilliant, uncanny green while their irises were bright blue, telling me they were most definitely some cryptid. Shapeshifters maybe?
“I am,” I said, curtseying. “It seems my reputation precedes me.”
“Well, it’s not every day a witch graces our court here.” The two of them let out a laugh as if they were of the same mind, and I desperately wished that Darla weren’t locked in conversation with a harpy so she could get a read on them. Were they psychically linked? That seemed implausible but…not entirely impossible. “I’m Lord Darien Faulztus, and this is my lovely wife, Lady Maelynndia.”
Those were certainly some unique names. Perhaps they were from the Northwest?
My polite expression clearly was not up to snuff because the pair’s heads both tilted to the side at the same time.
“Did we say something amiss?” the man said jovially. “I’m sure you haven’t heard anything about us. We’re a couple of country bumpkins compared to most of the court here.”
“Oh, I apologize,” I said, blushing. “I was just caught up in my own thoughts.”
“She was wondering what we are,” Lady Maelynndia said, snickering, though not in a mean way.
“Guilty,” I said. I didn’t really think I pulled it off, but neither of them acted that offended. “Healer’s habit.”
“I am sure being able to quickly identify cryptids for diagnosis must be quite a boon!” Lord Faulztus laughed as if I’d told a great joke. “To satisfy your curiosity, we’re Tuatha.”
“Tuatha de Danann?” I asked, eyes going wide. “You’re talking about witches being rare? I’ve only ever read about your people!” Excitement bubbled in my gut, and I felt my inner magic nerd surge forward. “I apologize if this is too much, but would you be willing to let me read the two of you? Magically, that is. It would really help if I were to encounter an injured one of your kind in the future.”
The Tuatha were fairly solitary people who could give us witches a run for their money. They weren’t so much as anti-social as there were just so few of them, and they spent entire winters in hibernation in their burial mounds, leaving only to emerge in the warmth of spring and enjoy living above ground until the first frost. They were fascinating, known for the warmth of their hearth, and for being about fifty years or so behind the rest of the continent’s technology.
They lived in a valley not to the northwest, as I’d thought, but rather a land mass that’d once been connected to the western continent beyond the ocean. The bridge between them was submerged after the great flood. It certainly had caused their culture to develop in unexpected ways.
“Oh, goodness, never thought we’d be able to help one of our fine military,” the lady said before she and her husband laughed in unison. They appeared to be psychically linked, or maybe they shared emotions through a bond like shifter mates? Perhaps I’d be able to tell if they let me scan them.
“By all means, read us as much as you want. Our family will never believe us when we return home. They’ll think we’ll have made it all up, I’m sure.”
