AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Fortunately, Draven seemed not to have heard. Or if he had, he was pretending to not have. What she had said had been cryptic enough that I hoped he would have no idea what we were even talking about.
Our party followed Rychel and Hawl out of the gallery where she paused and looked at Crescent. “It would be so much faster...”
“Really, Rychel?” Crescent rolled his eyes. “I still have to fetch Gawain and Taina.”
“Yes, and won’t this save you time? Just stitch us over to my suite and then go back and fetch them, too,” Rychel said sweetly.
“Oh, very well. It won’t take much, I suppose.”
We formed a circle. My hand was still in Draven’s. Warm and solid. I squeezed slightly and felt the reassuring press of him squeezing back.
It was all part of the facade, I reminded myself, trying to suppress the butterflies swooping around my stomach. If it felt natural then so much the better. My part would be easier to play.
I blinked. I hadn’t learned my lesson. Not that I supposed there was much to see when one stitched.
We were in a different hall, standing outside a doorway covered with very bright, very messy paintings of birds reading books.
“This is my place,” Rychel said cheerfully. “Well, everyone come in.” She pushed the door open and stepped back to let us pass as Crescent vanished again, presumably to collect the rest of his family.
I wandered in, peering around curiously. Rychel's living area was as much of a refreshing change from the rest of the Siabra court as she was. The suite was entirely different from her white and stark workshop.
The foyer of the suite was a domed courtyard where delicate vines cascaded from trellises hung with flowers blooming in hues I had never seen in the natural world. The uneven stones beneath our feet were covered with colorful splashes of paint, as if someone had simply tossed pots of the stuff around, determined to produce a chaotic mess of rainbows. Around us, three balconies jutted out from various levels, leading back into other rooms of the suite.
Walking across the courtyard we entered a disorderly but cozy sitting room full of overstuffed chaises and stained velvet chairs, where towering stacks of books teetered precariously alongside tall wooden shelves overflowing with thick tomes. Piles of parchment littered the floor in places, covered with hastily scrawled notes and sketches.
A spiral staircase led up to another level where I saw a large, unmade bed strewn with patterned silk pillows.
“Don't mind the mess,” Rychel encouraged. “Step into my chaos. All are welcome here. Well, all ofyou, at least.”
She gestured towards a wall of glass doors leading out onto a terrace on the other side of the living space. Outside was a long wooden table, set with a charmingly mismatched assortment of plates and goblets.
“Help yourselves,” she said, gesturing to the piles of food and steaming dishes. “I'm sure Crescent will be here in no...”
“Time at all,” Crescent finished from behind her.
Gawain stood at his shoulder, grinning. He had probably become used to all of Crescent's stitching jokes, I thought, smiling at them. In front of them, little Taina hopped back and forth from foot to foot as she stared at the mounds of goodies on the table.
“I'm starving,” Beks announced loudly.
Everyone laughed and suddenly that was all it took. We pulled up seats around the table and dove in.
Hawl had outdone themselves with the feast. There were skewers of shrimp coated in dragonfire, a fiery blend of spices that Hawl claimed were a secret recipe. The shrimp had been delivered with Crescent's help from the coast that morning.
It turned out Draven was a seafood lover. As I watched as he devoured skewer after skewer, his eyes closing in bliss, a bolt of affection passed through me like lightning.
I glanced away, just in time to be offered a plate of tartlets Odessa was holding out. Taking one, I sank my teeth into a sweet velvety creamy concoction infused with crushed berries.
Across from us, I watched Javer pop a stuffed quail into his mouth, then slap Beks' hand in the next instant, just as the boy was about to pour himself a goblet of nectarine wine.
Beks's face took on a sulky expression.
I choked on my tartlet, trying to suppress my laughter. It wouldn't do to have my personal guide think I was laughing at him. Not when he had been so generous about sharing secrets with me.
“Mermaid's Song, Morgan?” Rychel asked. She was standing beside me, holding a silver pitcher. Before I could answer, she filled my goblet to the brim with something blue-green and cold. She leaned down to whisper in my ear, “This should make your night more memorable.”
“What exactly is this stuff, Rychel?” Draven demanded, eyeing my goblet suspiciously as his sister filled his own.
“My own special brew,” Rychel said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Crafted from the melodies of mermaids caught in seashells and the tears of phoenixes who lost their way home.”
