𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝟐𝟎↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

                       𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

                               𝟐𝟎

                      ↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

Oak is in cricket green, dancing around in front of the carriage. When he sees me, he runs over, wanting me to carry him, then he runs off to pet the horses before I can. I roll my eyes, laughing. He is a faerie child, with a faerie child's whims.

Taryn is beautiful in her heavily embroidered dress, and Jude looks lovely in her silky lavender gown. Vivi is radiant in soft violet gray with artfully sewn moths that seem to fly from her shoulder, across her chest, to gather in another group on one side of her waist. I realize how rarely I've seen her in truly splendid clothes. Her hair is up, and my earrings glitter in her lightly furred ears.

Taryn still looks upset, and I haven't gotten a chance to explain the dressing situation to her. I take her hand my own and squeeze it, she looks at me and smiles softly. I grin.

In the carriage, there is a hamper of things to eat, which was clever of someone, because none of us has remembered to eat enough all day. I remove a glove and eat two small rolls of bread so light and filled with air that they seem to dissolve on my tongue. At the center of each is a mass of honeyed raisins and nuts, their sweetness enough to bring tears to my eyes.

Madoc passes me a slab of pale yellow cheese and a still-bloody slice of juniper-and-pepper-crusted venison. We make quick work of the food.

I spot Madoc's red cap, half in and half out of his front pocket. His version of a medal, I suppose, to be worn on state occasions. None of us really speaks. I do not know what the others dwell on, but abruptly, I realize I am going to have to dance. I am terrible at dancing, since I have no practice in it other than humiliating lessons at school, partnered with the twins.

I think of the Ghost and the Roach and the Bomb, trying to safeguard Dain against whatever Balekin has planned. I wish I knew what to do, how to help them.

𝗞𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗥 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗠𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗔𝗚𝗘.

I look over at Madoc, drinking spiced wine. He seems entirely comfortable, totally unaware of—or unconcerned with—the loss of one of his spies.

My heartbeat drums faster. I keep remembering not to wipe my hand on my skirts for fear of smearing them with food. Eventually, Oriana pulls out some handkerchief soaked in rose and mint water for us to wipe ourselves with from who knows where. This sets off a chase, with Oak trying to avoid being washed. There isn't far for him to run in the carriage, but he keeps it going longer than you'd think, stepping on all of us in the process.

I am so distracted I don't even automatically brace when we go straight through the rock and into the palace. We're lurching to a stop before I even notice we've arrived. A footman opens the door, gaping at me with disturbingly wide eyes, and I see the whole courtyard, filled with music and voices and merriment. And candles, forests of them, the wax melting to create an effect like termite-eaten wood. Candles rest atop tree branches, flames flickering with the whoosh of dresses sweeping below. They line the walls like sentries and clump in tight arrangements on stones, lighting up the hill.

"Ready?" Taryn whispers to me. I almost snort.

"Never," I say breathlessly.

We pile out of the carriage. Oriana has a little silver leash she attaches to Oak's wrist, which strikes me as a brilliant idea, although he whines and sits in the dirt in protest, like a cat.