I must know if…
I must…
But I do not feel him anywhere. I do not see him, either, when I turn to look. Not at his seat at the head of the main banquet table, not on the dance floor. Not anywhere my eyes move. I reach out with my senses, testing the limits of our bond, stretching it across the city from wall to wall, twining through the labyrinth of canals all the way to the sea gate.
Still, I cannot feel his presence. It’s as though he’s vanished off the face of the earth. As though he’s retreated from me until my decision is made.
The one time I actually crave his snarky commentary, he decides to respect my autonomy? The one time I desire him to push my boundaries beyond reason, he regards them with utmost politeness?
Skies, I could throttle the man. My hands curl into frustrated fists in my lap. The movement knocks the thick envelope resting there to the ground.
Carys’s letter.
Perhaps it holds some insight. Perhaps my old friend has some sage words of wisdom to impart, some lessons from afar to help make an impossible decision slightly easier.
I sweep it up like it holds the solution to all my troubles, my grip tight enough to bend the parchment. I push out of my chair so suddenly it startles Cadogan from his siren-induced haze.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine,” I lie, heart thudding madly. “I just need some air. I’m going to walk the ramparts for a while.”
“Do you want company?”
I shake my head. “I will be back soon.”
He looks troubled, his old instincts rearing up inside him. But I am no longer under the protection of the Fire Court. He is not sworn to guard me as he was back in Dyved. His mouth presses shut and, with a short nod, he lets me go.
I wind a slow path around the edges of the dance floor, not entirely sure where I am headed. A quiet place. Somewhere I can read the letter in peace, away from the drunken revelry. The aviary, maybe?
The gown floats around my legs like water, lightweight silver threads catching the candlelight with each step. My eyes move across the crowd, studying every face—most of them unfamiliar to me. Regardless, everyone smiles as our eyes meet, relaxed by the thrall of good food and better wine. Spirits are high.
Folks always love a wedding.
My eyes move quickly past the half-sirens holding court by the spring. The dense throng of admirers has only grown since I last looked their way. I’d finally been introduced to Tethys a fewhours before. She is no less attractive than her twin, with the same voluptuous body and voluminous curls, but her temperament is somewhat softer. Tethys has a tendency to fade into the shadows while Melité actively seeks the spotlight.
When she feels my gaze, her black eyes move to mine. No whites are visible around the irises—they are two glossy pools of octopus ink that, like her smile, lack all warmth. Her skin, though luminous, never loses that eerie blue sheen that brings to mind the scales of a fish. She cants her head in greeting, exposing the long column of her neck, and I see a series of deep gouges on either side.
Gills.
I force a wan smile in return and keep moving. My eyes continue to scan the crowd until I reach the far side of the gardens. It’s less crowded here, but I hear the occasional love-laced sigh sounding from the foliage as I move onto the darkened path. More than a few couples have snuck off for a bit of privacy—Bretiax and Jac among them, I realize as I round a bend and spot them pressed tight together by a large jasmine shrub, hands exploring each other’s bodies in a way that requires no shared language skills.
My cheeks heat as I avert my gaze. Hurrying my pace, I follow the mellow glow of lanterns to the aviary, praying I will not find it occupied by another groping pair. I’m nearly there when I trip over something that sends me sprawling face-first onto the path. I curse as I catch myself, palms planting on the mossy earth.
My oath is quickly overtaken by a series of deep chuckles. “That was elegant.”
Dusting dirt from my skirts, I turn toward the familiar voice. My eyes track the long lengths of two booted legs—the source of my trip—up the wide planes of a chest in a dark teal tunic. It’sVaughn, his huge form slumped against the base of a palm, his back pressed to the trunk as he nurses a heavy goblet of what I’m guessing is Titan gin, judging by his red-rimmed eyes.
“Vaughn. Sorry, didn’t see you there.”
“Not me you’re looking for, though, is it?”
My nose scrunches in confusion. “Pardon?”
“He’s not here.”
“What? Who?”
“Soren. He’s not here.” He pauses to take a sip. “He’s who you’re looking for, isn’t he?”