“She must be a saint if she deals with the lot of you day in and day out.”
Ruairi came back with a basket and threw himself into the chair. “God love that witch. She’ll have me fat as a fool.”
“What’d she give you this time?” Tadhg asked, rubbing his hands together.
Ruairi set the basket between us and removed the cloth, revealing heart-shaped pear tartlets. He tilted the basket toward me. I selected the smallest one, setting it on the tablecloth beside my empty plate.
“Saturdays are my favorite days,” Ruairi said, his mouth full of tartlet.
Rían and Tadhg grabbed one each, mumbling their agreement as they settled back in their seats.
With dessert this good, I was going to ask Eava to marrymenext Saturday. “Any other traditions I should know about?” Fridays were for the Danú and Saturdays were for proposing. What about the rest of the week?
Rían dabbed his lips with the serviette before trading it for his wine glass. “After dinner, we retire to the parlor to take bets.”
My father used to do the same, closeting himself away with any male guests to drink and smoke cigars and trade tales of their brilliance.
“What do you bet on?” I’d always been curious. When I’d asked him, my father had said it was not a lady’s concern.
Rían pushed away from the table and took my hand. “Anything and everything. Death. Life. Rain. Snails.”
I caught a shared glance between Tadhg and Ruairi, but neither one said a word as they stood and started for the parlor.
“Snails?” How did one take bets on snails?
A draft blew in from the main door, fluttering the tapestries. I could’ve sworn the woman holding two heads watched us as we passed. Why anyone would want to commemorate something so brutal and grotesque was beyond me. Battles were something to be avoided and mourned, not celebrated.
“We’ve raced them,” Rían said. “And frogs. And squirrels. And one time, worms, but we all ended up passing out before we saw who won.”
“I won,” Ruairi announced, holding open the door to the parlor, “but these two eejits were too mean to pay up.”
“Ruairi never wins,” Rían whispered, shaking his head.
Three of the most handsome men I’d ever known—and certainly the most powerful—raced snails like children. If the people of Airren knew the truth about the Danú and magic, they wouldn’t be nearly as afraid.
Ruairi collected another bottle of faerie wine from the drinks cart and brought it to the short coffee table where five glasses appeared. “Will ye join us tonight? I’m sick of lookin’ at these two bollocks. And ye might keep the deceitful prince honest fer once.”
Warm, fluttery hope swelled in my chest. “You want me to join you?”
“Only if you want,” Tadhg said over his fresh drink.
“I do. I really do. But I don’t have any money.” I was having such a lovely night, I didn’t want it to end.
“Oh, we don’t bet money.” Rían flicked his wrist, and a silver cufflink appeared. Yanking a button off his waistcoat, Tadhg added it to the empty glass. Ruairi dragged a black medallion from his pocket and threw it in as well.
What did I have? I untied the blue ribbon holding my hair back from my face and dropped it into the glass with the other trinkets. “What’s the challenge?”
Rían rubbed his hands together as if plotting our demise. “Snapdragon.”
Tadhg and Ruairi groaned.
A curved porcelain plate appeared, filled with raisins and almonds. Tadhg shifted a bottle of what smelled like brandy to douse the nuts and fruit. Then Rían conjured a ball of fire in his palm and lit the alcohol ablaze.
“The lads never miss a chance to show off,” Ruairi muttered.
All the candles in the sconces and the fire in the fireplace went out, leaving nothing but blue flames from the burning plate flickering over our faces.
The men began undoing the cuffs at their wrists and rolling their sleeves over their forearms.