Chapter 10
Ten
I sprint through the maze of tents and burst out in an aisle directly behind the audience.
A man in the crowd spots me. He stands, his voice cutting through the confused chatter. “There she is!”
Heads whip toward me at once.
The golden-haired queen surges to her feet with a delighted squeal. “What a show!” she cries, clapping so enthusiastically her bracelets jangle. “Did you see her vanish, Solara? And now she has reappeared! Oh, that was splendid indeed!”
Her sister, Solara, rises more gracefully, offering a cool, approving smile.
“It is a great honor to earn such high praise from Zephara. I, too, was quite entertained.” She begins clapping, and soon the entire court follows suit.
The platform erupts in applause. The crowd joins in, cheering and stomping their feet until the air feel like it’s trembling.
Declan stands at the center of the stage, eyes fixed on me. His expression mirrors the sinking feeling in my gut—bewilderment, unease, the shared understanding that whatever just happened wasn’t part of the act.
For what seems like the hundredth time today, I have no idea what just happened.
The card burns against my palm, its edges biting into my skin as if reminding me it’s still there.
People leap from their rugs and cushions, swarming toward me. Questions volley faster than I can breathe.
“How did you vanish?”
“What inspired your story?
“Are you and Mr. Thorne betrothed?”
I lose sight of Declan in the crush. Perfume, sweat, and incense press in as hands reach for my sleeves, my hair, my skirt.
“Stay back,” Dav booms, his voice cutting through the din. He carves a path through the people encircling me and plants himself at my side with one hand hovering near his sword.
Tarek bounds through the crowd behind him, a grin plumping his round cheeks. “By the sun, that was magnificent! We thought the gods themselves had swallowed you whole! And then your return…as if conjured from thin air. What drama! What theater!”
Declan muscles through last, shoulders squared, jaw tight. “Glad we could entertain,” he mutters, nodding to the crowd as they gawk at him and hurl questions and compliments. His dark eyes snap to me. “Are you all right? What happened out there?”
I shake my head quickly, forcing the words through a tight smile. “Not here.”
My pulse thrums against my ears, the applause and chatter blending into a single, roaring blur. I can still feel the heat of Fortune’s presence clinging to my skin, the shimmer of magick thick in the air. My fingers ache from gripping the card, its edges digging into my palm.
It’s proof. Terrifying, impossible proof.
The Wheel of Fortune isn’t metaphor or coincidence—it’s real. And if this place holds that kind of power, what else might it be capable of?
I can’t catch my breath. I can’t begin to explain.
Beneath the confusion is fear tangled with awe so potent it almost hurts.
I’ve spent years hiding behind the idea of magick, treating it like armor.
Something to sell, to believe in just enough, to hold between myself and the world.
But now that it’s staring back at me, alive and undeniable, I feel small.
Naive. Afraid of what it might want from me.
The circle parts again, and the crowd quiets as the Player glides forward.
“The queens are most pleased,” she says, gaze flicking between us. “You will perform again tomorrow night. As you see, the people hunger for another tale.”
My throat dries out. “Tomorrow? I thought we could leave—”
“And journey where?” Her smile is all edges. “Back to Cups?”
“Why would we return to the lesser Kingdom of Cups,” Declan replies smoothly, “when we have clearly come here to share our gifts with Wands?”
She inclines her head. “Well spoken, Mr. Thorne. Yet mark my words—so long as you dwell beneath our sister queens’ favor, you will perform each night. It is the custom of this kingdom, and no soul stands above its law.”
Dav barks at the gawking onlookers to clear a path, and he and Tarek guide us through the narrow lanes of tents. The cheers fade behind us, swallowed by the hiss of the torches and the thrum of blood in my ears.
Questions radiate off Declan like heat, but he keeps them behind his teeth, both of us silent until we duck inside.
A platter of food waits on the low table near the bed—bowls of roasted vegetables glistening with oil, charred flatbread, figs split open and glistening like jewels, and a small pot of something that smells like honey and spice.
I barely register it before throwing the tarot card onto the bed, half expecting it to burst into flames or suck us into another realm.
“It was Fortune.”
He glances back at the seam of light along the ground, then takes my hand and draws me to the tent’s center, away from the walls. “They can hear us.”
I swallow. “She was here,” I whisper. “On the stage. She—she stopped everything. Time. The crowd. You.” My throat tightens, the words spilling out too fast. “It was like the world froze, except for her and me. She said the Tower chose me, that I wasn’t ready.
Then she left. I chased her all the way to the edge of camp, but she disappeared. ”
Declan studies me in silence, his brows drawn tight, the flickering lanterns throwing shadows across his face. “You’re sure it wasn’t—”
“I know how it sounds. But magick here… It’s real. I saw it. Felt it. There’s no logical explanation for what happened. The Wheel of Fortune card… It’s alive somehow. It’s what brought us here.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “If that’s true…” He exhales slowly. “Then is she the key? Does Fortune control it—the magick?”
“She has to.” I sink onto the edge of the bed and tear the flatbread in half. “She literally stopped time,” I say around a mouthful. “She has to be the one who can send us home.”
Declan picks up the rest of the flatbread and folds it in half before taking a bite.
I pop a roasted chunk of carrot into my mouth as I trace a finger over the card’s gold edges. “I don’t know how to pretend this is normal.” I shake my head and shove the card out of view under the nearest pillow. “Every time I think I’ve caught my breath, something else happens.”
Declan stops in front of me, his shadow falling across my lap. “We’ll find her again,” he says firmly. “Fortune is drawn to you. You’ve seen her twice in less than a day. Meanwhile everyone else we’ve asked hasn’t seen her at all.”
He lowers himself to one knee in front of me and closes his hand over mine where it’s fisted in my lap.
The heat of his palm quiets the restless tremor buzzing through my body.
He’s close enough that I can smell the salt of sweat on his skin and the faint earthy tang of dust and smoke clinging to him.
“But until we do,” he continues, voice quieter now, “we keep acting the way they expect us to. We perform, we stay alive, and we figure out how this place works.”
I force out a small, wobbly smile. “Right. Think positively. We can do this.”
“That’s the spirit.” His mouth curves, and he squeezes my hand before releasing it and rising back to his full height. The space between us fills with cool air, and I hate how quickly I miss the solid warmth of him—the quiet steadiness he carries while everything around us continues to spin.
“You were really good onstage,” I say. “Like, surprisingly good.”
He shrugs, eyes darting anywhere but mine, and in the low, flickering light I swear there’s the faintest flush creeping up his neck. “I may or may not have been Edward one Halloween,” he says, voice dry but softer than usual. “And Jacob the next.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “So this performance was years in the making.”
“Something like that.”
I open my mouth to tease him again, but a yawn steals the moment.
“We should wash off this glitter and get some sleep.” He crosses to the trunk, rummages through it, and pulls out two silk robes—gold for me, deep burgundy for him.
“Is it too much to hope that we’ll each get our own private shower?” I ask, clutching the gold robe.
Declan parts the tent flap, the corners of his mouth twitching. “In a kingdom where everyone performs for a living? I wouldn’t count on privacy being part of the package.”
The bathing tent sits a few aisles over, humming with voices and candlelight. People slip in and out, wrapped in robes, steam curling around them. The air smells faintly of myrrh and citrus.
Inside, the ground is packed, wet sand that shimmers with leftover suds. Barrels line the perimeter, each brimming with water and fitted with ladles that glint in the steamy air. Smaller amphorae wait nearby, their clay mouths chipped from use, and soft towels hang from carved wooden racks.
The tent is empty, and we claim a spot in the corner. Without prompting, Declan turns his back to me and positions himself between me and the rest of the tent, broad shoulders angled just enough to block the view if anyone should enter.
My fingers fumble at the ties of my dress. The fabric slides down, whispering against my skin before pooling at my feet. I peel off my underwear, kick the pile of clothes aside, and try not to think about the fact that my heart is pounding loud enough for him to hear.
He peels off his shirt, and a fine dusting of glitter drifts from his shoulders like starlight.
I try not to stare at the way the muscles shift beneath his skin as he takes off his pants, the play of light across his shoulders, the faint trail of glitter clinging to the curve of his spine and shimmering down his ass.
I fail spectacularly.
“Are you going to keep watching,” he asks over his shoulder voice, teasing but careful, “or help me get this glitter off?”
“Bossy,” I mutter, rolling my eyes even though my face is on fire. I grab a rough cloth from a nearby rack and dip it into the soapy water. Bubbles burst between my fingers as I wring it out and step closer.