2. Taste
TASTE
KIT
Kit awoke to the worst kind of sunlight.
The kind that was far too bright, far too cheerful, and rudely shined directly in her stars-damned eyes.
Groaning, she turned over and buried her face in the plush cushions of the drawing room settee, which Kit now realized was where she’d passed out after the previous night’s festivities.
The sweet aftertaste of honeyed wine clung to her tongue, but the pleasant effects had long since worn off.
The less pleasant ones, however . . .
“Well, well,” came a chipper voice. “Here lies the mighty Katerina Ravenswing, slain by her own excesses.”
Kit muttered a string of unintelligible curses into the cushion.
“Beg your pardon?”
With great effort, Kit lifted her head just enough to squint at her infuriatingly perfect brother, who leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, golden eyes sparkling with amusement.
“I said, ‘fuck off,’ ” she rasped. “And I’ll throw in an ‘I hate you’ for good measure.”
Evander strolled into the room with a chuckle. “I gathered as much. Sadly for you, my fucking off won’t do you much good, as the next person to come looking for you is sure to be our dear mother. She wants to see you before the council meeting.”
Kit waved a lazy hand in the air. “I’m sure she and the king can solve the world’s problems without me.”
“Important as you are, little sister, I didn’t mean she expected you to attend council. Not that our mother would ever presume to ask.”
Kit snorted.
“She just wanted to check in with you over breakfast, given that neither of us has seen you since before you headed off to the Gilded Gryphon or wherever those friends of yours have been loitering lately.”
“Breakfast?”
“Yes, the meal one typically enjoys after waking from?—”
“I know what breakfast is, you insufferable?—”
Another person who looked entirely too put together for this ungodly hour waltzed into the room, cutting her off. Elyria’s periwinkle hair was damp, the end of her braid still dripping onto her dark tunic as she planted a light kiss on Evander’s cheek.
“Ah, of course. The Gryphon,” she mused. “So that’s what defeated our darling Kitty Kat.”
“Not another word, Lightbreaker,” Kit warned, rubbing her temples.
Elyria smirked, dropping into a chair with the easy grace of someone who had not spent the previous evening overindulging.
Evander perched on the arm of the chair, shaking his head at Kit. “You’re pathetic.”
“And you’re both irritating.”
“But you love us,” Elyria said breezily, plucking an apple from a platter Kit hadn’t noticed her carrying. She set the plate on the table beside the settee with a grin. “And lucky for you, we love you too.”
“Not enough to be willing to leave me alone,” Kit said with a groan. “Surely a visit to all four quarters of hell would be less annoying than putting up with the two of you.”
“I think we need to work on a little thing called ‘perspective,’ darling,” Elyria said before biting into her apple.
“Speaking of which,” Evander said, turning to Elyria, “come with me.”
Elyria blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “What? Where?”
He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “To get a proper breakfast before I leave for the palace.”
Elyria waved her apple in his face. “I’m good.”
Kit’s eyes widened slightly at the cool edge to her friend’s voice. She propped herself up on her elbows, eyeing the assortment of fruit on the platter before her with dubious interest. “What’s at the palace?”
Elyria pursed her lips. “Ask him. He won’t tell me.”
Evander’s brow creased before he opened his mouth to reply . . .
And quickly shut it as someone new strode through the drawing room doorway.
Kit bolted upright, wincing as blood rushed to her already pounding head. Because there, in all her cool, calm, collected glory, stood Duchess Laeliana Ravenswing.
Her long midnight robes swayed as she entered the room, golden eyes sweeping over the trio. Kit grimaced, suddenly very aware of how she must look. Surreptitiously, she tried to flatten a rogue lock of her silver-white hair that was playing at defying gravity.
“Ah,” said Laeliana, voice smooth as silk. “How lovely it is to see my children gathered together, awake and dressed”—her eyes flicked to Kit, still wearing yesterday’s rumpled and stained outfit—“before noon.”
“Always the tone of surprise,” Kit grumbled.
Laeliana arched a delicate brow, the sunlight streaming in from the window behind her making her tawny skin glow. Her gaze landed on the goblet resting on the floor next to the settee.
Kit followed her gaze. “Oh, relax, Mother. That’s from last night. I promise I won’t imbibe until I’ve at least had a bite to eat.”
Evander coughed into his fist. Elyria buried her grin in her apple. Laeliana’s brow lifted higher, surveying her daughter for a long moment before flicking her gaze to Evander.
“You should leave for the palace soon. The king expects you within the hour.”
“Again with the palace,” Kit said, throwing her arms in the air before finally snatching a handful of grapes from the fruit platter and popping one into her mouth. “What does our uncle need with him?” she asked between chews.
Evander’s expression didn’t change. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just politics.”
Kit squinted at her brother. “You hate politics.”
“I tolerate politics,” he corrected. “Unlike you.”
“Bah, politics are for people who enjoy lying and being lied to.”
“Which is precisely why you’ll never be a politician,” Laeliana said with a shake of her head.
“And thank the stars for that.” Elyria winked at Kit as she stood. “I’m off to the training yard. There’s someone I want to check in on.” She moved toward the doorway, exchanging a glance with Evander before adding, “I’ll find you later, Kitty Kat.”
Laeliana turned to her daughter. “And I’m off to council shortly. Do try not to burn the place down in our absence, yes? Maybe you might even take this opportunity to, I don’t know, shower? Get dressed?”
Kit smiled sweetly at her mother before settling back against the settee, draping her forearm over her eyes to block out the light. “No promises, Mother, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Admittedly, Kit was feeling rather good about her life at the moment.
She was having a productive day, really, having progressed from the drawing room to the sitting room.
She’d even managed to shower and dress per the duchess’s wishes, something that made being spread across her mother’s favorite chaise, sipping from a goblet of her mother’s favorite honeyed wine feel rather deserved.
“Her Grace will flay you alive if she catches you drinking before midday, you realize.” Elyria’s melodic voice filtered into the room, and Kit turned to see her friend leaning against the doorframe, emerald eyes twinkling.
“What is it with you two and lurking in doorways?” Kit griped, though a grin was already spreading across her face.
“Anyway, didn’t you hear? The morning star has emerged.
Which means Her Grace is rather preoccupied with making arrangements for those who wish to travel to Luminaria, bear witness to the Arcane Crucible, all that sort of thing.
” She took a long sip of wine. “Excellent timing, really. I think I’m safe from the wrath of Laeliana Ravenswing for the time being. ”
“Your funeral.” Elyria shrugged before flopping down into a chair opposite Kit. “So, what’s the word around court regarding the Crucible, then? Do they think there’s actually a shot of someone winning the damn crown this time, or will we be stuck waiting another twenty-five years?”
“Who knows? A few notable champions from across Nyrundelle have thrown their proverbial hats in the ring. Ev seems skeptical, though.”
Elyria nodded, leaning forward to pluck the goblet of wine from Kit’s hands.
“Hard not to be, with two Crucibles come and gone and nothing to show for it but dozens of grieving families and a couple weeks of pretty lights dancing in the sky.” She took a quick sip, then scowled when Kit immediately snatched her drink back.
“At least we have that to look forward to,” Kit mused.
Elyria hummed noncommittally, stretching her legs out in front of her as she settled deeper into the chair.
“Oh, sure. The aurora’s gorgeous. A beautiful reminder of the glorified bloodbath that is the Arcane Crucible.
Every cycle, a new set of champions go in, and every cycle, they don’t come out. ”
Kit swirled the wine in her goblet, catching the roll of her own mismatched eyes—one green, one blue—in its mirrored surface. “Ever the optimist, aren’t you?”
Elyria flashed a smile that showed far too many teeth. “When you’ve crossed to this side of your second century of life, my darling, you can tell me just how optimistic you remain.”
“There’s nothing wrong with holding on to a bit of hope.”
Sighing, Elyria pulled at the strip of leather tied at the end of her braid, then raked her fingers through her hair. “Hope. Right.”
Something in her voice had Kit’s brow arching. “You sound particularly bitter today.”
Some emotion flickered over Elyria’s face, the light in her eyes dimming for the briefest moment.
“What’s going on?” Kit asked.
Elyria waved a dismissive hand, then reached for the wine again. “Oh, nothing. Still recovering from yesterday’s bout in the training ring.”
Kit pulled back so the goblet was out of Elyria’s reach and took a pointed sip. “Uh-huh. This have anything to do with you scurrying off this morning? What could possibly have happened during training that has you so desperate to steal the wine I rightfully stole first?”
Elyria scowled as Kit took another sip.
“Did you and my brother have a spat?” Kit gasped. “Did he finally make some grand romantic overture that made you cringe? Please tell me you turned him down nicely, at least.”
“Don’t be a brat.”
“Fine, then. Was Kerrigan being insufferable again?” Kit paused. “Or maybe it’s unrelated entirely? Have you . . . When’s the last time you heard from your father?”