Chapter 26
twenty-six
George hosts a shitty dinner party.
George loved hosting her friends for meals.
.. usually. They’d rallied around her in Isahn’s absence, and Wynnie was staying the night again as she’d done the past five in a row.
Georgie would have her relocate to the villa soon, but Hildy and Isahn hadn’t been gone long, and Wynn was popping out every other day to check for correspondence.
Dunstan and Burke were around too, as often as possible—as much as she’d allow. Just that morning, George had to kick them out for having an over-the-top pillow fight—with one real pillow and one magical—in her sitting room.
She tried to laugh at the memory of Wynnie shouting at them to stop and Burke getting thwacked in his distraction. But her chest felt leaden, and her heart heavy.
“Have you gotten any letters?” Burke tossed out the question as he served himself a fresh piece of fish.
Wynnie pierced him with a look of condemnation as George let out a heavy breath.
“Is that a no?” Burke asked.
“Deiwa nekami.” George tossed her hands up in frustration.
“Yes, that’s a fucking ‘no,’” Wynnie replied, piercing Burke with more than a glare, based on the way he forcefully scrunched his eyes shut.
“She’s so mean,” he whined.
On the heels of a sigh, George promised, “The moment we hear from Hildy and Isahn, I’ll let you know.”
A knock came on the dining chamber door, and her friends shared a meaningful look as conversation went silent and they tried to decide who might be in the corridor.
“I’ve got it,” Dunstan offered, rising from his seat.
“Evening.” Adda’s low voice greeted them as Dunstan opened the door a crack, and he swung it wide to usher the cook inside.
“What are you doing here?” George asked through a small smile as she hopped up to give him a hug. “I thought you were busy in the kitchens tonight.”
“I need to get back down there, but I had to come by.”
“Great, you can give us an—”
“Come sit. Hildy, shield us.” George interrupted Dunstan as she registered Adda’s wringing fingers and the way he kept shifting his weight between his left and right foot.
She could feel herself dropping into the role of Princess: Her shoulders rolled back, her chin lifted, and the constant buzz in her mind—the ever-flowing memories of Isahn—quieted. Something was wrong.
All eyes were on her rather than Dunstan, and the pity in them, immeasurable.
“Hil’s not here,” Wynnie whispered.
“Oh.” Her heart pinched as she realized she’d misspoken. “Of course. Adda, speak quietly. What’s happened?”
Elbows propped on the table, he leaned in and whispered, “Gasparo is concerned about Gianis and Marinos.”
George’s blood went cold.
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. He didn’t talk to me, but Ruairi overheard him asking after them, and Gasparo was irate when he learned they hadn’t been seen in days. They missed a meeting with him.”
“Does he suspect us?” Burke asked, voice hushed.
“I don’t know anything beyond what Ruairi told me.”
George let her vision unfocus as she stared at the distant wall.
Ruairi was an elf who often handled food service to Gasparo’s triclinium.
He was also a good friend of Ean’s. She was inclined to trust the tale he’d shared with Adda.
“We need to be vigilant—especially you three while you’re out in the halls.
” She looked from Dunstan, to Burke, to Ean, who’d settled on a decanter during the conversation.
“Understood,” Dunstan confirmed.
“How’s the other project?” George asked carefully, aware they were never entirely safe from prying eyes and ears in the palace.
Adda’s smile was grim. “Ready when you are.”
The pill was complete.
Needing a break from heavy thoughts, and with her dining chamber far too close to the corridors for comfort, they passed the rest of cena with Ean regaling them with the Tale of the Six.
The young faerie sat, or rather flitted, in his usual spot over the center of the table while he unleashed a lengthy and ridiculous story about a bunch of “wee bairns” stabbing a bear, melting some ice, and prancing around the countryside.
As with all fae tales, this one was told in the slightly disconcerting present tense.
“Then the bairns crack up o’er the country, and the mas and das dance among the stars,” Ean finished with a flourish.
That boy loves being the center of attention.
Resituated on a crystal-topped decanter, Ean flitted his wings to spin in a circle while he reminded them all, “It couldae happened eons ago. It may be occurring at present. It might be yet to come.”
It could be entirely fabricated, Georgie thought as she sipped her wine.
No matter the veracity of the folktale, Eanraig’s animated storytelling helped George keep her thoughts off the big issues for the length of the first and second courses, so she couldn’t complain.
“There are a lot of children in these stories. Is that like... a faerie thing?” Burke asked.
“Ach, they migh’nae be bairns. These tales come from the fates. We might all be bairns to them. Come on, I’ll serve ye all comissatio in the other room.”
Feeling almost uncomfortably full, George and her friends followed along, albeit at a slower pace than the young fae.
A tinkle preceded their entrance to the chamber, Eanraig setting their post-dinner drinks.
Another sounded at their backs as he cleared away the remains of the second course.
Ean was remarkable, and George couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at the fine young man he was becoming.
She couldn’t wait to pay him officially for his services to the Crown, to elevate him to the position he deserved.
Settling into seats with alcohol and a collective sigh, they all recognized it was time to discuss the road ahead.
“What do you have for us?” George began, her eyes on Ean, who produced a tiny goblet of who-knew-what for himself.
With his wings buzzing double time, it was a wonder he hovered and didn’t plow into a wall. “I’ve spent a lot of time researching the books and talking with the elders.”
She beckoned him over, needing him to take a seat because his constant movement was adding to her stress.
He nodded contritely before flitting over to sit atop her braids, making himself a throne among the gilt leaves.
That’s not what she’d wanted, but she allowed it.
“I dinnae ken for sure, but it seems to me that mindmolding is about the same as what the veil does. When ye lot implant magic into the minds of others, ye’re essentially building a big wall around the real memories.” Ean paused before leaning down to peek at George over the top of her forehead.
“Yes, Ean. I understand. Keep going.”
“Ye can each replace one sense from a real memory, that’s like painting a patch here or there. But when ye overwrite the whole thing, it’s nearly impenetrable. The veil seems to work in the same way, but rapidly and absolutely.”
“So we can’t fix it?” Burke cut in.
“Let him finish,” Wynnie replied, defending Ean for possibly the first time in her life.
“Ach, theoretically, if it was weak enough and just one brick was gone and the right pressure provided, the wall could crumble.”
“Any proof of that?” Dunstan asked.
“Tales from the elders.” Ean shrugged, taking to the air once again.
“Just like that stupid one about the queen? Or the one about the six?” Wynnie was back to her old self. “Definitely accurate information you’ve brought us tonight.”
“How strong is the wall created by the veil?” Burke posed.
“I dinnae ken,” Ean replied, breezing up toward the star-painted ceiling. “But it’s strong. I think the veil might be an amalgamation of sensory magic, mixed with somethin’ else that allows it to work almost intelligently, without human interaction.”
“Did we break him?” Dunstan inquired.
“The faerie, or the earl?” Burke joked to groans. He couldn’t change who he was.
George let out a whimper, prompting Wynnie to hop up and stand behind her, two small hands coming to rest on her shoulders. She gulped a breath, steadying herself before she looked around. “Let me be clear,” she began, her tone firm, “you didn’t break anyone. Gianis and Marinos did.”
“And we definitely broke them,” Burke intoned.
“We can’t say for sure what the veil did, but you think it’s possible that if Isahn can somehow chip away at the bricks in his mind, he could regain his memories?” Dunstan summarized and asked the elf for confirmation.
Ean nodded. “Aye. I’m not done looking for information. But I think that’s a start.”
“It happened right at the end of the veil,” Wynnie reiterated a fact they’d all heard a hundred times over the past week. “Maybe the magic wasn’t as strong then? Maybe it won’t be permanent?”
“I think that’s entirely possible. Did I not make that clear?” Ean asked.
“No, not at all,” George grumbled.
“Sorry, P Georgie. I think because the magic hit him late, the wall may be weaker, thinner, maybe patchy.”
A tiny spark of hope kindled in her chest. “I’ll write to Hildy.
Keep looking for information, everyone.” George stood from her chair.
“You’re welcome to stay out here as long as you like.
” Wine in hand, she slipped into her bedroom.
With her back against the door, a sigh slipped from her sad mouth.
Rolling her shoulders back and giving her head a shake, she stalked off to find parchment and write some letters.