31. Willow
Chapter 31
Willow
T he air thrums with anticipation as we line up beside the dais, facing the crowd. The rest of the exhibitors remain behind us and back toward the door like second-rate citizens. I find myself sandwiched between Dahlia and Irisa, feeling decidedly out of place in Bodin’s borrowed work clothes. At least it smells like him. When I’m bustled, I drop my nose to the shoulder and steal a whiff of his comforting scent. Instantly, I feel better.
Dahlia tosses her raven hair, the movement releasing notes of smoke and cinnamon. Her dress, a masterpiece of flame-colored silk, clings to her curves like liquid fire. Dark eyes rimmed with kohl regard me coldly, red lips curled in a perpetual smirk. She shares a look with Irisa on my other side, who examines her pearlescent nails with feigned disinterest. Her ethereal gown ripples like water with every breath. Her skin, the color of sun-kissed sand, seems to glow from within. I hate that she’s so beautiful. I hate that she’s the one Fox let dry hump him after he nibbled on her soul.
This simmering note of possessive jealousy is only getting worse. The urge to complete our mating bond crawls beneath my skin. I won’t feel satisfied until it’s done, until my Well-blessed mating mark is back, and I can sense each of my mates through the bond.
Alfie stands before Dahlia at the front of the line beside the dais, a vision in an iridescent suit that seems to capture and reflect every color in the room. He practically preens, his coppery hair perfectly coiffed, a dazzling smile plastered on his handsome face as he waves at the crowd like a king.
“How exactly does the point system work?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual despite the knot of anxiety tightening in my chest.
Dahlia and Irisa exchange a look, their eyes glittering with malice.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Dahlia sneers, her voice as sharp as her stilettos clicking against the marble floor.
Irisa adds with disdain, “Maybe if you’d bothered to dress appropriately, you wouldn’t need to ask such basic questions.”
I bristle at their tone, heat rising to my cheeks. “Women should be lifting each other up, not tearing each other down.”
They roll their eyes in unison and turn away, the subtle rustle of their gowns a whisper of dismissal.
From behind me, a deep, warm voice chimes in, rich as honey and just as smooth. “Don’t mind them. The point system is actually quite simple.”
I turn to see Heath, the tall, thin Never Shadow from the House of Moonlight, lining up behind me in a second row. He might have no capacity for magic, but his natural good looks are spectacularly exotic. His silver ensemble shimmers like starlight, his skin almost luminescent in the soft glow of the chandeliers. Beside him stands a new face—a muscular man with kind eyes nearly the same hue as his warm amber skin. This must be Corey, the new Shadow for the House of Stone.
Corey’s smile is genuine, revealing dimples that soften his strong jawline. His outfit, a masterpiece of intricate stonework patterns, seems to pulse with an earthy energy. “Each Radiant has a certain number of points they can award,” he explains, his voice hinting at a lyrical accent. “The more influential the Radiant, the more their points are worth.”
Heath nods, the movement causing the light to dance across his blond hair. “The trick is to appeal to their fae nature. They love wit, beauty, and just a touch of chaos.”
“Exactly,” Corey agrees, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Show them something unexpected, and you’ll have their attention.”
“The only unexpected thing I can do right now is strip down naked,” I joke.
Heath blushes. “I wouldn’t call that unexpected. Most of us have already seen you nude.”
“Good point.” I chew on my lower lip. Guess I’ll have to come up with something else.
“Thanks for explaining,” I mumble to Heath and Corey, then face the front.
With nothing else to do, I scan the crowd idly and hopelessly wait for Peablossom to save the day. If she doesn’t help me, it could be a blessing. I’ll be in the same position as my friends. Receiving a false leg-up seems just wrong. It makes me feel like a puppet again.
A familiar flash of brunette hair and green grabs my attention. Further back in the room by the refreshment table, Briar is chatting away with his captain and a rotund fellow—a curly-haired member of the Folk who speaks with a dramatic, animated expression. From his illustrious blue and gold embroidered attire and lack of charms, I assume he’s a Radiant. The captain hangs on his every word, suddenly bursts out laughing, and claps him on the back. Briar smirks but is less impressed.
Could this be the infamous Trixie-Pixie-Glen, whose pranks once turned the entire Court purple for a week and whose favor can make or break a fae’s social standing?
“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Let the revelry and rivalry begin!” Puck’s voice booms from resonance owl statues high in the ballroom rafters, rattling the ice sculptures. “Let us turn our ears to the enchanting whispers of our beloved Shadows!”
“Alfie, my dear,” Puck sings melodically, inviting him to the dais. “You need no introductions. You are known far and wide, a steadfast, modest, and mirthful jewel in our Court of Dreams—Titania’s own favored to triumph in the exhibition. What magic do you weave to be such a delight?”
Alfie flashes a dazzling smile. “Why, it’s simple! I just imagine everyone in their underwear . . . made of cotton candy and dandelion seeds!”
The crowd roars with laughter. Alfie gives a flourish, then skips off the stage.
Actually skips.
I cough with surprise. Irisa grimaces at me with disgust.
“Sorry,” I mumble, tapping my throat. “I just vomited a little bit.”
Dahlia moves forward. I shuffle gratefully along the line. Then realization hits. I’m next. And I have no plan.
“Dahlia,” Puck leans in, voice tinged with curiosity, “now whisper us a secret. What is your heart’s desire should you claim victory?”
She pauses thoughtfully and tosses her raven hair. I detect a faint tightening of her posture when she answers with a broad grin. “I’d ensure everyone had a charm to make them as naturally stunning as me. Then, no one would need to fear deportation to the Subterranean. World peace through fashion!”
Laughter erupts from the crowd as if the plight of mortals is a big joke, but quiet murmurs of support break out from the exhibitors. From the sour look on Ignarius’s face, I don’t think she was supposed to say that. But her own House can’t sponsor her points, and she still hasn’t lived down how a Nothing made her look inferior in a class. Could this be her attempt at currying favor amongst the mortal exhibitors? The more she has on her side, the less competition she’ll have during the trials.
It’s a great strategy, if not a lie. She cares nothing for those being deported.
Then it’s my turn. I step onto the stage and try not to vomit for real.
“Ah, Willow, our first Nothing Shadow,” Puck’s smile turns cruel, his stony eyes somehow glittering maliciously. He leans in close, his voice a silky threat. “Tell us, what’s your strategy for the trials? How do you plan to survive in a world that was never meant for you? After all, you’ve had plenty of practice, right?”
The crowd falls silent, and the mood suddenly grows heavy. I feel the weight of countless eyes on me, waiting for my response. Fuck Alfie for blabbering about my history. I instinctively seek out my mates’ familiar, comforting faces and find them standing together at the edge of the room. Legion’s expression is calm. Bodin’s is steady. Even Emrys and Styx hold no mocking glint in their eyes.
“Tell him to eat a bag of dicks,” Styx’s velvety voice slides into my thoughts, and I almost burst out laughing.
“Sounds like something an old-worlder would say,” I send back. “You’ve been spying again, haven’t you?”
“Maybe.”
It’s nice to hear his voice in my head. I haven’t spoken to him since our encounter outside of the keep. I thought maybe I’d scared him off.
“Have you . . . nothing . . . to say for yourself?” Puck taunts, still leaning toward me. He’s close enough that I smell chalky granite, a scent I’m beginning to associate with the Baleful Hunt.
Strange that I never noticed it this strongly with Sylvanar.
“I . . .” I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. He rolls his eyes like I’m an amateur and points to the resonance stone receiver in his hand. I lower my lips to get closer and reply, “I just want my team to survive.”
Dissatisfied moans wash through the crowd.
“Bravo. What a riveting response,” Styx teases me.
“It’s not like I’ve had time to prepare for the questions,” I shoot back, glaring at him. “And it’s not like you’re helping me.”
His reply is a little hesitant, almost tentative. “Do you want help?”
“Duh, of course, I want help from my mates.”
Puck’s smile tightens, a predatory gleam in his eyes. He gestures at my clothes. “And your, ah . . .” A pause. A smirk. “. . . unique outfit choice?”
“Tell him you’re wearing Bodin’s clothes in public because it’s making him hard, and it’s hilarious because he keeps having to adjust himself, and ? —”
“Not helpful, Styx.”
“Fine. Then tell him to go and eat two bags of dicks.”
A genuine smile stretches my lips. I can see why Fox spoke so highly of Styx. I bet those two get up to mischief when together. I can’t wait to be a part of it.
“It’s comfortable,” I answer with a shrug, earning nervous laughter.
Peablossom’s blue hair bustles through the crowd and into the front row before me. She mimes for me to tug on Bodin’s shirt laces and swings them down and out at the sides. Then she taps her head.
“Are you well, Lady Peablossom?” Puck scowls down at her.
“Oh—” She laughs nervously. “Just reminding our dearest confection to smile.”
Puck narrows his eyes at her. I’m already smiling, so I don’t think he buys the excuse. When he turns back to me, she widens her eyes and points again to the dress where the laces would be.
“Pull the laces,” Styx explains, mind-to-mind. “And wish for a fancy dress.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
I grin widely at Puck’s sardonic face, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure everyone can hear it. What am I doing? But there’s no backing out now. With a deep breath, I swing the laces in an arc, wish for a fancy dress, and silently pray I’m not about to make a complete fool of myself.
A hot, prickling, burning sensation in my hair. I almost think the acorn is on fire and pull it out, but then magic shimmers around me, like a thousand tiny fireflies dancing across my skin. I tense at the sudden sensation, the air around me crackling with energy and the scent of ozone. Peablossom mimes for me to tug the laces again. When I do, it’s like I tug Bodin’s shirt clean off my shoulders. But in reality, his clothes transition into a gown woven from twilight. Stars glimmer across the bodice, and a cape of shadows trails behind me. My hair lifts off my neck and twirls into a magical updo. I can’t see it, but from the gasps echoing around the ballroom, it’s either horrifying or beautiful.
Even Puck looks momentarily stunned.
“Behold,” Peablossom announces, “the true face of our trials—beauty rising from adversity!”
Impressed murmurs grow loud. A chorus of applause breaks out amongst both exhibitors and attendees. Puck recovers quickly, his smile turning mocking. “How . . . quaint. A new dress. Is that all?”
Peablossom’s eyes widen. “Oh, she’s not done. She worked on this next part for days, didn’t you, Willow?”
I stare at her blankly, secretly about to soil my pants. “Sure.”
With another flourish, Peablossom gestures to the crowd. Suddenly, Bodin’s work clothes materialize on someone else—Glen. The rotund, curly-haired ‘Trixie-pixie’ fae beside Captain Sorrel.
“Oh!” Glen exclaims, examining his new attire with shock.
Then, one by one, each Radiant and lesser nobility in the room suddenly wears a copy of Bodin’s black work clothes. A hush falls over the crowd. Everyone turns to Glen, the Court’s unofficial arbiter of humor and revelry. He sizes me up, I guess, working out if he approves. Then, he tips his head back, bellowing a laugh so hard it shakes his curls and belly.
The crowd erupts into raucous laughter, the sound vibrating the floor beneath my feet. When Puck calls for silence, the noise drops to an excited chatter. The mood is well and truly elevated as Puck faces me, his expression a battlefield of warring emotions—impressed, annoyed, and something darker, more dangerous. His eye twitches. His voice drips with sarcasm as he asks, “And how, if you would be so kind, did a Nothing achieve such a marvel? Or should we be asking who’s really pulling your strings?”
Peablossom stares at me, her smile tense. I lean toward the resonance stone, my mind racing, my eyes darting all over for inspiration. Wit, beauty, and just a touch of chaos.
I shrug and say, “Glen made me do it.”
The ballroom explodes with guffaws and cheers. Glen, ever the performer, looks mildly surprised at first. But when he realizes he’s been given the credit for this magnificent stunt, he takes a dramatic bow, and the applause grows.
I hike up my new ballgown and exit off the dais. With Peablossom’s help, I’ve inadvertently positioned myself as not just a powerful magic user but as someone who can play along with the most beloved prankster in Avorlorna. I hope that wasn’t a mistake.
Peablossom rushes over, knocking the gentry out of the way with her giant skirt. She takes my shoulder and tugs me to the side, eyes gleaming. “You were spectacular,” she gushes.
“You mispronounced ‘you.’”
She blinks. “Did I?”
I laugh. “You should have said ‘I’ because you were spectacular.”
“Oh no, dearest, I mispronounced nothing.” A coy look crosses her face. “You’re the one who thought to bring such a precious adornment for your hair.”
My hand flutters up to test my new do. My fingers land on the acorn. A spark zips into me, and I gasp, eyes wide, then snatch my hand back before anyone notices.
“Can I . . .?” I let my question trail off as another round of applause erupts, and Irisa sashays off the dais toward us. I didn’t bring the charm that provides a secrecy barrier around us.
“Did you know,” she says, “that acorns bring luck and prosperity?” Peablossom smiles with pride before licking her thumb and wiping my cheek like my mother used to. She gives a self-satisfied sigh and tells me to mingle before my luck runs out. Then she leaves to corral my Radiants into doing their duty and voting mindfully.
Not wanting to stand there and be gawped at beside Irisa, I decide to head to the refreshment table. I catch glimpses of my friends’ faces, still waiting further back in line. Awe. Confusion. And something else—something bitter they’re trying to hide that makes my stomach drop. Guilt hits me like a physical blow. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. We were meant to be in this together, and now . . . now I’ve left them behind. I wanted to stand with them as a team. Instead, I’ve been elevated above them, thrust into a spotlight I never wanted.
At the refreshment table, I’m stopped by Captain Sorrel and Briar, congratulating me on a job well done. More Radiants start moving toward me. Their eager eyes quicken my pulse. As the captain continues to ponder about the intricacies of my prank, I smile and nod vacantly but reach behind my back and fumble around the table. I’m sure I saw a butter knife moments ago. My fingers hit something cool, hard, and long. Success . I quickly hide it within the folds of my skirt.
“Excuse me,” I blurt, fanning my face with my free hand. “I need to visit the . . .”
I don’t finish because I’m already rushing toward the exit, aiming for the maze, hoping Peablossom is right and my luck won’t run out. Good luck rarely smiles upon me. I may as well make the most of it.