CHAPTER 21
The sky was a deep, unbroken black, illuminated by a full moon and millions of stars.
The snow-capped mountains encircling the city of Mountheim painted the landscape, their white peaks reflecting the moonlight as the city below glowed with its own golden lights.
I couldn’t believe how the air was cosy and warm in the open courtyard beyond the castle walls, now transformed into a celebratory space filled with rows of towering candelabras.
Their candles flickered in the open air, casting a kaleidoscope of colours over the lush green grass and pines.
The trees surrounded the east and west sides, while the south contained the gates that connected the castle to the city.
But the candelabra weren’t the only source of light. Tiny, ethereal wisps clung to the tree trunks and to the bushes that formed aisles throughout the courtyard. They glimmered in hues of pale blue, yellow, green, and soft pink, creating an enchanting spectacle.
Snowflakes drifted lazily through the air, as if lifted from the ground rather than falling from the sky. The courtyard carried the crisp, invigorating scent of fresh pine and cool spruce, mingled with a faint sweetness of liquorice and a metallic tang.
The Aurora Rite was already bustling with people, with more arriving through the open gates leading to the city.
They spread out across the vast space, though most gravitated toward the centre, where a towering oak—the only one of its kind here—stood majestically still.
Its sprawling branches and leaves stretched over like a dome, sparkling with the same bright wisps.
Nearby, long banquet tables overflowed with delicacies: pink, orange, and deep red drinks shimmered in glass goblets alongside platters of cheeses, bite-sized shrimp pies, sliced fruits, glittering chocolate confections, and intricately crafted treats.
But the absolutely best part was the sound of flutes, banjos, and guitars playing the most animated, whimsical notes.
“Your second-in-command did an amazing job of organising this Rite, Reagan,” Alameda remarked over the rim of her drink, the sleeves of her rose gown with golden beads billowing as she glanced around.
“You should tell her that,” Reagan answered dryly.
“I suppose I don’t need to congratulate you then,” she shot back in a snide tone. “You probably don’t deserve any credit for it.”
Coriander laughed, one arm wrapped around his bonded’s waist as she stood in front of him, her short stature doing little to conceal his bright, velvet purple suit. “You’ll get us thrown out of the party, dear.”
She shrugged, but smiled widely at me.
“I didn’t plan the decorations. I have other talents,” Reagan said, sounding a bit defensive.
“Showing up isn’t a talent,” Gwinifer replied, her jet-black sleeveless dress with a high collar concealing her neck—and the fish gills beneath it.
He huffed, his eyes darting to me as he had a good number of times that night, taking in everything—the hair I’d let down, the copper strands pairing nicely with my dark emerald dress.
It was crafted from light velvet, the fitted bodice smoothly contouring my figure.
The sweetheart neckline dipped low, framed by slender straps that rested lightly on my shoulders, while the skirt pooled at my feet.
I had looked my fill, too, noting how his broad shoulders filled out the sleek navy-blue jacket perfectly, the velvet-lined lapels catching the light with a subtle sheen. Beneath it, he wore a black button-up shirt, and his pants were tailored to fit him exactly.
Bad idea, I reminded myself.
“Well, what did you do?” I asked, lifting a shoulder.
I knew what he did, as did his sister, who was present at the meetings when they discussed security measures, the food, warding, spells for prepping the temperature, lights, and entrances.
He might not have decided on the presentation—that was all Cerridwen—but he did spend hours discussing and deciding with the parties involved.
“Godric damn you all,” he muttered, taking a long gulp of ale while the rest of us laughed.
“You seem to be in a good mood,” Finnegan quipped as he approached us, resting a hand on Reagan’s shoulder. His blond hair was swept back neatly, the waves concealing the pointy tips of his ears, his suit the usual light grey he favoured, with darker lapels.
“Finnegan.” Coriander beamed, pulling Finn into a hug. “I haven’t seen you in a while. If Reagan is overworking you, Erisea still needs an emissary with your skill set.” He glanced between Finn and Alameda. “Maybe we can talk. We’re currently in need of your diverse connections.”
“Tell me what you need,” Finn answered as they moved on to a private conversation.
I watched as Reagan and Gwinifer greeted some of the citizens.
The last time I had seen him among his citizens was at the Audience, when he had seized a man who attacked his second-in-command.
I had expected tension or resentment over that incident and the estate’s troubles, but there was none.
Not from the guests who attended the Rite.
They greeted him with smiles, many repeating the same phrase: Zara stirs in our favour.
Reagan nodded, addressing most by name. Politely. Lordly.
The words were familiar, but I couldn’t remember when or where I’d heard them.
I spotted Finnegan heading towards the food banquet as other guests passed by, and I made my way to him.
“What does it mean? May Zara stir in our favour?” I asked him.
He glanced in my direction while sorting through the plentiful spread. “It’s a wish for the end of the sentence,” he replied, bringing a shrimp pie to his mouth.
“So it’s just a prayer then?” I asked and received a confirming nod.
After biting into a shrimp pie, my eyes rolled at the pumpkin and cream flavour. “What does Coriander mean by your diverse connections?”
Finn swallowed the last bite of his frostberry tart before answering.
“I have relationships with other lands besides mage estates. Lands that are ruled by other folks, so the Barrows asked for some help approaching one of those. They want to start some kind of trade with Banfgaard, and I happen to know its ruler . . . quite well.”
“Hm, what kind of folk live in that land?” I asked, picking a large strawberry with chocolate and deciding whether I should bite or eat it whole.
He simpered. “The elvenborn.”
My eyes bulged, the huge berry lying halfway chewed in my mouth, and someone interrupted us before I could ask more.
“Where did you go?” Reagan asked, and both of us spun around to find him settling next to me.
I lifted a hand to cover my mouth. “Eating.”
Reagan dipped his chin, eyeing something on my face. Without warning, he brushed his thumb on the corner of my lips and cleaned a smudge of chocolate, which he then brought to his own mouth and licked. He tasted the drop, nodding in approval while his tongue swept any remnants from his lips.
Heat sparked through my body in response.
Finnegan’s eyes darted between us when he said, “You know, we do have napkins.”
Reagan glanced at him with a smirk. “You’re more than welcome to take one for yourself.”
The emissary lifted one of the sand-coloured papers from the table, brought it to his grinning lips, and walked away.
“I can use a napkin too,” I said, after finally finishing the strawberry.
“Did I embarrass you?” he asked, his tone shifting to a seductive murmur that I could almost mistake for a spell.
“No, but what are others going to think?”
A quick glance sideways confirmed that we were being observed by a few curious eyes, likely due to the Mage Lord’s presence beside me.
He shrugged. “That I’m a lucky man,” he said smoothly, “or that I’m helping someone for a change.”
It was a little barb slipped into his words, as though he didn’t help his people, as though he didn’t give enough. It made sense that Reagan would feel guilty around his citizens. Seeing the animal features, hearing their wishes for the end of the sentence.
It made my chest tighten for him.
“Because trying to fight a horde of Wraiths isn’t helping anyone, of course,” I quipped dryly, reaching for a glass of pink ale.
Reagan chewed for a moment before speaking. “It’s my obligation. I’m not . . . volunteering. Believe me.” His voice was stern, his eyes serious. “I’m not selfless. If I could, without consequence, I’d be pursuing my own interests far more often.”
“So everything you do is an obligation?” I challenged softly. “Somehow, I doubt that. What interest would you pursue that you can’t now?”
He stared. Long enough that I wondered if he’d answer at all. With words, at least. But his eyes, quietly boring into mine, said plenty.
My stomach clenched. Then, almost reluctantly, his gaze flicked past my shoulder. I turned to see Alameda approaching.
“I came to grab Jane for a while. Do you mind?” she asked, looking at me with inquisitive eyes.
“I’ll see you later,” Reagan said, and we strode away.
She hooked her arm around mine as I took a deep, quiet breath and led me to a spot where Gwinifer was sipping her drink.
“Red,” she greeted, her words carrying a tipsy drawl that had me narrowing my eyes.
“I was telling Gwin about your visit to Erisea and the things we talked about,” Alameda said in a cryptic tone. “And how that gave me an idea that our battle mage here was able to help with.”
I hummed. “What idea?”
Gwinifer looked right and left before she said, “Come with me.”
The Lady of Erisea pulled me as we followed Gwin past the guests, the banquet tables, and towards the first line of pine trees that glowed with wisps.
“Where are we going?” I asked right before Gwinifer stopped behind a tree that concealed us from view.
“We will show what the elven spirit is like,” she stated.
My brows knitted as I stared at her, catching sight of Alameda, whose smile was getting bigger by the second. Gwin lifted her hand between us, her knuckles shimmering a bright red. An ivory plate with three small chocolate cakes appeared above her hand.