Page 78 of Castle of Nevers and Nightmares

“Ifeel ridiculous in this dress,” I mumble, walking in silken slippers through a city street. At least it hasn’t snowed for days now. My new, fur-lined cape keeps most of the cold from my body.

It’s now the end of the week. I’ve hardly seen Legion, Bodin, Fox, or Emrys. Any time I inquired, Cricket gave a standard response about the war pulling them away, but not to worry, they would return for the Holly King’s feast.

Without a target for revenge, I had no choice but to go about my days like every other exhibitor. Each was a copy of the first. I woke up, found my room somewhere it hadn’t been the night before, ate breakfast while Varen and I conversed about bees, puked after crawling across the rickety bridge, and attended classes.

Alfie’s Radiant kept him so busy that I hardly saw him either. At first, I thought he was avoiding me after what I did to Dahlia, but this morning, he pulled me aside on my way to a very boring Tactical Warfare class and asked me why I never showed up.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, but he only had time to respond, “Midnight tonight, then. Burn After Reading. Don’t tell anyone.”

I’m still trying to decipher his words, but I hesitated to ask Cricket.

He’s left me walking into this feast without a clue. Another custom of the Gentle Interlude is how nobility from each house must troop through the city, making a show of stability and pleasantry for the general public. I see it for what it truly is—a distraction, a faerie trick. It’s a pretense that all is well despite the war bubbling beneath the surface.

Legion walks ahead of me, elegantly dressed in a black tailcoat, a vest, and pleated trousers. Moonlight catches his silken tresses with every step. I can’t see his face, but I doubt he’s smiling. His grueling pace is akin to a wolf on the hunt, as though this city is his next meal.

But if he thinks I can’t keep up, he’s mistaken. I can outlast anyone.

Bodin is a silent and steady presence at my back. His clothing allows quick movement, as though he expects danger to spring from behind each tree or structure. His decorative loose black shirt is laced at the neck, and his buckskin breeches are dyed similarly. Seemingly impervious to the cold, he wears no cape. No weapons are visible on his person, but only a fool would believe he’s unarmed. His sharp gaze treats every flicker around us as a potential attack.

My voluminous skirt rustles more than once, and he pauses to listen for danger.

Black silk organza and gray lace surround my legs like a decadent storm. A tight bodice accentuates my waist. The V-neckline is exactly how Legion requested—plunging and wide. When I checked my reflection in the mirror, it didn’t look too bad. I think the worst of my curse is in my face, yet even that seemed less hideous tonight. Maybe I’m getting used to it.

Over the past few days, I’ve stewed over his behavior at the dress fitting and have concluded he’s setting me upfor humiliation. How else can I explain that he had ample opportunity to hide my ugliness, but instead decided to display it?

She’s perfectly suited for the light.

Except in this city, anything less than pretty is a nightmare.

With every step, the pillows of my breasts wobble and threaten to spill from the bodice. The ridges of my scars rub and irritate along my collarbone. I feel exposed with my silver hair pinned into an intricate knot at my nape. With nowhere to hide Tinger, I should have left him at the castle, which I suspect was Legion’s plan. But if he thought he could steal the precious manabee, he would be sorely disappointed. I pat the bulk beneath the skirt at my hip. Tinger is with me now.

Wreaths of holly and berries decorate doors. Garlands entwined with otherworldly lights swing beneath the webs. I force myself to relax and appreciate the scenery. Children giggle and play in the twilight shadows, occasionally daring to dart from their homes to glimpse the valiant House of Shadow Radiants.

Once or twice, I catch Bodin teasing them with a spurt of shadow curling from his hand. They squeal and retreat to the safety of their home.

It is busy on the towering, tree-lined street. Buildings rise to multiple levels, with railings and walkways running between the establishments. Both faerie and mortals brave the low temperature to celebrate the rise of the Holly King with joyful flute music and whimsical dances.

I don’t think he’s a real king, but a representation of winter. People are dressed in their finest—glitter sparkles around their eyes like snow in the sun. I’m so enthralled with the magical sights that I almost step into a dreamscape.

Bodin yanks me back in time to avoid a dreamer’s wild swing as she takes an ax to a blob shaped like a man. She screamsin bloody triumph, and then the tingling of ants recedes as the dream fades.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

Bodin leaves his warm grip on my nape, guiding me gently forward until we arrive at a Dandelion Drift beside a building. The restaurant entrance is on the upper level. As we politely wait our turn on the muddy street, the occasional stare is cast our way. A satyr child with cute horns clip-clops up to Legion and offers him a handmade crown of twisted laurel and holly. He bows reverently for the crown to be placed, then straightens without a word. The little satyr fumbles a curtsey and skips off to her mother, cloven feet splashing on the muddy path with glee.

Legion purposefully walked us through the lower-class district even though it was colder, muddier, and messier than the walkways above. I wonder if these people see the Radiants as often as the upper levels do. When the Drift becomes free, only two seeds remain. Legion plucks them free and mutters something about a lack of supply.

“You take her.” He hands a seed to Bodin.

“Naturally.” Bodin slides his arm inside my cape, around my waist, and tugs me close. My hitched intake of air fills with his warm, woody scent. It is much deeper and headier than Fox’s, yet still reminiscent.

My pulse quickens as he drops his gaze to my lips and asks, “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

We become airborne together. It’s hard not to feel protected inside the steel barricade of his arms, not to feel moved by his beating heart against my cheek. He holds me like something precious, not with the distance I’m accustomed to. Even Alfie’s touch seems cold compared to this. The ride is only seconds, but I’m still breathless when he deposits me on the tree-bough walkway.

I stumble. He grips my elbow, steadying me, and holds my gaze until I mumble, “I’m okay.”

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