Page 79 of The Cursed and the Broken
His eyes flashed. “On second thought, perhaps we have time before the feast.”
I laughed, shaking my head and turning to the mirror again. My throat thickened with emotion suddenly at how easy this felt. How nice.
“Thank you,” I breathed.
I didn’t have to clarify just how deep that went. Dante only nodded and offered his arm. Squaring my shoulders, I didn’t spare a thought for the girl I’d left behind.
Only the woman I’d become.
I had eyes only for the food when we arrived at the feast. The hall was beautiful, with giant tapestries depicting scenic locations lining the walls and fireballs suspended with magic hovering beneath the domed ceilings. The table swept down the length of the room, where men and women in glittering finery laughed and drank.
But it was the dishes and the smells that caught my attention. Roast meats and vegetables drizzled in gravy, small poultry, freshly baked bread, endless carafes overflowing with wine. The spices coating several vegetable dishes were heady and consuming; I let each ensnare my senses, noting imported saffron, sweet cinnamon, ginger, and more.
Dante offered me a seat by the head of the table. Farkas hadn’t arrived yet, but his chair seemed imposing in the bright space. All the nobles in attendance smiled and laughed, but I couldn’t help but notice the sideways glances at his chair—the taut lines as they spoke.
A darker power had reared its ugly head and Mistvellen was under threat once again. I supposed anyone would be frightened of that. Many would have lost loved ones the last time the cultists came calling.
I took a large gulp of the red wine, trying to focus on the conversation, nodding and smiling politely to the gushing of the noblewomen seated closest to me, but I couldn’t help lapsing into thoughts of the Sötét Erdo. They were hiding there, biding their time to strike or for us to walk into their net.
At last, Margit entered the hall, saving me from my thoughts and the idle conversations of the women in court. I’d rather fight a lidérc than pretend to know the first thing about sewing a hemline or what the fashion of the week was.
My heart jolted. Eszter would be in her element if she were here. A boot slid up my thigh under the table and I choked on my wine, throwing Dante a glare. The rascal just smiled, his cheeky grin sending welcomed shivers up my spine.
Margit slunk into the chair beside me, her eyes a little too bright. I raised a brow, searching her face. She looked drained since the half hour I’d last seen her. Drawn, pale skin and eyes lined with dark circles even makeup couldn’t hide.
“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I rested a hand on hers and she startled at my touch. Her skin was cold as ice.
“A ghost,” she murmured, so quietly I didn’t hear her. “Yes, a ghost.” She blinked rapidly, seeming to return to the present. “I—I had a vision.”
My heart jolted, but I pulled a wine goblet and wrapped her fingers around it. “Drink. It’ll help calm your nerves and warm you up.”
She took it gratefully, sculling it to the dregs. Colour seemed to return to her cheeks almost instantly and she sank deeper in her chair, twisting anxious hands into the folds of her navy skirts as she leaned closer.
My eyes met Dante’s from the other side of the table and one look was all it took until he was by our sides in an instant, crouching between us. He spared a concerned glance for his cousin, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“I saw her, Kitarni. Risen from the ashes, as alive as you and me. There’s no escaping her return. I know deep in my bones there’s no stopping it.”
Straightening my spine, I looked her in the eyes. “I know, Margit. Death warned us this was inevitable. What matters is what we’re going to do about her return.”
She nodded, grabbing another goblet from the passing waiter’s tray. Under the table she discreetly emptied her flask into the cup, stirring it with a black painted fingernail. “She will destroy the world if she comes to power. I have seen it—what will come to pass should she triumph. Mistvellen, your home, all of our kingdom will rot or burn.”
“We won’t let it come to that,” I said sternly. “I swear it.”
Margit squeezed my hand, her brows pinched with sadness. “You will not be the same when you are done.”
Frowning, I studied her face. “What do you mean—”
A bang sounded from the far end of the room and Dante returned to his seat as everyone rose, bowing and curtseying as Farkas entered. All waited until he was seated before resuming their positions.
The wolf lord’s dark eyes swivelled to me.
“My lady,” he said with a polite nod. “I trust you’re enjoying your stay thus far?”
“Mistvellen is a beautiful place, my lord, rich with culture. Your people seem well cared for … happy.”
He paused, sipping from his goblet before steepling his fingers. Every action he took seemed measured, precise. I wondered if he ever relaxed behind closed doors or if he was always so stern and straight-backed. The wolf lord’s eyes always seemed to search for danger, even as he scanned the room now, his gaze sweeping over every guest.
Farkas stared at me thoughtfully and I wanted to wriggle under the weight of it. He seemed tense, his posture stiff and tiredness rimming his eyes. “Happiness is a by-product of feeling safe and knowing one has stability and security. The cultists threaten what we’ve built here, but I will not let my city feel the sting of loss again.”
