Page 62 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
I muse, “The Folk are already fractious with this strangely warmer weather. The mood is sour, and the Solstice Ball is in two nights’ time. It should be a time for revelry, not rotten sentiments. Ask Glen to prepare a special trick. Something to wow even the most cunning of Folk.”
We need something big to shake things up. My mind races with possibilities, each more outlandish than the last. Perhaps Ignarius had a point. Public executions? Forced humiliations? The old me would have balked at such ideas, but now . . . now they seem almost reasonable.
“Yes,”the dragon purrs.“Now you’re thinking like a true ruler.”
When nothing is to occupy their minds, the Folk—from the tiny to the tall—grow curious, antagonistic, and entitled. They will come out of the woodwork against Titania’s edicts and ruin the carefully constructed decorum of control.
“Perhaps a little rivalry,” Alfred suggests. “Some challenges with charms offered to the winners?”
I rub my jaw, a smile stretching my lips. Burn After Readingwas the perfect place to conduct dealings that went against Titania’s rigid Old Code. But if I can bring this practice out into the open, perhaps offering the exchange of charms and favors within the existing tournament structure, I will be seen as a benevolent leader on all sides.
I stop by a fountain before we leave the grounds. “A series of challenges and a leaderboard. We will announce it at the Winter Solstice Ball.”
“That makes sense,” he replies thoughtfully. “Revelry and rivalry. I like it.”
“Of course, it makes sense,” I reply flatly. “I came up with it.”
I catch sight of my reflection in the fountain. For a moment, I swear I see granite scales pushing beneath my skin, my eyesglowing with an otherworldly light. I blink, and it’s gone. But the hunger for power, for control, remains.
Chapter 27
Willow
Despite sleeping well in Fox’s bed, I stumble into the courtyard, bleary-eyed and miserable at the crack of dawn. Last night’s events weigh on me, leaving an odd mix of irritation and dissatisfaction.
The urge to be with my mates grows stronger each day. Wolves aren’t solitary; we run in packs, sleep in piles, nuzzle, and touch.Crystal City suppressed these instincts so thoroughly that I feared I’d killed that part of myself. Five years in Elphyne with my family, and with Tinger, flirted with reawakening it. Now, after bonding with Fox, being close to my mates is an itch I’m desperate to scratch.
Bodin seems to have warmed up to me, but Legion avoids my touch. Emrys glares with loathing. Styx remains a puzzle. And Varen . . . he’s complicated.
At least I have friends. My frown lifts when I spot Geraldine and Max waiting on the frost-encrusted grass. They wear exhibitor uniforms with warm, fur-lined capes. The cool air has glazed their eyes and painted their cheeks and noses pink. Clouds bloom from their lips as they warm their hands with breath. I hug my woolen cape close and ask, “Where’s Peggy?”
They exchange a glance.
“Still at the stables,” Max answers.
“I didn’t know she’d started working there.”
Geraldine pulls a book from beneath her cape. “The Knight Protector woke her early to demonstrate her daily chores.”
“Oh.” My brows knit. “That was fast.”
Geraldine presents the book. “Max and I found this in the library.”
I take it, gasping as invisible ants seem to crawl onto my fingers. “It’s magic,” I whisper. “I can feel it.”
“Maybe that’s why we never noticed it before.” She shares a look with Max. “We didn’t know it was magic.”
“You think it was hiding?”
“Read the title,” Max urges.
“The Secret Commonwealth of Faeries, Elves, and Faunsby Leonardo da Vinci.” I open the cover, admiring the elegant handwritten title. Flipping through, I find sketches and diagrams of faerie creatures with detailed scientific explanations. “I’m not sure why it feels magical,” I muse.
“It’s actually in Italian,” Geraldine explains. “But you can read it, so that might be what the magic is.”
“Italian?”
“A language from our time.” She scratches her head. “I know a little but can’t read much. It took forever to figure out the title. But if you can read it, maybe the book has changed the words to something I could read. I showed you because the author is a famous artist and inventor from . . . well, many years before even we were born. Weirdly, I found another book in the library with the same title, written by a monk about four hundred years later.”
