Page 35 of Too Hexed to Handle

On the other side, another group are whispering in hissed voices about their meeting with Damian.

‘He’s giving me enough to buy a plot of land in Rerta. Can you imagine? I’ll finally have a home.’

‘That’s nothing. I’m getting the medicine I need for my son. It costs hundreds –’

‘When I’ve won the competition, maybe I’ll slip you a little something for your son. But the Emerald King is giving me my own shipping company. I’m going to sail the Durconan Ocean in search of treasure. My winnings will be tripled by the end of the year.’

I suppose it’s nice they’ve stopped trying to kill each other, but it doesn’t hide the fact only one of them is going to win. That the rest will go back to their ordinary lives, with their sick children, or their lack of homes, or their – okay, I have slightly less sympathy for the woman who wants a fleet of ships, but who am I to judge? I’m here for an inn.

Suddenly, it seems slightly ridiculous we’re all milling around, waiting for the location of this cure, drinking from golden goblets. If Damian’s emeralds are limitless, he should stop making indestructible trees and instead turn pebbles into spendable gems, so we all get what we want.

Maybe then I’d believe our hexes could be gifts.

Maybe then there’d be a point to magic, if it was used to help not harm.

We edge closer to Damian as we walk across the courtyard. I’m convinced I can feel Astin’s eyes burning into my back, but I refuse to turn round.

‘So many people,’ Nuri says, coming to a stop next to the hog roast. ‘Winning seems impossible, wouldn’t you say? It’d be best for everyone here to give up.’

‘Everyone except you, you mean?’

She smiles. ‘Perhaps.’

‘Are you going to tell me your sob story? Do you have an ailing relative that makes you more worthy of winning than anybody else?’

‘Nope. I entered by accident, honestly. Bumped into Cale at the inn last night. He was talking about coins, and I fancied some of those. So. Here I am.’ She points at another large group of contestants. ‘Shall we go over there?’

I barely look in their direction. Damian’s finished his drink, his goblet hanging limply from his hand as he slumps in his chair, glowering at his gloves with the same intensity I sometimes give my hexmark.

‘You should find Cale,’ I tell her. ‘I need to . . . do something.’

She seems set to protest – it’s unclear why witnessing me kiss a man to death made her think I’d make a good ally – but I abandon her in favour of approaching Damian. His gaze flicks up to meet mine, and it’s hard to tell if he’s pleased by the interruption.

‘Did nobody tell you it’s rude for a host to ignore his guests?’

That earns me an uptick of one corner of his mouth, at least. ‘I greeted them individually, didn’t I?’

‘And now you’re hiding in a corner. Why throw this party if you won’t join in? You could give us the information we need to find the cure and send us on our way.’

‘I wanted to show people what my wealth can achieve. A taste of what will be theirs, if they succeed.’ The answer is so smooth it sounds rehearsed. ‘And who says I’m not having fun? Perhaps I prefer watching from my corner.’

Please. Someone else might believe that, but I’ve lurked on the sidelines long enough to know that can’t be true. No matter how happy I feel for the couples in my inn, or he feels for the pairs swirling around the dance floor, there’s always something niggling underneath, a desperate thought of, Why can’t it be me, instead? When is it my turn?

‘Don’t you get tired of watching?’ I ask.

He hesitates. ‘Do you?’

‘Every day.’

Something about my confession draws his full attention. He studies me, and I resist the urge to fidget as he assesses my appearance, wearing the dress he chose, in the colour he’s claimed as his own.

‘Well.’ He rises and stretches out a gloved hand, jerking his head towards the dancers. ‘Shall we?’

‘Oh. Oh, no. I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t suggesting . . .’

Dancing with him is surely going to put a target on my back with the other guests. Besides, my fantasies about being spun round all feature, unfortunately, Astin.

But Astin didn’t ask. And there’s a perfectly pleasant man standing right here; one who’s reaching out for me rather than turning away and complaining he’s at a party in the first place.