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The birds puffs out his chest and coos happily. It never occurred to me that Talon might like a bit of flattery. Maybe I should get on that bandwagon; he might wake me up with less screaming in the future.
“Hey, you’re doing something tonight?” I ask impulsively. “I have to go to a thing.”
She tilts her head. We get along, but we’ve never hung out outside of Five. “What kind of a thing?”
“A party, I guess. At the Lunar Club. It would be nice to have a familiar face around.”
Reiks might take umbrage at my inviting someone to his event, but if he wants me there, he can deal. I’ve seen his guest list; if there’s room for a hundred people, there’s room for a hundred and one.
“The Lunar Club.” She snorts. “That’s not really my kind of hangout.”
I don’t even know the name. “Oh?”
“Way too rich for my blood, for one. I’d have to get back to work just to afford one cocktail over there.”
“Where did you use to work?” I ask.
Daria smiles, and that’s when I realize I know very little about her. She slaps down anything remotely personal. “Here and there.”
“I’ll cover the drinks,” I offer easily. There, problem solved.
She purses her lips. “I’ll still pass. Sorry, I’d love to hang out with you, really, but not there. I’m not fond of the company. You have fun, Frejr.”
I decide not to ask her what’s wrong with the company. I’ll have to go either way; I might as well not make the ordeal more stressful to myself.
We exit the building together. Talon remains on my shoulder until we’re outside, then he spread his shiny wings and flies away.
“You enjoy Lammas.” Lammas is another word for Lughnasadh, mostly used in the south. Daria’s lilt lacks the lazy, sensual drawl I’ve heard from southerners, but the occasional slip of the tongue reminds me of her origins. “What do you say in the north, again?”
“May your harvest be bountiful,” I quote. Dorathians barely ever harvest anything in their deserts, so I’m not surprised they don’t share that common saying.
“That. Harvest well, friend,” Daria calls out, retreating to her dorm.
I have plenty of time to get ready, and I agonize over dress code, before deciding that I don’t care.
I wear jeans and a shirt, barely bothering to brush my hair before tying it into a ponytail. Reiks can strong-arm me into attending his stupid party, but if he thinks I’m dressing up for him, he’s mistaken.
I pack my bags, to be ready to leave as soon as I’m awake tomorrow. My cousins will have taken the casual family craft, but I can hire a ride.
I have over an hour to kill, so I make my way down to the dining hall on the ground floor, feeling awkward. I usually eat with my cousins, or in my room.
The vaulted ceiling of dark stone is marbled with gold, and illuminated by hundreds of floating candles. It’s a clever spell. As I look at it, I can almost see the echoes of its crafting glinting in the air.
I force myself to look down.
There’s a buffet tonight, including bilberries and cornbread, as a nod to today. Too restless to be very hungry, I bypass the stews, roasts, and cold cuts in favor of the traditional harvest fare, and take my bowl to the fireplace. I’m not cold, but I’ve always liked the energy of a roaring pyre.
“Frejr.”
I blink up in surprise, both at finding Zale Devar in the tower of magiks’s dining hall, and at the fact that he addressed me.
His silver-blond hair’s falling in his eyes in messy strands. He pushes them away, but they flop back down almost immediately. Between the bed head and the wrinkled shirt open at the throat, he looks freshly fucked.
“Devar.” I shoot him a smile. “You’re in this dorm?”
He snaps his fingers leisurely, and the fire in the hearth loses all its warmth, flames dancing silver and green rather than their usual shades of reddish oranges. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Why, indeed. I just shrug. “I never noticed you.”
