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“Hm. I’m surprised it didn’t work on you.”
“What makes you think it didn’t?” I retort, if only because I like arguing with him.
“You’re here, you’re not daydreaming, obsessively crying his name, or completely insane.”
My jaw falls. “Insane?”
Reiks nods. “Oh, yes. Zale enjoys bewitching women, but he’s not always inclined to follow through. For every ten prey he takes, he might fuck one or two. The others end up with various degrees of lunacy. It’s only temporary; like a love potion.”
“Oh, that’s all right then if he only temporarilyrenders women insanefor his entertainment.” Sarcasm drips from every word.
“I never said it was for his entertainment.” Reiks knocks on the panel separating us from the driver.
“Sir?” a voice prompts through unseen speakers.
“Avoid the main square tonight if you wouldn’t mind, Korin.” I’m impressed by his politeness.
“Side streets will take longer.”
“We have time,” Reiks replies.
“Yes, sir.” The connection shuts with the sound of static.
I’ve not often made my way to the city square, but it’s a circus at the best of times. There’s a day market four times a week, and a considerably more interesting night market once a week. On other days, random artists show up to dance, paint, or sculpt. Occasionally, there are political demonstrations in the streets of Magnapolis, and they often end in the enormous city square, the only place that can comfortably fit millions of citizens.
The Hall of Peace, where ambassadors from every kingdom negotiate important matters year-round, is situated at the end of the square, so it’s also the best place to be heard.
On festivals like Lughnasadh, there will be games, food, and music stalls for anyone to enjoy. The demis will have their own circles to join around midnight, but even after they leave, I imagine the square will be packed.
“The square’s too busy?” I’m guessing.
“I’m not concerned with bustling. Safety’s another matter.”
I frown. “Safety?”
He glances at me. “There’s been unrest in the city.”
That’s news to me. The last event of note I’d heard was his fiancée’s demise. “Rebels?”
His chin dips an inch. “Hm. Let us find a pleasant topic instead. I have a present for you.” He retrieves a flat, square velvet box from the seat in front of us, and places it on my lap.
I look at it like it might bite. “Another keepsake from your mother?”
“No, feather, this was designed for you.”
I find that even more unsettling. I’m also curious. “For me?”
I lift the lid slowly, far more excited than I’ll ever admit. When was the last time I got a present? After a moment, it comes to me: my finding day, before Yule, so over half a year ago. I was given dozens of trinkets I treasure if only because they come from my family, but no one’s everdesignedsomething for me.
Inside, I find a parure that makes me think of a cold night at sea. Elegant rough silver carved to emulate waves, and white moonstones with blue-green sapphires at the center of the choker, the bracelet, ring, and diadem.
I’m not materialistic. I don’t even wear jewelry on a daily basis. This parure, though? I’d wear it every day. Then request to be buried in it. It’s not that it suits me; it feels like a part of me.
I don’t understand how Reiks could have seen this far into me. I don’t even think I know myself well enough to come up with these treasures.
“I can’t accept this.” My voice is breaking, just like my heart, at the thought of giving this back.
I’m loathe to return it. I want it. It’smine.
