Chapter 1
Fae Territories - House Rowan
Becka leaned out the alcove balcony above the great hall, grateful for a few stolen moments away from the crowd. In her youth, she and her twin, Tesse, had retreated to this very alcove to watch the crowds from on high. Observing fae interactions from this vantage point meant they could catch clues about intrigue or flirtations with high-borns who didn’t realize they were being observed.
Now Becka used the alcove as a welcome retreat from the magic worn by so many fae, which drilled like porcupine quills into her brain.
Tonight, Becka’s heart ached fresh over the loss of her sister. She’d done her best to smile and nod to emissaries from the other houses, trying to make connections via small talk. She’d never appreciated the effort required to chitchat, especially with fae magic everywhere triggering her persisting headaches. After an hour or so, she’d escaped upstairs for this much-needed break.
Fishing her bottle of hot sauce out of a deep pocket in her skirt, Becka flipped open the lid one-handed and took a swig. She sighed with relief as her headache instantly abated. She shook a stream of the bright-orange liquid into her glass, swirling the fluid into effervescent, sparkling white wine. Becka then tried to flip the lid closed one-handed, but lost her grip on the smooth bottle because of the silk gloves she almost always wore.
While the gloves might protect others from her Nulling magic, they cost her precious grip dexterity.
There was a moment, perhaps two, where she watched the bottle hang in the air, spinning in slow motion before it hit the marble floor below. A credit to its manufacture, the bottle didn’t shatter. Instead, the distinctive liquid shot out on impact, peppering those in range with the pungent, fiery sauce. A fae elder from House Hazel screeched in surprise as her pale green boots and layered brown robe took the brunt of the blow.
A pair of muted laughs erupted near the stairwell behind her, reminding Becka that her wolf shifter guards had followed along. From the floor below, all eyes lifted to her position in the alcove. It was a good thing she’d grown fond of the shifters. Becka’s usual blunt and direct sense of humor was welcomed by the shifters, unlike her fae relatives, who had little appreciation for it and often took offense.
For a lack of something better to do, Becka waved and smiled down at the crowd like she’d seen beauty queens do on human television. How did it go? Elbow-elbow, wrist-wrist. Smile wide. No, wait – less teeth!
I probably look like I want to throw myself over the ledge, like my hot sauce had done.
If she’d had to name a common emotion on the faces below, Becka would have characterized it as disappointment.
“Way to embrace getting away from the crowd,” whispered Saige, one of her wolf-shifter guards. Becka glanced back at them. Saige’s green eyes glistened with humor, her pixie haircut accentuating her soft, youthful features in the muted light. “I give her a two.”
“Oh, you’re being too harsh,” Luce replied, also whispering. Her hazel eyes never lost their sharp, determined focus. “She’s improving. I’d give her a six.” She’d pursed her lips as if deep in thought. Her wild, shaggy mane of chin-length brown hair cast her features in shadow.
“Six out of…?” Becka asked, feeling her smile falter as she continued to wave down to the onlookers below.
“A hundred,” Luce replied, and the two shifters giggled.
Below, her mother, Duchess Maura, arched a brow at her while rubbing her temple absently. The ruler of House Rowan, adept at creating illusions as convincing as reality, wore a new dress for the occasion, an off-the-shoulder look which wrapped close around her form in layers of green and gold light, a hue which matched her eyes perfectly. Her hair was swept back into a twist atop her head with a few tiny braids accentuating the curve of her neck. The tips of Maura’s layered gown shimmered and shifted in the evening light, reminding Becka of aspen leaves fluttering in the wind.
A water elementalist from House Ash approached the Hazel elder and, fingers twitching with magic, extracted the sauce off her clothes and boots. She deposited it into the sauce puddle on the floor. Not even a stain remained on the elder’s clothes, although her expression remained dour.
Becka remembered House Hazel was renowned for training the best dream spinners, crafting messages and experiences for their targets, despite great distances. At least Becka had no fear of being on the receiving end of a rant in dream form, as her Null ability prevented any such mental trespass.
Her father, Duke Vott of House Rowan but also Elder Vott of House Alder by birth, caught her eye. Even from this distance, his usual gentle gaze held a stony glint. His simple, floor-length robes with embroidered flycatcher birds at the lapels added to his willowy form, accentuating his height. His long hair hung loose except for a pair of thin braids running in front of each ear, framing his regal face. Vott raised his hand and summoned her downstairs with a single swipe of his fingers, a forced smile on his lips.
Becka sighed, wishing she’d had more time to let the pain in her head subside. “Well, I knew it couldn’t last.” She downed half her drink, and then turned to go down the stairs.
Saige and Luce stood against the wall to let her pass, careful not to brush against the ruffles in Becka’s ornate deep-indigo ombre dress. Hers was likely the only outfit in the room which wasn’t enchanted in some manner. Except for the shifters who wore tailored, fitted pants with matching shirts in brown tones, which was about as formal as she supposed Vott could talk them into being.
Wolf shifters were anything but typical guards for a fae. Humans? Sure, she’d seen that plenty back in the city. But these wolves were loyal to Vott for reasons she didn’t yet understand. Vott had assigned them to Becka after the Shadow-Dweller attack three months ago, neither asking her opinion nor permission, but she’d been grateful for the protection.
Her attire for this event had been delivered an hour in advance of the festivities with a note from Maura. “I know this isn’t your style, but it’s befitting a lady of your station.” Surely the sheer volume of ruffles paired with the circumference of the skirts might be considered a war crime. But she’d appreciated the indigo hues and was determined to win over at least one dignitary, so she’d relented and donned the dress.
“Could you two teach me to be stealthier? I never hear you coming unless you want me to,” Becka asked.
Luce barked out a laugh. “You can’t learn the innate gifts of shifters. Besides, we don’t need to encourage your sneakiness.”
“Not to mention,” Saige replied, the two following her down the stairs, “there’s no way to sneak about in that dress.”
Said the women who moved with the lithe grace of hunters. Becka figured they’d be graceful and silent no matter what they wore.
Becka turned to Luce. “I know why I answer Vott’s call, but why do you go when Vott calls you?”
“That’s a long story, and it’s not mine to tell,” Luce replied.
Becka opened her mouth to ask more, but Luce had that determined look in her eye, the one that brooked no argument.
Her feet hit the marble floor of the Great Hall, and while she’d snuck away without notice, her return was the subject of scrutiny. Becka downed the rest of her drink, loving the spicy zing of the hot sauce, and then placed her glass on a nearby tray.