She’d have to ask Brent who was on duty that day. Perhaps they’d seen something?
Why did the gift of the tea matter? She now knew Hanna had brought it, but since it wasn’t the source of the poison, who cared?
As she wondered these things to herself, the squiggles mysteriously faded from the pages and the glyphs lost their transparency, solid once again. The book must be done with her for now, the fleeting moment of discovery rendered complete.
“Oh my gosh,” Hanna said. “We need to be going. The tea party is starting shortly.”
Although she didn’t relish the idea of the gathering, Becka didn’t want to see what Maura’s next move would be if she kept refusing her. Becka stored the Shadow-Dweller book in her bag and rose to go.
Becka couldn’t wait to talk to Quinn about the squiggles.
Chapter 13
“Lady Hanna!” exclaimed Sigfrid. “May I sit next to you?”
“Please do, Lady Sigfrid.” Hanna popped a black-skinned grape into her mouth as a young serving girl filled her glass. The fiery relationship coach appeared well at ease, all smiles and poise.
Sigfrid plopped down next to Hanna on the light-green linen blankets which were spread out on a natural ringed formation of flat-topped sandstone. It relieved her when her quieter sister, Ingrid, sat to her right without preamble.
Focused on conserving her energy, Becka had been the first to take a seat. Everyone arranged themselves around her. Hanna to her left, Ingrid to her right, and Yaeli and Alvilda across from her. Perhaps she could get through this social occasion by smiling, nodding, sipping, and snacking.
Becka tried to enjoy the chatter of the other women but couldn’t help being distracted by watching Lorelai test the food on her plate and her glass for poison. But the day was pleasant, the rocks radiated warmth against her legs, and a soft breeze caressed her skin. A group of finches endeavored to sneakily steal crumbs, and as the fae wouldn’t shoo them away, were guaranteed to share in the feast laid out on the central table.
When Lorelai gave her a curt nod, Becka picked up a glass of strawberry-basil shrub and sipped at the tart, refreshing beverage. The others appeared oblivious to Lorelai and Shamus. Another two fae guards walked the perimeter of the meadow, close but not underfoot. Becka sighed, wishing Quinn had accompanied them.
For all appearances, this gathering seemed like a casual ladies’ afternoon tea. Hanna wasn’t hovering over Becka, for which she was grateful. Shamus was doing his part to glower at everyone, although she couldn’t tell if anyone paid him any mind. From her discussion with Brent, Becka knew Vott’s relationship to the shifters was a unique one. Did other fae have shifters living among them? From their nonchalance, she’d have thought the practice commonplace.
Ingrid stood and raised her glass in Becka’s direction, breaking Becka out of her reverie. “In honor of our heir, I propose an einvigi!”
“Yes!” Alvilda replied, a sure smile on her lips and competitive glint in her eye. “It’s just the thing you need to uplift your spirits.”
Becka’s stomach did a flip. An einvigi was an age-old fae contest of wit and skill, but because of her years away from House Rowan and her unguilded status, Becka had never taken part in one. She wanted to feel thrilled at being included, so why was her gut churning with anxiety?
“What are the einvigi’s conditions?” Sigfrid asked. “Wait, who won last time?”
As if she didn’t already know. Based on the way everyone turned to look at Yaeli, a more obvious rhetorical question could not have been asked. Yet from Becka’s point of view, it was a revelation. In fact, she realized she didn’t know their gifts well or in depth. Today could prove to be more informative than she’d expected.
Yaeli blushed and fanned her face as if to hide it. “Why, I believe I had that honor.” Her confident smile betrayed her demure reply.
“Then the choice of terms falls to you,” Sigfrid replied, raising a glass to Yaeli.
“Hmm.” Yaeli cocked her head to the side, pursing her lips in concentration. “Oh, I have it! I propose each of us changes an element of our surroundings. The change must blend in and appear to be what nature intended. However, once noticed, it should be unmistakably flawed. Bonus points for humor. The one whose illusion is the most subtle wins the round.”
Ingrid groaned. “You play to your strengths!”
Yaeli shrugged. “As if you wouldn’t?”
Everyone laughed except Becka. Am I in over my head?
“Lady Hanna, would you judge?” asked Sigfrid. “You’re the only non-Rowan present.”
“Oh, what fun!” Hanna replied. “I’ll play arbiter.”
“But wait.” Alvilda frowned. “We aren’t being fair to our heir, Lady Becka. She’s guilded but no illusionist. We’d be leaving her out with this challenge. It wouldn’t be right to exclude her.”
An air of disappointment settled over the group, and in unison they glanced over to Becka and then took quick sips of their drinks or bites of food to distract from the palpable discomfort.
Had Becka imagined the condescending edge to Alvilda’s voice, or was it her own lack of self-confidence in her gift that ruffled her proverbial feathers? Surely, the heir to House Rowan should be able to compete in mere parlor games?
Couldn’t she?
Becka cleared her throat. “I think Yaeli’s challenge is fair. I only ask the honor of going last.”
She was answered with silence, surprised glances, and arched brows. When she met Alvilda’s gaze, her pursed-lipped frown transformed into a demure smile and a nod of encouragement.
Could she be any more fake?
“Is that acceptable to everyone?” Becka asked, daring the others to challenge her. Which she knew they wouldn’t.
“Certainly,” Hanna replied. She leaned over and whispered, “I’m excited to see what you have planned.”
So am I. Becka forced a smile, glad to have at least Hanna’s encouragement.
Hanna raised her glass to the group. “Let the einvigi begin! As the prior champion, Lady Yaeli has the honor of going first.”
Yaeli set her glass down and stood, her gauzy pink dress almost floating around her as she moved. She cupped her hands together in front of her, brow furrowed in concentration. Between her hands, a spinning ball of energy grew from a speck to the size of her head in seconds, sparks of light illuminating the golden sheen of Yaeli’s eyes. A few moments passed, and then Yaeli tossed the orb up into the air, where it exploded into countless sparks flying in all directions.
The shifters, the birds, and Becka didn’t shy away from the miniscule points of light as they floated down, slowly dying out like embers from an unstoked fire. Becka felt the impact of the energy like tiny pinpricks against her skin. A light band of pressure encircled her head, her telltale alert of coming into contact with magic. Becka had become used to a persistent, low-grade headache at House Rowan. If only she could find a way around it.
Yaeli’s display was met with polite clapping.
All of the secrets of the illusory arts hadn’t been disclosed to her, as she was a Null and not an illusionist, yet Becka understood a few precepts. In order for the magic to work, an illusionist needed to either be in contact with the item in question or cast an energetic net through which the illusion could travel. Therefore, anything in range of the ball or the caster’s immediate vicinity could be the target.