Laisrean had Somhairle’s eyes and chin, but that was where any resemblance ended. He was tall, dark-skinned, and heavyset, and wearing a smile that made Inis want to swallow a rosebush, thorns and all. “Sorley! Did I keep you waiting?”
Prince Laisrean must have been twenty now. Inis rose, keeping her head down despite the disguise she wore like a second skin. He wouldn’t recognize her, but that didn’t mean she wanted to look at him or see the man he was becoming, picture the men her brothers would never be.
“Laisrean!” Somhairle struggled to his feet while his half brother broke into a run, making it to Somhairle’s side in time to offer him a hand. “I feared you might be too busy to meet us.”
“Never!” Laisrean pulled Somhairle into one of his massive yet surprisingly tender hugs. Somhairle practically disappeared in his arms. Inis’s vision wavered, threatened by tears. The threat passed. The hug ended. “And who’s this?”
“Ah . . .” Somhairle paused.
“Ailis, Your Highness,” Inis said smoothly, dropping into a deep curtsy. “Accompanying His Highness Somhairle Ever-Bright on his travels.”
Laisrean had once carried Ivy on his shoulders when her short legs had tired ahead of theirs. He’d threatened to give Inis the same treatment when they’d splashed in the Queen’s lake together, scattering panicked copper-and-black-scaled fish, the heat of the summer’s sun reflected by the luster of their skin.
If he took her hand, would he find it rough? Did the glamour cover other senses than sight?
Inis reached for her anger to ground her, only to find more than the anger in that bottomless well. Other, older feelings, alongside precious slivers of hope. Stowaway dreams she thought she’d jettisoned along the road to the Far Glades, deadweight cast off so she wouldn’t drown.
It didn’t matter. Laisrean was a stranger now.
Inis kept her eyes on the grass beneath her feet. She was the stranger. Unwelcome in lands that had once been hers.
Was this what Shining Talon felt in the home of his enemy? As the last of his people?
“Ailis and I met at the theater many years ago,” Somhairle confided, doing his best to dispel the tension. “We’ve been friends since. She tells me of all the new plays at the Gilded Lily.”
Laisrean chuckled and ruffled his brother’s hair with one of his enormous hands. Inis shifted instinctively toward Somhairle to brace him if he lost his balance, but he didn’t. Laisrean’s touch was considerate. He’d always been bigger than his brothers, so he’d needed to know his limits, how to carry himself.
“I’m being rude.” Laisrean knelt in the grass in front of Inis and held out his hand. From the years of etiquette instruction in her youth, she knew she was meant to give him hers, and she complied with the barest hesitation. “Forgive me, Lady Ailis. I was so surprised to find my brother with company that I thought you were a trick of the light. Now I realize you’re more solid than that.”
Inis smiled despite herself, because it was impossible not to. Endless roses reflected in the green of his eyes. Looking away, she glimpsed twin leather friendship bands knotted around Laisrean’s wrist, tucked beneath the twin suns of his cufflink. Tomman had worn his faithfully, had kept them until they frayed into scraps and fell off his arm.
Inis gripped Laisrean’s hand tight. He squinted at her.
“Pardon,” Inis said quickly. She was supposed to play silent and cool, draw no attention to herself. She was already mucking it up. “Compared to such fine company, I’m nothing.”
“Seldom true,” Laisrean assured her. Inis made herself release him, and he watched her for a second longer than he might have if she hadn’t tried to crush his knuckles. She cursed herself. “But I have to admit, you’d be hard-pressed to find better company than Somhairle.”
“Lais.” Somhairle’s cheeks were red, although whether from embarrassment or exhaustion, Inis couldn’t tell. “I don’t need your recommendation. I can make my own friends.”
Laisrean rose, blithe and unbothered. His attention to Inis faded and she breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s what you get for bringing pretty girls to the castle. Wait till she meets Berach.”
Three flapped her wings, as if preparing to take flight. Inis tensed, but nothing came of the movement. It was only a Queensguard strolling past, armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. Inis’s stomach turned at the sight, at the sound of clanking armor.
Laisrean glanced over his shoulder as the Queensguard continued on his patrol.