red wine around the crowd. Swapped for the loud drums and horns I’m familiar with is a harpist who’s positioned off to the corner, playing music that’s so soft and beautiful one could easily fall asleep to it. Hardly anyone speaks, and when they do their voices are smooth and quiet, offered with only the politest of smiles.
Back in Arida, we wouldn’t call this a “party.”
My skin crawls from the silence. “Why is no one talking?”
“They are.” Bastian takes one cursory look around the bay, looking from bachelor to hungry bachelor. The tension in his shoulders swells. “Just not out loud. Mind speak, remember?”
Gods, I can only imagine the things they’re saying about me. I’ve enjoyed mind magic when Mira’s used it; she always has the greatest gossip to share about the kingdom. But on this side of it, it’s possibly my least favorite magic of all.
I spy Ferrick making conversation with a grinning Nelly, who sneaks looks behind her every so often at Vataea, who Ferrick is clearly talking about. His entire face is scarlet as Nelly leans in and whispers something to him conspiratorially. Ferrick nods, listening intently to whatever romantic advice she must be offering.
Ilia stands beside them, listening with only a quirk of amusement upon her lips. While Nelly’s dressed in a gorgeous gossamer gown of black with brilliant emerald touches, Ilia wears a velvety onyx suit and rich matching cape. Her hair’s been fastened into a long plait that drapes over one shoulder, while Nelly’s has been elegantly curled and piled atop her head in a fashion that shouldn’t work but miraculously does.
While Ferrick wears clothes similar to Bastian’s, the harsh color makes his pale skin almost ghostly. A few yards opposite him stands the focus of his interest—Vataea’s beside Shanty, who has taken an entire tray of food from one of the workers and holds it between them while sipping on sparkling wine. A crowd of admirers linger around them, casting hopeful glances toward the girls, some working up the nerve to ask them to dance. Vataea looks positively ferocious in the silk gown that sits on her body like a second layer of skin. Used to cooler temperatures, she’s neglected any form of coat or cape, showing off the full extent of a plunging neckline and thin diamond straps. Shanty’s chosen to ignore Curmana’s signature color and style in favor of enchanting her own slinky dress to be as startling a lilac as her hair and eyes. The short dress hugs her curves fiercely, and she revels in the attention she’s receiving.
Behind them, I see Nelly give Ferrick a small shove, and he makes his way to the two girls, nearly dragging his feet with every step. He looks like a fish out of water, fiddling with the neck of his shirt as though it’s too tight. Eventually though, he makes it to Vataea, speaking words I can’t hear with cheeks that are red as wine. But they make her smile, and the moment he reaches his hand out, she snatches it. Vataea practically drags him to the dance floor.
It’s the small boost of morale I need to drop my arm from Bastian’s as we approach the party. Immediately my skin cools with the chill of his absence, and it takes everything in me not to reach out, again.
“Save me a dance.” There’s a tightness in his smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “I’ll be around.”
He disappears into the crowd as Nelly hustles over to me. Casem follows behind her, looking like a proper guard with the royal emblem shimmering bright on his shoulder. Or as proper as he could look, I suppose, given that he’s holding a plate of five meat skewers.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” There’s excitement brimming in Nelly’s voice as she tilts her head to admire the hundreds of white, twinkling lanterns that hover in the sky around us. They’re like tiny stars, held up by mind magic and swaying pleasantly in the breeze. “Talk about mood lighting. The scene is set, the men are here, and now the lady of the hour has finally arrived. Are you ready for your big night?”
Behind her, Casem’s lips twitch into an amused, knowing smirk as he bites off a chunk from the skewer. I ignore him.
“I’m bursting at the seams.” I wave down one of the working Curmanans, who responds by using their magic to float over a ridiculously small puff pastry with sweet cream. While delicious, everything is conversation food,