it looked like it would bruise if you breathed on it too hard. He looked like he’d fallen into the wrong story, a prince turned pauper. From then on, Jesper had been stuck somewhere between the desire to taunt the pampered little merchling into another blush and the urge to flirt him into a quiet corner just to see what might happen. But sometime during their hours at the Ice Court, that curiosity had changed. He’d felt the tug of something more, something that came to life in Wylan’s unexpected courage, in his wide-eyed, generous way of looking at the world. It made Jesper feel like a kite on a tether, lifted up and then plummeting down, and he liked it.
So where was that feeling now? Disappointment flooded through him.
Is it me? Jesper thought. Am I out of practice? He pushed closer, letting the kiss deepen, seeking that rising, falling, reckless sensation, moving Wylan back against the piano. He heard the keys clank against one another—soft, discordant music. Appropriate , he thought. And then, If I can think about metaphors at a time like this, something is definitely wrong.
He pulled back, dropped his hands, feeling unspeakably awkward. What did you say after a terrible kiss? He’d never had cause to wonder.
That was when he saw Kuwei standing in the doorway, mouth open, eyes wide and shocked.
“What?” Jesper asked. “Do the Shu not kiss before noon?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Kuwei said sourly.
Not Kuwei.
“Oh, Saints,” Jesper groaned. That wasn’t Kuwei in the doorway. It was Wylan Van Eck, budding demolitions expert and wayward rich kid. And that meant he’d just kissed …
The real Kuwei plunked that same listless note on the piano, grinning shamelessly up at him through thick black lashes.
Jesper turned back to the door. “Wylan—” he began.
“Kaz wants us in the sitting room.”
“I—”
But Wylan was already gone. Jesper stared at the empty doorway. How could he have made a mistake like that? Wylan was taller than Kuwei; his face was narrower too. If Jesper hadn’t been so riled up and jittery after the fight with Kaz and the argument with his father, he would never have confused them. And now he’d ruined everything.
Jesper jabbed an accusing finger at Kuwei. “You should have said something!”
Kuwei shrugged. “You were very brave on Black Veil. Since we’re all probably going to die—”
“Damn it,” Jesper cursed, stalking toward the door.
“You’re a very good kisser,” called Kuwei after him.
Jesper turned. “How good is your Kerch really?”
“Fairly good.”
“Okay, then I hope you understand exactly what I mean when I say you are definitely more trouble than you’re worth.”
Kuwei beamed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Kaz seems to think I’m worth a great deal now.”
Jesper rolled his eyes skyward. “You fit right in here.”
T hey assembled once again in the suite’s sitting room. At Nina’s request, Colm had ordered another stack of waffles and a bowl of strawberries and cream. A mirror covered most of the suite’s far wall, and Matthias could not stop his gaze from straying to it. It was like looking into another reality.
Jesper had slipped off his boots and was seated on the carpet, knees tucked up to his chest, casting furtive glances at Wylan, who had settled on the couch and seemed to be deliberately ignoring him. Inej perched on the windowsill, her balance so perfect it made her appear weightless, a bird poised to take flight. Kuwei had wedged himself into the crook of the settee, one of his notebooks open beside him, and Kaz sat in a high-backed purple chair, his bad leg propped on the low table, cane leaning against his thigh. He’d somehow seen to the torn sleeve of his shirt.
Nina was curled up next to Matthias on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder, her feet tucked beneath her, fingers stained with strawberry juice. He felt strange sitting this way. In Fjerda, even a husband and his wife showed little affection in public. They held hands and might dance at a public ball. But he liked it, and though he could not quite relax, he couldn’t bear the thought of her moving away from him.
It was Colm’s solid presence that transformed the image in the mirror. He made the people in the reflection seem less dangerous, as if they weren’t the team that had broken into the Ice Court and bested the Fjerdan military with little more than their wits and nerve, only a bunch of children worn out after a particularly brutal birthday party.
“All right,”