Dayton takes the little lion in his hands. “What about Aeneas? He was the first High Prince of Summer. Myth says he wielded a legendary trident blessed by the Queen herself.”
“Like Kel’s sword?”
“You mean that decoration? That’s all it is, for the amount he uses it.” Dayton chuckles. “If I had a weapon like that, I would not let it rot beneath my bed.”
I laugh. “Aeneas. Ani for short. It’s cute.”
“You did not just give the hero Aeneas a cute nickname.”
“But he’s so adorable.” I snatch the lion and fly it up into his tangled golden hair.
“All right, all right. I’m glad you kept it.”
“Of course, you bought it for me on our first date—” I stammer and quickly correct. “Not that it was a date.”
“Pretty sure I had your thighs wrapped around my face that night.”
“Right, but we didn’t even spend the night together. I ended up …” I trail off. Probably not the best time to bring up Kel figuring one of the last times Dayton and I were about to get intimate, Kel’s name came out of my mouth. It was all a misunderstanding, but I don’t think Dayton will ever forget it.
But the mention wipes the smile off the Summer Prince’s face, regardless.
“You ended the night in the arms of your mate,” Dayton says, standing. “How’s a guy supposed to compete with that?”
“Day—”
He heads to the door. “Get ready, and for star’s sake, have a dip in the hot springs and wash off the Prince of Thorns’ scent.”
My fork clatters to my plate. “I—”
“And,” Dayton growls, “you better damn well tell me what he was doing in your room last night.”
9
Rosalina
I take my lunch to the library, puzzling over my father’s latest letter. I’ve entrusted Astrid and Marigold to hunt for texts that might help. He sent a rubbing of an ancient ruin depicting a woman with her hands extended to a flock of birds. In his letter, he wrote that the image felt important. But I wonder if perhaps my father is just biased. The birds looked like Pacific Wrens, my mother’s favorite animal.
A part of me smiles at that, him looking for any connection back to her. But then again, Papa has always had great instincts. Maybe it is a clue.
I give a deep sigh and tuck the paper into my book bag, my thorn bow leaning against it. Dayton put me through quite the workout this morning. Plus, he only let me use the thorn bow a few times before we decided, yes, it was easier to shoot with.
“You have to learn the old-fashioned way, Blossom,” he’d said. “You might not always have that with you. Learn to shoot with a wooden one and you can wield anything. And then be extra deadly with that thorn monstrosity.”
Which had led to hours of hitting the back wall, but I had managed to nail the target four times. Three more than yesterday.
But no more water arrows appeared. I’m not sure I could recreate one even if I wanted to. The same with my own golden thorns: whatever magic I tapped into is still sealed inside.
When we finally finished training and started stretching, Dayton confronted me about Caspian. The truth came pouring out of me … At least, most of it.
Caspian saving me on the battlefield, him being dressed in Autumn armor, me stealing his book and that’s what Caspian had been looking for last night. It was just the part about the bargain that I left out. What would Dayton think of me? Especially after Farron’s bargain with the Prince of Thorns went so horribly wrong?
But Dayton had been surprisingly understanding. He told me to show the book to Farron, which I know is a good idea. I need to tell Farron the whole truth. I need to tell all of them.
Something shimmers at the edge of my vision. I stand, narrowing my gaze, and absently grab my bow. Fae sight is far superior to humans, and I’ve found myself caught off-guard by the detail in the world these last weeks.
Rounding the corner, all I see is Astrid on a ladder, dropping books down to Marigold. Nothing out of the ordinary. But there, amid the orange and red trees, is green.
A phantasmal green.
“Look out!” I draw the bow and create a thorn arrow from my bracelet. I shoot.
A blur of green flame advances on Astrid and Marigold. My shot isn’t straight, but I feel for my arrow. The thorn catches in my mind and careens toward the flame.
A horrible keening sound fills the air, followed by a thud.
The breath is heavy in my throat, and my vision clears. Astrid has leapt from the ladder and become a trembling white hare in Marigold’s arms.