“Aye, I do, but not with someone that has more butter than biscuits for brains.”
“The nerve!” Eldy says. “In my day, an invitation of such caliber would be met with at least appreciation if not acceptance.”
“Appreciation,” Marigold scoffs, loading Farron’s plate with a teetering pile of cookies. “He expects appreciation from me? Me, who’s been serving in naught but Castletree for twenty-five years?”
“A place of highest esteem.” Eldy scrunches up his face. His features do look rather birdlike: the large nose, pointed chin, and gray hair pulled back like slicked tail feathers.
But he doesn’t know about the curse, doesn’t know that if he hadn’t stood Marigold up, she wouldn’t turn into a raccoon each night.
“A lady like Marigold cannot simply be asked to events such as this,” I begin. “You have to entice her to go with you.”
Marigold gives a huff of approval and finally hands over the plate of cookies.
“How would I do that?” Eldy asks.
I place a hand on his shoulder and laugh. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Eldy bobs his head. It’s like I can feel his magic through the connection of my hand on his shoulder. Really, deep down … He could be very birdlike.
Feeling a little strange, I remove my hand and pluck a cookie off Farron’s plate. The powdered sugar smells divine. Before I take a bite, I notice it’s divided into three different sections: one pink, one brown, and one yellow.
Marigold notices me examining it. “The pink represents the stone which shelters us, the brown represents the earth from which we grow, and the yellow represents the sun that gives us life.”
“All things that make the Spring Realm what we are,” Eldy finishes. Carefully, he picks one up and looks at it. “It’s been a long-time since I’ve had one of your famous polvorones, Marigold.”
She crosses her arms, but her voice is soft. “Been a long time since I’ve made them. They never tasted right when I made them in Castletree.”
Eldy takes a bite, crumbs dotting his beard. “I would have eaten them gladly.”
Farron and I exchange a look, and I sense an opportunity. I lean into Eldy, pretending to whisper, “Did you even tell Marigold about the present you got her for the occasion?”
The majordomo gives a raised brow, which I return with a wink. Ezryn had already shown me some of the beautiful jewels they craft here. I’m sure I could procure a trinket or two that Eldy could offer Marigold.
Eldy clears his throat and chuffs, “Well, I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”
Marigold purses her lips, and I can see her resolve weakening. “Fine, I’ll go. But I’m not saving all my dances for you.”
“Very well. I’m glad you see reason.” Eldy gives a loopy smile, before his face creases. “Wait, who else would you dance with?”
The two of them continue the argument as they leave the archives.
I turn back to Farron, wipe crumbs off his cheek, and give him a quick kiss. “Come on, Autumn Prince. We’ve got a party to go to.”
But his hands tighten on my waist, and the kiss deepens until my whole body melts beneath his touch. “First, Princess of Autumn, it would be a shame to waste this perfectly cleared table,” Farron whispers against my neck, before throwing me on it.
40
Caspian
Birdy is cackling. When I was a child, I thought cackling was something only described in fairytales, like witches brewing a cauldron they threatened to put naughty children into. That was until I met my sister. Though I suppose she’s like a witch now, hunched over in her lair, brewing …
“Always playing with your potions,” I say, leaning against the entrance to her chamber. “Planning on poisoning your dear brother again?”
Those of the Vale always say the citizens of the Below have a fascination with the realms above, but my little sister takes that to an extreme. And why wouldn’t she? A little girl growing up down here. When she was younger, I felt guilty and brought her back the odd thing from time to time. She’s like a crow. It matters not to her if the item is from the human or the fae world, if it’s shiny, Birdy covets it.
Now, she lives in one of Cryptgarden’s highest towers and has filled it with trinkets. In every nook and cranny, there are brightly colored bottles and chalices teetering precariously on ledges, and the floor is a million shades of spilled and splattered colors.
Currently, she’s curled over a stone table staring intently at the blue bubbling concoction.