The clouds have finally thinned enough when Eogan’s hand drops from my neck, and I feel him take a giant step back. Turning to see what I’ve done wrong now, I spot Adora across the meadow, watching the two of us. Her mouth is pressed into a tight, not-happy line. Ah litches.
She beckons Eogan with those long, beautiful arms that are stark white against a gown of purple gossamer and feathers. Lots of feathers. Layered in exquisite twirls and spirals with five giant plumes coming up off the back. They rise and frame her head and purple hair like a male peacock in hunting season.
Colin lets loose a low whistle. “You gotta admit she’s a sight for us men to admire.” He strolls up beside me.
I frown and consider telling him to keep his drool to himself, but instead I curl my deformed hand into a fist and cause the sky above us to growl.
He snickers. “Ooh, jealous. I like it.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Too bad ’er personality is as shallow as ’er looks.” He turns to me with that sudden sincerity. “Unlike you, Nym. You got the good heart and nice looks.”
I bite down my bitter laugh that says I don’t know how to reply and instead watch Eogan and the frog-queen-turned-male-peacock exchange words back and forth. She’s grinning and twittering her hands to and from her mouth, as if she’s blowing him kisses while at the same time deadly serious about whatever she’s saying. Her eyes flash to me once, but after a quick sweep over my appearance, they’re back to her heart’s one pant-worthy desire.
When Eogan strides back to us, the peacock-frog-queen stands a moment longer, watching him with raw, unabashed hunger before turning a smug gaze onto Colin and me. She flips her fluffy gown and struts off to the house. Her tail feathers waggle behind her.
Eogan crosses his arms over his chest, his expression pinched. “You two are to go inside now and change for the party. Clothes will be set out for you. Breck will see to your hair, Nym.”
My hand flies up to my messy braid. I try not to blush.
If Eogan notices, he doesn’t care. Just says in a distasteful tone, “Apparently His Majesty will be in attendance tonight, and Adora plans to present you both to him as members of her extended family. With absolutely no mention of your Uathúil abilities.”
Colin breaks into a grin, and from the corner of my eye I see his stomach muscles flex. “So the ol’ girl wants to show us off.”
“Yes.” Eogan chews on the word like he’s considering the ramifications. “You’ve seen how these parties go. Adora expects you to be near her when the king enters, and you will wait for an introduction. You’re going to need to smile and bow until he nods. After that, go ahead and go straight to the banquet room where you’ll eat together seated out of the way. If anyone talks to you, simply ask questions to get them chatting about themselves. That’s all they’ll want anyway, and it’ll keep you from getting into trouble. Hopefully.” He eyes Colin with a begrudging smirk. “Any showing off as a Terrene, and I will personally put your head on a pike and haul the rest of you to Litchfell Forest. Understood?”
“Will Princess Rasha be there?” I ask cautiously.
“No, just—” He stops and frowns. “Why would that matter?”
I shrug. “Breck said she can see a person’s soul. I figure if you want us to keep a low profile, being around her might not be the wisest idea.”
His expression says Nice try. “She’s touring Faelen at the moment. But even if she were here, she’d know what you are and wouldn’t care. And as far as your soul—her abilities don’t work quite like that. Now are you both clear on what you’re to do? Good. Then go on and get out of here. And for crane’s sake don’t make me regret this.”
An audience with the king? I head off to the house with Colin following. What if I have to talk? Worse—what if I have to dance with anyone? Oh hulls, I’ve never even seen the king, and I’m supposed to act proper around him? I consider tossing myself in Adora’s piranha pond as we pass by.
CHAPTER 15
BRECK’S CLEARLY NERVOUS FOR ME ABOUT THE party, too, because she does my curls in four different styles before settling on a thick pile of ringlets swished high on my head. How she can tell the difference is beyond me, but when she’s finished, it’s stately enough. Even if it’s so heavy it makes my neck ache. I shift beneath my own scrutiny in the mirror as the fake me with brown hair pretends to curtsy and do the tinkly laugh all the ladies do.
The laugh turns caustic.
It’s not me. It never will be. All the fancy. All the overindulgence of these parties in the face of Faelen’s people going hungry. All the war plans being talked over while real soldiers are out there getting slaughtered.
“I can’t do this. They’re going to know I’m a fraud.”