In keeping with the goddess’s rule over shadows and the dark of night, the table had been draped entirely in black silk, but with silver threads woven in that caught the candlelight. Crystal plates and goblets sparkled with fire, and the cutlery looked to be entirely silver. White gems of all shapes and sizes were scattered over the cloth, like thousands of stars, and a garland of white moonflowers gleamed like sweetly scented, living pearls all down the center.
A golden light radiated from black candles set in elaborate crystal candelabras, both on the table and suspended from the high ceiling by silver wires. Moonflower garlands dripping with flashing crystals—and possibly diamonds—festooned the walls, windows, mantels, and every other possible surface. It reminded me of Annfwn, in all her tropical beauty, but rendered in the colors of winter.
“It’s extravagant, I know,” Veronica said, squeezing my arm and giving a happy sigh, “but the Feast of Moranu has always been my favorite, since I was a little girl. I’m happy to have the little prince and princess see it.”
Ami and the children had gathered at one end of the hall, beneath a living tree blooming with more moonflowers. Blown glass and crystal ornaments dangled from the branches. Astar eyed them with feline interest. He’d recently discovered a black cat form and liked it entirely too much for climbing to satisfy his curiosity. Ami sat on the black fur mounded around the base of the tree, her skirts spread around her and a plate of goodies on her lap. Stella had her own plate and had already smeared her face with something bright pink. Ami held out another, similar tidbit, trying to tempt Astar back.
“Astar, darling,” she cooed, though I clearly heard the edge of aggravation beneath her dulcet tone. “Look at this, Astar.”
He twitched, eyes fixed on a chain of glass balls. I knew the moment he decided to go for it—maybe by the flexing of his chubby knees or simply knowing the boy well—and he leapt into the air, flashing into the black kitten form in the same movement. Forewarned, I’d already slipped the duchess’s arm and used shapeshifter speed to nab him in midair. He hissed and spit, but fortunately his claws in that form weren’t nearly as formidable as the bear cub.
“Bad Willy cat,” I told him, tapping him on the tender nose. “No.”
“Aww, give him here.” The duchess held out her arms.
“He scratches,” I warned her.
“I have cats,” she replied, capturing him securely. “Real ones,” she added, “but I know how to handle an ornery kitty. They all think they’re royalty, shapeshifting prince or no. C’mon love, how about some fresh cream? Or I have kippers.”
He mewled, rubbing his whiskers on her chin, the traitorous brat. Stella tumbled her plate off her lap—and onto her mother—became a kitten, too, and chased after both of them. With a groan of exasperation, Ami began plucking up the spilled sweetmeats—to the horror of a maidservant who ran over, crying that Her Highness mustn’t and then tying herself up trying to curtsey, intervene, and apologize all at the same time.
“Your Highness,” I said to Ami and held out a hand, “allow me to assist you and we can make room for the maids to do their job.”
She let me help her up, though she hardly needed it with her lithe dancer’s grace, and she scowled at the bright pink whatever-it-was now smeared down the bodice of her travelling gown.
“Oh, Your Highness!” exclaimed another maid, as horrified as if Ami were bleeding from a mortal wound. “I’m so sorry!” She cast anxious glances at the duchess, who happily entertained the two kitties with what looked like a basket of yarn. Despite the lady’s affection for felines, judging by the clockwork perfection of her house, the duchess likely did not tolerate poor performance by her staff.
“Your Highness wanted to change after a long day of travel, didn’t you?” I inserted. “I’ll escort you to your rooms. The duchess has the prince and princess well in hand and I’m sure your trunks have arrived by now.” I bowed to Ami, and gestured for her to precede me. I’d thought to spare her—or myself—the moment that she’d refuse my arm, but she gave me such a furiously injured glare that I realized it had been a miscalculation.
Nevertheless, she swept past me, leaving simmering scorn and the scent of roses in her wake. A footman fortunately appeared to guide her, and I followed behind at a respectful distance. I would have discreetly lost myself along the way, but I needed to check her chambers to be sure all was safe before I turned over that responsibility to the Lianore guards. Once inside, a group of ladies—Ami’s personal maid and some from Lianore—enveloped her, whisking her off. I made a circuit of the richly appointed chambers, checking the windows where thick snow swirled outside in the night, and returned to the drawing room via a side entrance, thinking to slip out the door.
Only to find Ami standing in front of it, still in her stained dress, alone, spine rigid and chin regally lifted. All the maids and other ladies had been sent away. She folded her arms, which deepened her creamy cleavage, and I forced my gaze to the door behind her, staring at it instead. Longingly.
“Did Your Highness need something else?” I inquired when she didn’t say anything.
“Oh, stop it!” she snapped, her cheeks high with color.
“Stop what?” I asked cautiously. Probably a good thing my Ami couldn’t shift into anything with claws. By the look of her, I’d have been eviscerated long since.
“Stop ‘your highnessing’ me to death. Being all polite. You’re not fooling anyone. And if you think you’re escaping, you’re not. You might as well stay because Veronica thinks we’re happy lovers, a cozy little family, and figured on all four of us sharing these rooms tonight.” She pointed her slim nose at me, daring me to complain.
“I thought you said that—”
“I know what I said. And I’ve changed my mind. The Tala nurses took off to shift and sleep outside—you know how they are. I’m exhausted and I’m going to bed. You can stay up with Willy and Nilly, since you’re so determined to be done with us.”
I regarded her cautiously, trying to parse her logic. “That makes no sense.”
She firmed her lips and looked away, her rigidity collapsing. “I don’t care. And I don’t want to fight with you again. Can we just… not?” The wretched expression in her eyes undid me and I stepped toward her before I came to my senses and remembered I was the one who put the misery there. Instead, I put my hands inside the flowing sleeves of my coat, grasping the opposite wrists, an old habit from wearing monk’s robes.
“I’m sorry, Ami,” I said quietly, which seemed to be the only thing I could think of to say to her.
“Me too.” Her voice came out small and she hiccoughed a little. “I really hate this, you know?”
“I know. Me too.” I offered her a lopsided smile and she returned it, tremulously. “Go to bed,” I told her. “Get some rest. I’ll round up Willy and Nilly and keep them out of trouble.”
“Are you sure?” She looked both hopeful and terribly sad. “They’re not your responsibility. They never have been and you’ve always been so good about it. Good to them and me. And I’m just horrible.”