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“They’ll be bringing food soon.” I smooth the wrinkles from my robes, and the constellations embroidered across the silver fabric pulse at my touch. “Eat only what I eat.”
Thalindor stands, his movements fluid despite the night spent upright. His gray hair catches the weak light, the braids behind his ears swinging as he sheathes his sword. “I will check the corridor, Your Majesty.”
The door opens before he touches the handle, as if, despite our best efforts, the Dark fae somehow knew we had risen.
Three servants enter with trays balanced on their palms, each bearing dishes that steam with fragrant spices.
Behind them comes a tall man with skin of polished obsidian and hair that moves of its own accord, coiling and uncoiling around his shoulders. “King Nyctarian sends his regards. He hopes you found rest in our humble accommodations.”
The bed behind me mocks his words. There is nothing humble about this opulent chamber, though its lack of consideration for the number of guests it holds leaves much to be desired.
“We are grateful for King Nyctarian’s hospitality,” I lie smoothly.
His answering smile holds no warmth. “The Jade delegation arrives within the hour. King Nyctarian thought you might appreciate a morning meal before the negotiations begin.”
The servants arrange dishes across the same table that held the welcome dishes the night before. Everything had been cleared away by the time we returned from the celebration.
Now, the servants lay out platters of fruit cut into fanciful shapes, meats glistening with sauces the color of sunset, and a dark, crusty bread.
My stomach twists with hunger even as caution slows my approach.
“You honor us.” I incline my head just enough to acknowledge his rank. “Please convey our appreciation.”
He bows, too deep to be sincere, and backs from the room. The servants follow, their movements synchronized as if they share a single mind, and the door closes without a sound.
Amalia pushes away from the wall. “That’s what they serve a visiting King? I’d get better in the free breakfast buffet at a motel.”
The words conjure a strange image of metal dishes filled with clouds of yellow and heaped with thin slices of meat. A similar method of food service to what the guards are provided in the barracks.
“Some of it is safe.” I circle the table, surveying the offerings. My finger hovers over a bowl of clear liquid where tiny silver fish swim in circles. “This, for instance, is moon water. It cannot be tainted.”
Her nose wrinkles. “And the fish?”
“Decorative.” I dip a spoon into the bowl, avoiding the fish, and sip the water. Pure and cold, it leaves an impression of starlight and snow even after I swallow. “This bread is also safe.”
When I tear off a piece, steam escapes, carrying the rich aroma of honey and herbs.
Thalindor moves to the table, inspecting each dish with care. His fingers hover over a bowl of blue berries, and they leap toward them before settling back into place. “These are midnight berries. They are safe, but eating them gives you the sensation of floating.”
Amalia gives the midnight berries a wide berth. “Is this normal for fae food, or is the Dark Sithe just extra?”
My brow wrinkles. “Did you not see such food in the Silver Spire?”
She gives me a long stare. “I was served slop in your dungeon, which the guard threw on the floor.”
Unwelcome guilt prickles through me. Amalia was a prisoner and a suspected murderess, so I should not be sorry now that she was treated the same as any prisoner, but I am.
I offer her the bread. “This will be better than slop.”
She takes it, fingers brushing mine, and the contact sends a jolt through me that I hide by tearing off another piece of bread for myself.
We eat, taking only small portions of the foods we can identify with certainty. Enough to sustain us, not enough to trust the Dark Sithe’s hospitality.
“Soon, we will meet with the representatives from the Jade Sithe,” I say. “This is both our cover for being here and an opportunity. It will give us access to a different part of the Spire than we were in last night. Keep your attention on the sithean stone, Amalia Wolf. Any change could be a sign that we are nearer or further away from Elionn.”
She twitches with annoyance. “Why do you call me that?”
I arch a brow. “Is Amalia Wolf not your name?”
