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“On the human plane, I just go by Amalia. Using my full name usually means I’m in trouble.”

“Ah,” I say in understanding. “It is considered familiar, to the fae, to use only your given name with no title.”

“Huh.” She dips the spoon into the moon water, shoos away one of the tiny silver fish, and scoops out a small portion of the liquid. “Why do you go by King Theron instead of—” She cuts off to look up at me. “What’s your last name?”

“My clan name is Myr, and my immediate family is Shade, so Myr’Shade,” I explain. “We only use last names when we need to denote lineage. Otherwise, it becomes complicated.”

Thalindor lifts his hand. “I am Thalindor Myr’Song. But it is considered arrogant to remind my fellow guards that I am related to our king.”

Her brow puckers. “So is it respect that you use my full name? Or are you trying not to appear familiar with me?”

“Yes,” I say simply.

Thalindor moves to the door, hand on the pommel of his sword. “Someone approaches.”

I step back from the table, straightening to my full height as the door swings open without a knock, revealing the mirror-crowned courtier from yesterday. “Silver King, the Jade delegation has arrived early. Your presence is requested in the Crystal Chamber.”

I hide my surprise. “Of course. We shall go to them at once.”

The courtier leads us through a different route than yesterday, down stairs that spiral in defiance of physics and through hallways where the floor slopes upward while somehow remaining level where we tread.

“The Jade Sithe rarely ventures so far from their fields,” the courtier says as we walk. “You are fortunate they agreed to come here.”

“Indeed.” I match his pace, refusing to show the strain of navigating these twisted passages. “It was kind of King Nyctarian to arrange this meeting.”

The courtier’s laugh carries the crystalline music of shattering glass. “Arranged, yes, but the negotiations themselves are up to you. Our king is attending to other matters this morning. But he hopes that your efforts will bear fruit.”

My steps falter for only a heartbeat, but it’s enough. Satisfaction flickers across the courtier’s features.

I had expected King Nyctarian to sit in on the proceedings and gloat over his success, having already secured for his sithe the foods I desire for mine. His absence leads me to wonder what important matter pulled him away.

We approach a set of doors carved from crystal so clear they appear invisible until light strikes their edges.

The courtier pushes the crystal doors open. “The Silver King, Theron Myr’Shade.”

I step forward, my shoulders pulled back. The fate of my sithe, and my brother, will be decided in the hours to come.

Our boots ring on the obsidian floor of the negotiation chamber, while the faceted glass walls fracture light into spears that leave my companions squinting. Overhead, the ceiling ripples with the distorted light of water seen from below, giving the impression we pass beneath a lake despite arriving from the ground floor.

Thalindor paces a step behind me on the right, while Amalia keeps to my left, my silent shadows. The air thickens with loam as we approach the members of the Jade Sithe, the side of the Earthen Court whose powers come from vegetation.

For years, they have been working with the Dark Sithe to find a solution to the crystalline blight, and in exchange, they have kept the soil here rich enough to produce food for them to thrive on while the rest of the Celestial Court starves.

The five representatives stand in a line, still as trees, as if they’ve grown up from the chamber floor itself. Their finery catches the eye first, in rich browns and greens as lush as the forest floor. Their sleeves trail living moss, and lichen filigree traces patterns across skin the color of old oak.

Not one of them bows as I approach, but I let the insult slide.

“King Theron,” the eldest says, the syllables rumbling like gravel down a slope. Deep creases bracket his mouth, but his hair grows thick as grass, shot through with tiny white flowers. “We came at your request, six months ahead of the All Summit.”

Six months for them. The time slip between our courts grows wider every year.

“Your presence honors me.” I incline my head, the exact degree protocol demands, and not a shade more. “The Silver Sithe values the ancient bonds between our courts.”

“As do we.” The delegate’s fingers interlace, wood-grained nails clicking together. “Though we find the timing curious.”

The chamber hushes. Two Dark Sithe courtiers hover near the entrance, their bodies curved in careful arcs, drinking in every word. One wears mirror fragments woven into elaborate braids. The other’s skin shimmers with faint purple light.

Neither acknowledges me.