Page 50 of Winds of Ruin
With a pounding heart, the woman tucked the page and stone into her bust. Instead of bringing the boy to the foundling home, she took him back to her flat to await the light of morning.
Chapter 21
Elsedora
Twenty years into the Sethe Curse…
Agiant tiered cake decorated the table in the center of the Luz ballroom. Eighteen silver-foiled candles stuck from its top. The cake’s piped red roses looked so decadent they could only be the work of Angeline. The current baker was good, but my friend’s detail work remained unmatched.
The string quartet played lively tunes for partygoers to dance about the room like sprites. Someone haddefinitelyspiked the bowl of berry punch.
That someone may have been me.
Deep-crimson silk draped the grand staircase’s rails. The fabric matched the table linens.
Sybilla stood beside me. She winced as she sipped her punch. “Blech. That’s vile. Did you do that?”
A Sahlms-red wrap dress hugged her curves, and her silver-streaked honey-toned hair had been piled atop her head in pins. Sybilla’s face seemed to never age.
“We must always celebrate when times are good,” I teased and clinked my glass to hers.
My friend’s lips drew into a flat line. “You sound like Emmerick,” she griped.
I smirked, though my desire to change the topic mounted. For five years, he’d slept on.
Every year that drew us closer to the end of the curse’s timeframe dwindled my hope.
“Who pissed in your oats this morning?” I chided, hoping she could distract me.
Sybilla sighed and waved her hand toward her daughter, who looked dazzling in a cream brocade gown. She stood speaking with a group of nobles from the South Corridor. “That dress had a gorgeous matching stay. She refused to wear it!”
I shrugged. “Stays are going out of style. And are quite constrictive.”
She rolled her eyes. “For once, I’d love if you tookmyside on something,” she huffed out. Her words, no matter how cutting, held no venom.
“I willalwayshave your side, my Queen. Or your front, or your back… whatever you prefer.” I bumped my hip against hers playfully, with a wink.
Sybilla laughed, uninhibited by her former annoyance. “At what age will you stop making faux passes at me?”
“Never,” I answered. “You are fine wine. Your husband should watch out.”
As though summoned, Krait wandered over, leading Lark our way. “What am I watching out for?”
“Nothing,” Sybilla and I said in unison.
I grinned as he scowled at our collective evasion.
“Happy birthday, trouble,” I said, greeting my niece.
Lark left her father’s side to wrap one arm around each of us, pulling Sybilla and I in too tightly. “It’s a wonderful party, Mama.”
I watched Sybilla melt as her daughter released us, their spat forgotten; she could be stubborn, and sometimes cruel, but she loved with ferocity.
“You look beautiful, love,” Sybilla said. “Stay or not…”
“And the best accessory,” Lark said and covertly lifted the skirt of the heavy brocade, showing off the throwing daggers, which I’d left for her that morning, holstered on her thigh. “Thank you, Aunty.”
Krait raised a brow before asking Sybilla, “Are you ready?”
