Shadow Wings (The Darkest Drae Book 2)(55)

I laughed and snorted. “Right.”

He chuckled, and we walked through the quartz hallways to the front entrance. I’d already seen the rows of cushions and low tables out in the clearing by the queen’s dying ash tree, but Dyter hadn’t.

The old man whistled low. “How many are coming to this party?”

“I don’t even know how many Phaetyn there are.” There were at least two dozen long tables, the height of my knees, surrounding the tree. Shiny silver cushions lined either side of each of the low tables. My best guess was there was seating for forty or fifty at each of the tables.

“Four thousand,” he said.

I peered at him and decided not to inquire how he would know that. He was an ambassador; I shouldn’t be surprised he would know his job. After all, he was Dyter. Instead, I did the math of tables and cushions in my head. “I would say at least a quarter of them then by the looks.”

Kamoi crossed the clearing, weaving in and out of tables toward us.

His gaze dipped to my chest, and I pushed my hair forward. Lacing the corset tight was great for keeping it on but did have other consequences.

The prince’s eyes widened as he took me in. I may not have any binding designs on him, but his response was gratifying.

“Kamoi,” Dyter bit out.

I knew that voice, and a glance at my mentor confirmed what I’d thought. Dyter’s jaw was clenched, and he was glaring at the Phaetyn prince.

Kamoi missed the look or ignored it—his eyes never left me. He held his arm out to me with a warm look of appreciation glowing in his violet eyes.

A few Phaetyn stopped to watch, their conversations drying up as they focused on us.

I nodded at Kamoi, wary of what his attention might cause. “Good evening, Kamoi. I’ll walk with Dyter. But would you show us where we’ll be sitting? I don’t know how you have the tables organized.”

His gaze traveled down my dress, his lips parting as he pulled in a deep breath. He met my eyes and flashed a rakish grin. “Ryn, you’re absolutely ravishing. You strike me speechless.” He clasped his hands to his chest and winked at me. “You will not sit on a cushion. You’ll sit with the royal family at the table.”

I followed his pointing finger to a table just under the tree. I scrunched my nose as I noticed the fence surrounding the large ash, the distance enough to make touching the tree impossible.

“You are not agreeable with this?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

“The cushions look like more fun,” I explained. “I sit at a table all the time.”

Kamoi hesitated. “Well, if you would prefer . . .”

Dyter led me around the prince, squeezing my hand in a now familiar warning. “No, Prince Kamoi. We would not want to alter your plans. We’re happy to sit at your table.”

I kept my mouth shut.

Kamoi fell into step beside me. “Of course.”

Phaetyn were already taking their places, apparently sitting at random at the low tables. They were the calmest I’d yet seen them. Perhaps Queen Alani was wise to have a gathering to unify them.

Kamoi led me to a seat, and as soon as I sat, I was glad I wasn’t on a cushion. This corset was definitely too tight.

“You are radiant tonight.” Kamoi leaned in and brushed my hair back off my shoulder. His breath hitched, and he swallowed hard.

“We’re here as friends,” I reminded him, waving him away as I would a fly.

His eyes dipped, and a slow smile pulled at one side of his lips.

“Friends,” I said in a sharper tone.

Grinning, he held his hand over his heart and chuckled. “I must apologize once more. I find it hard to remember my promises when you look the way you do.”

I mumbled, “That’s at least the third apology today.”

“I suppose I should apologize for that, too,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes and turned my attention to the Phaetyn as food was laid out before us. Everyone was dressed in the same fashion as Dyter and me in varying states of grandeur and colors. Some corsets and vests were embroidered as mine, and some plain. The flower crowns were all made of the same pale-green flowers, interspersed with tiny white buds.

I snickered as Dyter’s stomach rumbled, and the Phaetyn sitting on cushions in front of the royal table looked at him. “Bit hungry?”

“Just a little,” he grumbled. “All I’ve had today is fruit.”

My mouth watered at the layout of food. Freshly baked rolls gave off a delicious aroma, steam still rising from them in wavering tendrils; the bright colors of salad vegetables drew my eye next, and then the arrangement of cut fruit. And . . .

“What’s that?” I asked Kamoi, pointing at a fountain with brown liquid.

“Excuse me,” he said to his father sitting on the other side, and then Kamoi turned to give me his attention.

Oops.

“Yes, Ryn?” he asked, smiling as if I hadn’t been totally rude. I pointed again, and he said, “Liquid chocolate.”

I frowned at the unfamiliar word. Even in Tyrrik’s tower, I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard mention of it. “What’s chocolate?”

Kamoi grinned. “Really?” When I nodded, he added, “I can’t believe you haven’t had chocolate.”

“I guess starving people don’t get access to it,” I replied, feeling a little defensive. I’d kind of meant it as a joke, but as his smile faded, I wondered. Just like the abundance on King Irdelron’s table, this display of food had me on edge. Verald was doing a lot better with the Phaetyn blood Caltevyn was spreading throughout the Quota Fields, but still, if the Phaetyn just made three or four trips a year out there, everything could be so different . . . for Verald and Gemond. The blood Caltevyn had would only last so long, and while I would do all I could to keep people fed, I was only one Phaetyn.