This time it was he who looked at her as if he wasn’t sure if her answer didn’t have a double meaning, and Lannahi added on impulse, “My friends came up with the theory that the juice of the nectar tree and the natural facial expressions of the fae who consume it are related. After watching the landshapers’s faces for a long time, I’m starting to think they may be correct.”
When Mahhir understood the implication of her words, he smiled with amusement. “We may seem cool,” he admitted. “But let me assure you that our hearts are hot.”
“That’s another thing I’ve discovered.”
Surprise flashed in Mahhir’s eyes again. He examined her face. “You aren’t what everyone believes you to be, are you?”
Lannahi smiled. “How can I answer that question?”
Mahir was about to respond, but they were greeted by the hostess. When the woman surrendered to Mahhir three keys that were too large to fit the locks of the lockers located in the corridors, the man explained, “Keys to the private rooms.”
Lannahi cast him a puzzled look, but wordlessly took the key he handed her and followed him.
“Will you wait for us for a few minutes, Lannahi?” he asked when they stood at the door of their assigned chambers. “I would like to speak to Ashared and Lizaar. After that I would like to introduce you to my father, if you don’t mind.”
When Lannahi raised an eyebrow, he added with a mixture of remorse and grim humor, “If you mind it,hewill introduce himself toyou.”
Though the vision of speaking to Mahrur, Mahhir and Lizaar’s father, didn’t fill her with enthusiasm, Lannahi caught herself smiling. There was something familiar about Mahhir.
Something that reminded her of Ashared.
“I’ll wait,” she said. “But you don’t have to hurry. You may visit Lizaar in Goldfrost whenever you want.”
Lannahi felt the stares of the fae surrounding her, but she didn’t look away from Mahhir.
“I appreciate the offer,” he said seriously, “and I accept it gladly.”
She sent him a conspiratorial smile. “Bring the gloomiest guards with you too. We’ll match yours against mine to see which one has the bitterest expression.”
Ashared snorted with a laugh a split second earlier than Mahhir. Kazurr smiled. Lizaar’s face was unreadable.
Lannahi spent the next few minutes preparing to confront the inevitable. She took off her coat and fixed her hair. When there was nothing else left to do, she began pacing the small room. Would Mahhir still be friendly toward her after seeing the collar around Lizaar’s neck?
When a knock sounded on the door, she approached it with her heart fluttering with anxiety. She needed allies. She already had enough enemies.
“Ready?” Ashared asked, his gaze warm.
For a moment, Lannahi felt as if she’d gone back to the day they’d met. Her simply a singer and him a swordsman who, by chance, happened to be assigned to the room where she hid from the world.
“Ready,” she replied with a smile.
Ashared moved away, making room for her, and Lannahi stepped out into the corridor. Mahhir’s gaze didn’t hold as much warmth as Ashared’s eyes, but his calm demeanor made her hopeful. Seeing Lizaar smile, she almost dropped the key in her hand. The smile wasn’t meant for her and ended as soon as the woman felt her gaze on her, but the fact remained. There was something that was able to make Lizaar smile even with a collar around her neck.
Something or someone.
Lannahi tactfully avoided looking at Kazurr’s face and focused on closing the door behind her. The fact that Mahhir had rented three rooms instead of two suddenly took on a new meaning.
Since most of the fae in this part of the Arena were landshapers, Lannahi attracted attention with her short stature, but like on the day of her coronation, her chic dress—silver this time—helped her step into the role, and despite the many stares—more hostile than curious—cast in her direction, she walked through the corridor and the Main Hall with confidence that the icy fire burning in the eyes of the king of Winterfort nor the cool presence of his brother were unable to shake.
Mahrur surveyed her face, but then his gaze was drawn to something behind her. Judging from his clenched jaw, Lannahi guessed that it was the collar around Lizaar’s neck.
“Father,” Mahhir spoke up, stopping in front of Mahrur. “This is Lady Lannahi. Lannahi, this is Lord Mahrur, King of Winterfort, and swordmaster Nahid, his brother.”
The enchantress inclined her head politely. Nahid responded with a nod, but Mahrur watched her unmoved.
“Is this masquerade necessary?” he asked coolly. “Isn’t it enough that you stole the city from my daughter?”
Lannahi almost smiled. It suddenly became apparent where Lizaar inherited her recalcitrant attitude.
