“Yeah but if wewere, Minnie said we’d win.”
“You’ve got to stop talking to her,” Archer said, digging into his bag to pull out a skein of yarn. “She scares me.”
Quill lifted a shoulder. “That’s why I like her. The scary ones are usually the ones you should be friends with. I had a scary friend once. Her name was Deyanira, huh Paesha? She’d probably kill you.”
“Quill,” I gasped. “She absolutely would not have.”
She smiled that ornery little smile. “She might’ve.”
“How’s the new hobby going?” I asked Archer with a smirk, hoping Quill would take a hint.
Archer held up the tangled mess of blue yarn with a scowl. “I don’t understand. The old woman in the market made it look so simple. ‘Just loop it through,’ she said. ‘It’s relaxing,’ she said.” He yanked at a particularly stubborn knot. “This is not relaxing. This is torture with string.”
I bit back a smile, watching him wrestle with what was supposed to be a scarf. He’d been throwing himself into one activity after another. Last week he’d tried to learn the lute. The broken strings were still scattered around his room.
I knew what he was doing, even if he wouldn’t admit it. He missed his twin. Part of his heart died the day she had, and though he’d let the sadness fade, there was still a void to be filled. Be it from sandwich making or otherwise.
The Treeis mark peeked out from beneath his sleeve as he worked, and something warm bloomed in my chest at the sight of it. Whatever that bond meant, whatever complications it might bring, it had given him back a piece of what he’d lost. A family. A purpose. People to protect.
“I think you dropped a stitch,” Quill said helpfully, leaning over to point at his work.
“I dropped my sanity about ten rows ago.” He held up the mess of yarn. “Does this look anything like a scarf to you?”
“Maybe if you squint?” I offered. “And turn your head to the left. And possibly drink some of that fancy whiskey your father keeps in the castle.”
“It looks like Boo got into the yarn basket,” Quill giggled.
“You’re both terrible critics.” He stuffed the yarn back in his bag with an exaggerated huff, but I caught the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “Maybe I’ll try painting next. How hard can that be?”
“Says the man who lost a fight with string,” I teased.
His eyes met mine, and beneath his playfulness, I saw a flash of understanding pass between us. He knew I knew why he was doing this. Just as I knew he wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. So instead, I reached over and squeezed his hand, feeling the mark on my shoulder warm at the contact.
“At least you haven’t tried juggling again,” Quill said solemnly. “Poor Boo is still traumatized.”
“I think I’m still traumatized,” he said seriously.
“Aren’tyou the most beautiful girl that ever was?” King Aldus asked, his hands clasped together as he looked down at Quill spinning in her new dress. The giant box had been waiting for her when we arrived.
“You’ll spoil the child rotten,” Minnie said, though there was no hardness to her tone, only delight as we all stood around watching Quill spin.
“King Aldy?” Quill asked, walking up to take the old man’s hand. “The dress is very pretty. But don’t you think my friends at Thorne’s house should have what they need before I have things I don’t?”
“Remember when she used to be creepy?” Archer whispered in my ear.
“Can you think of what’s changed?” I asked as King Aldus and Quill began plotting. “We haven’t let Aeris linger around and look at her smile.”
“Speaking of Aeris, I heard she came by the house a few days ago when we were here. Maybe we should start forcing Elowen to come with us. She can’t be left there alone.”
“Listen, Guardian. I’d love to see you try to force that woman to do anything. It won’t happen.”
“I could talk to her,” Minerva said, taking my side. “I have a way with mortals.”
I shook my head. “She won’t come to heel by force. No matter where you wave that cane.”
The doors to the ballroom flung open and Thorne came strolling in, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on mine.
Minerva huffed. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be somewhere else.”
