Chapter Fourteen Felicity

Chapter Fourteen

Felicity

T HE RIDE THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS is incredible. I've lived in the shadow court since arriving in Faerie three years ago, and it is breathtaking, but the Wild Fae territory boasts a different kind of beauty. These people speak of nature as the Mother, speak of her as their deity, and it's as if nature blooms up around them to reward them for that devotion. Even as the leaves slip into their autumnal colors, the trees appear lush and full of life. Mums and late-blooming hydrangeas line the roadside as if every inch of the land here is groomed by an expert gardener.

Misha and I ride side by side, two of his sentinels following behind—not too close, but near enough to protect their king should someone use this as an opportunity to attack.

Misha's quiet on the ride. None of that flirtatious poking at me like he was doing before training or in my chambers this morning. I think I got to him when I revealed what I felt between him and Blake. I don't get the impression it's that he doesn't want me to know how he feels about the subject. Instead, I think it's those words he spoke later that have made him withdraw.

I hope you'll allow me to show you.

I could've written them off as the words of a male trying to help his best friend's sister. Or even as the courtesy of a kind host. But there was something about the way he reached for me after. Something about the way he retreated when he seemed to realize what he was doing.

I feel a pull toward Misha that I cannot deny—a pull I don't think has anything to do with the shadow princess. As much as I want to flatter myself by thinking he feels the same, any such whimsy must be tempered by reality. I am not Felicity right now. I am the king's best friend's little sister. I am the shadow princess. I am Jasalyn to him—both beautiful and an advantageous political match.

If Misha did happen to feel something for whatever bits of me have emerged in the last couple of days, there would be no way for him to disentangle those feelings from what he feels or felt for the real Jasalyn. And the truth is not something I have the luxury to share. It would ruin everything.

If the king does harbor feelings for me—for her —I need to use those feelings to my advantage. Hale's plan seemed ridiculous to me. Misha wouldn't share the location of the Hall of Doors with just any female he has feelings for... but perhaps if that female is the shadow queen's sister, perhaps if she's already so close to his inner circle, he might.

Now that I understand how much he longs for a partner—for someone he'd want to share the bond with—I hate the idea of manipulating that yearning for my own ends. Hate it so much that when he left me behind in the library, I asked Blake to point me toward references about portals and portal magic. One way or the other, I need to find the portal, but if I find it on my own, I might be able to live with myself when this is all over.

I might not have the kind of power to create a portal, but I know enough about them to understand that a portal leading to a series of other portals would have to affect the environment. By the time I'd gathered the books and dug into the first in the stack, my handmaid informed me that Misha was waiting at the stables.

"What are you thinking about so hard over there?" Misha asks.

I glance toward him and force a tentative smile. "I'm wondering who exactly lives out here?"

"Gaelynn, Jewel of Peace," he says, casting a glance my way. "Having issues with your memory today?"

"I mean how does she live out here when there's nothing else around? What does she eat? You said she's one of your elders, but does she still hunt for her own food? Who does she talk to? Does she do more than wait for someone to come seek her counsel? Does she guard the secrets of your court?"

According to the first book I found, very powerful portals can create a sort of magical vacuum, as happened in the Unseelie Court with a portal to the Underworld. In that case, the whole area became what is now known as the Silent Ridge, a mountainous area where the only magic that works is the portal itself. As a result, the fae avoid spending any significant amount of time in the area, and none live there.

The book said, however, that magical vacuums are rare, that often the most powerful portals simply give off an energy that dissuades people from lingering near them. These mountains are so remote that I can't help but wonder if we're coming onto something similar.

Misha chuckles. "So many questions."

I sigh. "Sorry. Never mind."

"No. It's good. Ask your questions." The incline turns steep, and Misha spurs his horse forward. "The Jewel has a group of priestesses who stay with her in her sanctuary. They provide her with anything she needs that magic can't supply."

I wait for him to answer the rest of my questions. Even if he denied the Jewel is guarding something, I would likely be able to detect the lie.

He flashes me a look over his shoulder. "Don't like being this far away from everything?"

I love it. I'm social by nature and prefer being around others, so I don't know that I'd want to be this isolated, but it might be worth it to see this kind of beauty every day. The leaves are changing, and every so often we reach a vista that allows us a view of the valley below—a stretch of green, yellow, russet, orange, and red dappled throughout the trees so they look like an artist's palette smudged together.

I hesitate before responding, measuring my words against what I think Jas would say. "Perhaps I envy her," I finally answer. "She doesn't have to worry about people bothering her when she just wants to be left alone."

He grunts. "Everyone has responsibilities, Princess. While they can seem heavy and burdensome, if you give it a try, you might find you're happier with the burden than without."

"Has anyone ever told you that it's egotistical to assume you know what's best for everyone?"

"No." He shifts to the side in his saddle, leaning toward me, and whispers, "They told me to be king."

I snort. "So pompous."

"Don't mistake wisdom for arrogance."

"And what makes you so wise?"

He laughs softly. "A very, very long life, for starters."

"In other words, you're old?"

He winks at me, then nods ahead. "There it is," he says, and I see it. Just barely peeking out of the trees ahead, a white stone steeple, softly glowing as if it might be made of clouds backlit by sunshine.

Misha spurs his horse on, as if anxious to get there now that we're close, and I hurry my horse to keep up, my breath catching as the full sanctuary comes into view. It's not overly large, but it is beautiful—all that glowing white stone, with the steeple in the center and two turrets on either side, the entire structure surrounded by fluffy white hydrangeas and fluttering butterflies.

A boy is waiting at the steps and when Misha dismounts, he hands the boy the reins to his horse before turning to me, arms lifted.

My heart races and feels too big for my chest at the thought of him helping me off my horse, so I ignore him as I imagine Jas might. I throw one leg over and lower myself down as gracefully as possible.

Misha scoffs behind me as my feet hit the ground. "Stubborn girl," he mutters, but I don't miss the note of pride in his voice.

I hand the reins to the boy, and I turn to Misha with a smirk. "Not as helpless as you think."

"It's true you handled the ride better than I expected, though I imagine you'll be sore tomorrow."

I probably will. I'm more accustomed to time on horseback than the princess, but I imagine this body will feel that ride in the morning.

Misha extends a hand, indicating for me to lead the way up the steps. "I'm proud of you," he says, remaining by my side as we ascend. His voice is rough, as if these words are hard for him to say but they've been waiting in his throat the whole ride. "I'm not heartless. I want you to know that I am aware of what a mark Mordeus left on you, and under different circumstances, I would allow you to stay out of any information gathering regarding him."

I cut my gaze to him briefly before focusing on the steps again. He and Brie both say they know Mordeus made a mark on Jas, but from what I can tell, neither one of them has any idea how deep that mark goes, how dramatically her days in his dungeon made her lose faith in the world. In the fae. And worse, in herself.

We come upon the curved oak doorway, and I turn to him. "Different circumstances being what?" I ask.

"You've been hiding in your shell for too long, Jas." His eyes are full of sadness as they scan my face. "For a long time I wanted it for your sister—hoped you would wake up and break free of this darkness for her sake. Or for her court." He swallows hard. "But now I just want you to do it for yourself. To live again, for yourself."

My heart twists. I wish Jas were here to hear that. I don't think she realizes how much the people in her life care. I don't think she's wanted to realize. It was easier to hide if she believed they didn't understand, if she believed they didn't see her.

"Do you really think he's back?" I ask.

Misha tilts his head side to side thoughtfully. "If such a thing is possible, the Jewel would be able to explain how. Her time is precious, so I wouldn't be here if I didn't think there was a chance." He reaches around me and opens the door.

The sanctuary is made of quartz and glass. Every surface sparkles and shines, a visual match for the low, pleasant humming that fills my ears. The moment the door falls closed behind us, a quiet comes over me—not a comforting quiet, but something instinctive that tells me I need to be cautious here, something primal that reminds me of my vulnerabilities and makes the next world, whatever comes after this life, feel too close.

Misha turns to me, arching a brow, and I realize I've stopped moving. I've frozen in the foyer of this disturbingly beautiful sanctuary.

"It's okay," he says softly. "What you're feeling is normal. I imagine it's more intense for a human. Just keep your guard up."

Nodding, I follow him in and keep my body as near to him as I dare.

The deeper we get, the more the humming amplifies, and the space seems to grow around us—as if we're walking down the hall of a grand palace and not the entrance to a small sanctuary. A chill runs through me at the wrongness of it.

"That doorway," I whisper, still walking, still putting one foot in front of the other even as the hair on the back of my neck stands on end, even when my mind tells me we should've hit the rear of the small building by now.

"Don't speak of it here," he says, his voice just as low.

I grab on to Misha's hand, and he squeezes mine in return.

Deeper and deeper into the sanctuary we go, and at the back, sitting on the floor with her eyes closed and her legs crossed, waits a wizened ancient fae, the silver webbing on her forehead pulsing with light. Is she praying? Meditating?

Misha puts a hand in front of me, stopping my progress. He lowers to his knees and bows his head. I follow his lead, kneeling on the hard floor beside him. The humming, I realize, is coming from her. It vibrates the floors, and I feel it in my limbs.

"Thank you for seeing us, Gaelynn, Jewel of Peace," Misha says.

I feel his fear. He has never liked coming here, visiting her, has seen it as both a duty and an honor, but one he dreads all the same.

The female doesn't reply, but the humming continues, low and steady.

"We are here because we need to assess a threat. We need to know if someone has crossed from the other side and back into the world of the living."

The Jewel nods, the only sign that she is even listening. "Go on," she finally says. The words come out with the hum, a part of it.

"There are rumors that Mordeus, the false king of the Unseelie Court, has returned from the dead. We have no proof of this supposed resurrection but need to know if it's true."

The humming stops, and her eyes open—white and milky. The silence that takes the place of that low hum feels deafening. "Why do you concern yourself with the affairs of other courts, Mishamon Nico Frendilla? You are Wild Fae. You are free of the petty clashes and treachery of the sun and moon courts. Do not entangle yourself with the likes of their politics."

Misha bows his head again. "You honor me with your wisdom, my Jewel. But I come here asking for the future of my court as much as any other. If Mordeus has returned, no court is safe."

She studies him for a long time with those milky eyes. "You are a good king, my child. Your court thrives under your leadership and will continue to thrive. But this girl beside you drives you to worry about matters that aren't yours. Do you deny it?"

Misha doesn't spare me a glance or even meet Gaelynn's eyes. "No, my Jewel. I deny none of your wisdom."

"Good. Then I will say this: When the gods brought Mab back from death, the world was altered, not only in this realm but beyond. Fates took turns that changed the course of millennia. They declared they would not do it again for even the greatest leader and certainly not for the likes of that wicked false king."

Misha exhales slowly. "Thank you for your wisdom, my Jewel. We will rest easier knowing he doesn't live again."

"I didn't say that, my child. I said the gods didn't bring him back."

Misha lifts his head, but I keep mine bowed. "Will you explain for me, my Jewel? Could such a thing be done without help from the gods?"

"Whether or not it was done, I cannot say. I have no connection to the Court of the Moon and their line of rulers. But I can say it is possible. Unlikely but possible. To bring he who has passed into the Twilight back to this world would require incomparable magic—both in the catalyst, which brings back the spirit, and in the physical realization, which brings back the body."

"Is there a body?"

"His most fervent supporters believe Mordeus's trusted advisors retrieved his body the day of his assassination and preserved it with magic, waiting for the day they had powerful enough magic to bring him back."

"Where would one get such magic? Fire gems? Bloodstones?"

"Not even the sacred stones could provide enough power to raise the dead."

"Then how?"

"There is no resurrection without great sacrifice. We all know death will come for us, but returning requires sacrifice the likes of which no true king would ever accept. For this reason, we will never see the best kings and queens return for their thrones. Only the worst."

"What kind of sacrifice?" Misha asks.

"There are legends of ancient spells that can take the living and use their magic to raise the dead." She shakes her head. "But it requires countless deaths of devoted followers, all for one resurrection."

I hear Misha swallow. "So for such a thing to happen, many would have to die."

"Where else would such great magic come from? Life is magic. Magic is life. The foresight required makes planning for such a thing nearly impossible. There are too many factors," she says. "Thank the gods anyone worthy of such a thing wouldn't allow it and those unworthy rarely have the devoted followers to make it happen. Therein lies the beauty of it."

Misha blinks, and I wonder if he's thinking the same thing I am.

The faceless plague. All the dead fae. Are they connected to Mordeus? Is he somehow taking their life force to bring himself back?

"But what if one had the legions willing to give their lives?" Misha says. "Then it would be possible?"

The Jewel flashes her teeth in a haunting approximation of a smile. "Even after the sacrifice brought back the spirit, no resurrection is complete without the body, and bringing a body back from the grave would require great magic indeed."

"But it could be done?" Misha asks.

Gaelynn hums again, the sound filling the space that seemed so empty without it. "I would hate to meet the faerie who could command powers meant for the gods alone," she says. "My priestess will give you the name of a skilled witch who lives on the coast. Bring her an object that belonged to the false king, and she will be able to tell you if he lives."

Misha holds my hand all the way down the too-long hall and out of the Jewel's sanctuary.

When we come to the doors, a priestess is waiting. "For you," she says, handing Misha a rolled-up sheet of paper.

He tucks it into his vest. "Thank you, and all my thanks to the Jewel."

"Long may she live," the priestess murmurs.

When she opens the door for us, Misha's sentinels are waiting with our horses at the bottom of the steps.

We're still hand in hand as we descend the stairs.

"Have they been waiting here the whole time?" I ask.

Misha shakes his head, confirming my suspicions.

"How did they know we were coming?" I ask.

"Those who are closest to me allow me to speak into their minds." He shoots me a look. "That is, those who don't keep their minds locked down like a steel cage."

I shrug. "You're the one who taught me to guard my mind."

"If you trust me, you can guard it and still let me in," he says.

"Trust doesn't come that easily for me."

He squeezes my hand. "I'm realizing that."

We reach the bottom of the steps, and I allow him to help me onto my horse before I think better of it. He doesn't linger, though, and moments later he's mounted his and we've begun our trek back to the castle.

I glance over my shoulder for one last look at the sanctuary before focusing on the trail ahead of me. "Is that place a doorway to another realm?"

"The Jewel of Peace lives in a pocket realm. It's how she stays safe when many may try to find a way to steal the power she's gained through her years."

I shiver. "It felt... wrong to be in there."

"I never cared for it, either. I think it's a step closer to the Twilight and our bodies resist it for that reason." He turns to me, hands on the pommel of his saddle. "Are you okay?"

I swallow, trying to imagine how Jasalyn would feel about what we learned. She already believes Mordeus is alive and plans to kill him. That's the only reason why I'm here next to Misha and not her. "I'm okay," I say. "Did you have the same thought I did? About a connection between the faceless plague and Mordeus?"

"I did." His knuckles turn white as he tightens his grip on the pommel. "I'll get in touch with your sister. She needs to know."

"You think it's true, then? You think he's back?"

"Magic is life. Life is magic. Mordeus never hesitated to use others for his own means. If he found a way to extract the life force from those fae in order to feed his own, he would."

"But what about the second half—what kind of fae has the power to revive a body after death?" I ask.

He scrapes a hand over his face. "I don't know. None of the necromancers I've met could perform true resurrections. They could bring someone back for a moment or two if they got to them quickly enough after their death, but at the end of those moments, the dead remain dead. Their bodies are rotting even as they speak."

"While we figure out who could revive Mordeus's body, we need to stop the faceless plague. If people are still dying and there's a connection, it must mean the resurrection of his spirit isn't complete." I'm thinking out loud and shouldn't. Jas would keep her ideas to herself.

"My thoughts exactly, but that's why Abriella needs to know about the connection. If we can figure out the cause, then maybe we can stop it." He drags a hand through his hair. "And we need something that belonged to Mordeus."

"You still plan to see the witch? Even though you believe he's back?"

"Operating on assumptions—even strong ones—is foolish when we have the tools we need to get the answers. I'm sure Finn can identify something in that palace that was important to his uncle."

"Probably." I should ask to go to the palace myself to retrieve it. That's what Jas would do, isn't it? But facing Abriella makes me nervous and—

"What we need," Misha says, "is Mordeus's seer. The Jewel kept talking about the foresight necessary to plan something like this, and I'd like to know just what he was told. That may be the only way to find his necromancer."

"Aren't seers notoriously vague and contradictory?"

"They are. Trust me, my niece has the sight, and if you aren't sure how to proceed on something before you speak with her, you'll be even more baffled after." He laughs to himself. "I'll ask Finn about that too."

"Good idea," I say, but I don't think Finn's going to be able to help him. If Mordeus knew he was going to die and had the foresight to plan for his own resurrection, I doubt a seer was behind it.

That sounds like the work of an oracle.

When we stop, we're not at Castle Craige but in the bustling little village in the foothills around the castle.

"What are we doing here?" I ask as Misha dismounts his horse.

He hands his reins to one of his sentinels and turns to me. "It was a hard ride today, and we learned some difficult information. You handled it beautifully. The least I can do in return is take you to a nice dinner."

I shift to dismount and cringe at the ache in my thighs.

"It's okay. I've got you." He waits beside my horse, and when I swing my leg over the saddle, he takes me by the hips and guides me down. I'm too warm, too tangled up inside as he pulls his hands away.

He leads me into a small thatched-roof cottage that I only realize is a restaurant once we step inside. We're met by a hunchbacked female with wings that are way too small for her body and elven ears that are too big for her head.

"My king," she says. She takes a bow that looks painful. "I am honored that you allow me to serve you tonight."

"Fancee, please stand. It is truly my pleasure to dine on the most delicious fare in my whole court."

"You flatter me, Your Grace, but surely you mean the whole realm."

He chuckles. "Indeed. My mistake."

She turns and, with a hurried limp, leads us through the cottage. We weave our way through tables and diners and onto a back patio framed by faerie lights above and candles along the ground.

Of the four tables, only the one in the center is set. It overflows with roses and candles and crystal goblets. Someone made sure no detail was overlooked for this special dinner for the king.

"It's lovely, Fancee," Misha says. "Thank you for the trouble."

"My king is courting again," Fancee says, nodding to me. "It is no trouble but an honor to help find our new queen."

"Oh no." My cheeks heat. "This isn't... I mean, I'm not—"

Misha squeezes my hand. "Thank you, Fancee. We appreciate it."

She winks at me and then scurries back into the cottage.

Misha pulls out my chair. "I apologize for this."

I sit and clear my throat as he takes his position across from me. "I had no idea you were planning such a romantic evening, my king. And courting me. That's such interesting news. Perhaps I can know in advance before our wedding?"

"I really wasn't... I'm sorry." His cheeks go slightly pink. "I knew it would likely be nearing sunset by the time we arrived, and given how you feel about the dark, I asked her to provide us with extra lights and candles. She must've gotten the wrong impression."

"Or perhaps she's growing impatient for a new queen."

His lips press into a thin line. "Perhaps. Everyone seems to be."

"Are you?" I ask, dragging a finger through the condensation on my water glass.

He's studying the lights around the patio as if they might show him the way to that queen everyone is waiting for. "Sorry—am I what?"

"Anxious for your new queen?" My stomach flips and tightens with the question. I'm both breathless and terrified to know his answer.

He blows out a breath. "I suppose that depends what you mean by anxious. My advisors are certainly anxious about it. They don't like that I don't have a queen and like even less that I don't have an heir, but my sister is well. She's next in line for the crown should something happen to me, and she has an heir if something happens to the both of us. So there's not the urgency that they like to pretend there is."

"And yet?" I say, propping my forearms on the table and leaning forward.

He lifts his eyes to mine. "And yet... when someone is given a second chance at finding love, he finds himself eager for it to fall into his lap." He swallows. "As you said this morning, I once thought that I would be stuck with no better than what my parents had. The truth is that my marriage with Amira may have been no more than a friendship, but it was a good one. As far as marriages go, it was better than my parents'. I valued it."

"You miss it?"

A brown, spotted hawk cries, flying over our heads and perching on a post on the corner of the patio. It's one of the largest birds I've ever seen this close, and Misha watches it while he answers. "Not really. Amira's done me the honor of remaining my friend, even though she owes me nothing."

"Perhaps she doesn't remain your friend out of a sense of obligation but because your friendship is reward enough in itself."

He huffs out a breath. "Now you sound like her."

"I don't get the impression that's a bad thing."

"No. Not at all." He traces an invisible pattern on the tablecloth. "If I marry again— when I marry again, as my advisors would prefer I say it—I certainly won't do it for what my parents had. I won't do it for an heir alone, and I won't do it for something less than what I had with Amira."

"Why weren't you two romantically . . ."

He lifts his head and arches a brow at me. "Your sister never talked to you about it?"

I tense. I have no idea. Would Brie have shared something like that with her younger sister? It seems probable, but that would've bordered on gossip, and the shadow queen doesn't seem the type. Plus, Jas probably wouldn't have been interested. "I guess I never got the details," I finally say.

"Amira and I were a political match, but when we married, she was in love with someone else. I... I respected that."

"You're saying you never expected her to love you in return?" I ask, because it's clear the king harbored at least some feelings for his queen.

"I'm saying we approached our marriage in the best way we knew how, given our unique circumstances." He glances toward the cottage door as if he wants to make sure no one is listening. "I'm saying that we never had a reason to expect our union to give us an heir."

I clear my throat. "Oh. I see."

The old faerie scuttles out onto the patio again and sets bowls down in front of each of us and a covered basket in the center of the table. "Carrot ginger soup with curry and coconut crème and fresh-baked sourdough bread," she says. She pulls a bottle of wine from her apron and fills our glasses. "And a sparkling wine that will bring out all those autumnal flavors—a true faerie wine. It's our house specialty."

"Thank you," I say. "If this tastes half as good as it smells, I know I'm in for a treat."

The old faerie beams at me. "I like this one, Your Majesty."

Misha scans my face and nods. "As do I," he says without taking his gaze off me, and my stomach flip-flops.

She winks at him before trudging back into the cottage.

"Thank you," he says, expression softening.

"What? What did I do?"

"For being kind to Fancee. It's a small thing, but it means everything to her. And to me."

My cheeks heat, and I reach for my wine. "I was only being honest."

Misha puts his hand on top of my glass. "That's her special wine."

"Should I only drink after I try the soup?" I ask, confused.

"When someone says something is a true faerie wine, they mean it's going to loosen your inhibitions, make you lose track of time. Fancee is apparently set on making this a date to remember."

I release my glass. "Oh."

His grin goes wide and a little wicked. "I'm not saying you can't drink it. I just want you to know what you're getting into."

"I think I'll stick to water." My cheeks heat further, and I'm sure the redness is creeping up into my hairline at this point. The last thing I need to do is loosen my inhibitions around this male. I already seem to lose control of my tongue in his presence. I'd hate to see what would happen if we added faerie wine to the mix.

I pick up my spoon. "Is the soup safe?"

He chuckles. "Yes. The soup is safe. And I do trust her. She's not trying to trick us—just trying to help in her own way." He waves to our surroundings. "Just like the ambience."

"Well, I've never had a romantic dinner before," I say. "So I guess it's kind of nice."

"Not even with your baker's son?" he asks.

"I—" I duck my head. Focus, Felicity. "We had to be discreet." I hate the lie. I'm beginning to hate all the lies.

To distract myself, I bring a spoonful of soup to my lips. Misha watches me. It's delicious, but it's hard to focus on anything but his eyes on my mouth as I swallow. "Is that your hawk?" I ask, nodding to the bird if only to get his eyes off me.

Misha glances toward the hawk for a moment before returning the full weight of his attention to me. "That's Storm, my familiar."

I arch a brow, waiting for an explanation.

"I can only be in one place at a time, so Storm helps me keep an eye on things in all the places I cannot be. Our minds are linked, so what he sees, I know."

I grin. "Your personal spy."

Misha grunts and picks up his spoon. "Does it bother you? Would you like me to ask him to leave?"

I shake my head. "I'm just surprised you have him here." I take another steaming spoonful from my bowl and barely stifle a moan as all the flavors explode on my tongue.

"He's done as I asked for the day, and he likes to be close to me when he can be."

"That's kind of sweet." I stir my soup. It's so delicious I want to make it last. "And who did he spy on for you today?"

"Truth be told, I have him watching a few different groups for me right now. We're hosting our yearly ball at the castle at the end of the week. It's always a security risk to invite so many outsiders into my court and into my home." He removes the napkin from the basket and hands me a piece of crusty bread. "Storm's skills are just one of the ways we take precautions against those who might have less than honorable intentions."

I tear off a hunk of my bread and dip it into my soup. "Will I be expected to attend this ball?"

"As the special guest of my court, you'll be invited to come, and as the princess of the shadow court, you'll be expected to make an appearance. But, Jasalyn"—I lift my head and meet his eyes, so lovely and so serious all of a sudden—"expectations and invitations aside, I hope you'll come because you choose to. I hope you'll come as my friend."

My name rests on the tip of my tongue. Felicity. Call me Felicity. But I swallow it back like the painful truth that it is.