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The whole world knew about Lord Mossberne’s mountaintop retreat. Television tours. Magazine spreads. Countless snapshots and selfies on social media. Everybody who was anybody seemed to find their way to the glittering castle meant to give credence to Lapis’s token lordship. Though the view of the night sky was exquisite, Lapis was only in residence when he was expected to entertain.

Isla found her way to his side. “Did you speak with Ambassador Sorenson yet?”

“Should I?” His gaze drifted briefly to the pale green crystals glittering in her hair. Each was a remnant, and they formed a discreet defensive array. He wanted to inspect them further, but a single touch to Isla’s artfully arranged curls would send the gossipmongers into a tizzy of speculation.

Heedless of his need to remain aloof, Isla let her fingertips graze bare skin at the small of his back. “He has good news, and I know he’ll want you to hear it from him.”

“I am all aflutter.”

She laughed lightly. “I need to introduce myself to the newest members of Tenna Silverprong’s cortege. And … soon-to-be First Lady Sunfletch has just arrived. Shall I welcome her on your behalf?”

“Please.”

“Done!” And she sailed off, positively sparkling with purpose.

Lapis averted his face, feigning indifference, lest the snap of a shutter capture any hint of a lingering gaze or a longing look. Instead, he strolled in the general direction of the ambassador. However, a familiar face on the far edge of the crowd thoroughly distracted him. Changing course, Lapis hastened to greet someone who can’t have been on the guestlist. “Boniface? Welcome to my humble home.”

Jacques Smythe’s elder brother blinked in obvious surprise. “Lapis. Lord, you live here? My sympathies.”

The staffer at his side winced. In an aggrieved tone, he said, “Boniface, this is Lord Mossberne.”

“Clearly.” With a puzzled glance between them, he added, “We’re acquainted. I’ve permission to use Lapis’s given name.”

“At home, certainly. But during official functions, where every other person in the room is a reporter, influencer, or pundit, please address members of the Amaranthine Council by their proper titles.” The avian adjusted his glasses. Their darkened lenses mostly hid cloudy eyes. “Ideally spokesperson, since each clan adheres to differing terms. I’ll make certain the full and annotated list makes it onto your desk upon our return to Keishi.”

Lapis both knew and liked Magarr Oathbide, a genial magpie clansman who hadn’t balked at serving under Suuzu, whose years were scanty by comparison.

“Right. Yes. Noted.” And with a faint smile, Boniface blandly started over. “Good of you to remember me, Spokesperson Mossberne. Thank you for so generously opening your home to this madding, glittering crowd. Nothing to criticize, but lord, doesn’t rattling about this place make you homesick?”

Lapis reached for his hand and took Magarr’s elbow as well. “The allure of Stately House cannot be denied, but … Boniface, I’m confused. How did you come to be wearing Spokesperson Farroost’s crest?”

“He hired me.”

“Suuzu never said!” Lapis felt sure he would have.

“It’s probably slipped his mind.” Boniface shoved his free hand into his trouser pocket. “Doesn’t matter, really. I’m worse than useless.”

Magarr whistled a mild protest. “Mister Smythe’s position is unique but not unprecedented.”

“Your brother,” Lapis realized aloud.

With a sulky glance that he quickly averted, Boniface said, “I suppose the comparison is inevitable.”

Somehow, Magarr knew and with a series of gentle touches, he corrected the man’s posture. “Sylphon and I have undertaken Boniface’s … acclimation. Hence our attendance this evening. Please, don’t let us keep you from your other guests.”

A gentle reminder that Lapis was drawing attention with his interest. “I’m surprised, but pleasantly so. Ah. Does Argent know?”

Boniface fussed with his orange armband. “I’d be shocked if he didn’t. Why …? Oh, bloody hell, was he invited?” And quickly lowering his voice, he asked, “Is Jackie here?”

“Your brother is ….” Lapis trailed off, for there wasn’t much he could say. “Judging by the state of Argent’s tie, no. He is not.”

The man’s eyes slowly widened. “Do you mean to say that Argent bloody Lord Mettlebright is in the vicinity?”

Magarr clucked and pressed a warning finger to Boniface’s lips.

Lapis stepped back, yielding his place as Argent revealed himself.

“Language, Bon-Bon.”

Far from cowed, the man exclaimed, “Mon dieu, your tie! Why hasn’t Jackie put you to rights?”

Argent mildly asked, “Would you be so good?”

“R-really?” And with ill-concealed concern, he repeated, “Why hasn’t Jackie put you to rights?”

“He is resting at home.”

Boniface attacked Argent’s tie, muttering, “While you’re being slovenly in public? Totally unacceptable. I know Catalan said Jackie was safe, but he’d never let this slide. Something’s wrong.”

Ignoring his statement, Argent softly inquired, “Why are you here, Bon-Bon?”

“I’m embarking on a new career. Apparently, spare lordlings are the next best thing to cossets when it comes to recruiting a cortege.” Easing into a cautiously receptive posture, he added, “You can hardly cast stones. You started the trend.”

Argent indicated Boniface’s armband. “Suuzu would have mentioned.”

“He’ll remember. Eventually. It’s not my fault you lot are taking forever to acclimate to Hajime’s pollen.”

Lapis said, “That would explain the memory lapse.”

“But not Boniface’s lack of one.” Argent coolly addressed himself to Magarr. “Will you require a personal meeting with Spokesperson Farroost in the near future?”

“So far, we are managing all communication by call or by courier.”

“Is your Mister Smythe capable of acting as courier?”

“Lord, give me some credit,” grumbled Boniface.

Magarr placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I have every confidence in his abilities.”

“Then I’ll expect him in time for the solstice.” And arching a brow at Boniface, Argent added, “Kyrie wants you home for Christmas. Do not disappoint him.”

He strode off, leaving behind a dumbstruck Boniface.

“Oh, I am envious,” Magarr said cheerfully. “A personal invitation from Lord Mettlebright? He is famously selective. Quite an honor. Unless … did you have other plans?”

“I … hadn’t really.” Boniface sought Lapis’s gaze. “There’s hardly any time. Barely more than a fortnight, and …! Mon dieu, how many children even are there now?”

That wasn’t a detail to be bandied about in public, so Lapis only asked, “Does it matter?”

“Rather! It’s Christmas, isn’t it?”

Only after the man turned to Magarr to inquire after appropriate shops did Lapis realize that Boniface intended to bring gifts for everyone at Stately House. And quite possibly the enclave as well. Because to do any less would be unforgivably rude.

Lovely man.

Definitely a Smythe.

After everyone had either been seen off or guided to guest quarters to await departures on the morrow, Lapis retreated up a certain stairway. Dazzling crystals anchored the heavy wards that ensured the sanctity of a traditional, cross-shaped suite. Four chambers stood in readiness for the four brides Lapis would never accumulate.

A light shone under the door to the Eastern Bride’s quarters, and he rapped lightly.

“It’s fine. Come in,” Isla answered. She’d already abandoned her evening’s finery. Flannel pajama pants. An oversized Wardenclave hoodie. And the bewitching scents of soap and self.

Lapis crossed to where she sprawled, stockinged feet propped before the fireplace, book open on her knee, phone in hand, a smile already brightening her countenance. Feeling a little like a supplicant, he knelt before her and propped his chin upon his palm. “Am I interrupting?”

“Uncle Jackie texted. We’ve been catching up. See?” She scrolled up, then held out her phone so he could read from the beginning.

O, font of knowledge, I beseech thee!

I’m hardly an oracle

Closest thing to!

And in the know

So it’s safe to ask

Discretion for discretion

I have an unaccountable craving

For lamb, of all things

Do you think it a consequence of

the delicate condition in which I

find myself? #Sprigged

What a coincidence!

Lamb was on the menu this evening

We brought in a chef especially

You’ve been noshing on

the very thing I crave

Very mean of you

Send takeaway by herald

The two had gone back and forth for some minutes, indulging in the fond chit-chat that marked their relationship. Jacques actually sounded like himself. He couldn’t be, of course, but he was making an effort.

“Why unaccountable?” Lapis asked, returning the phone. “Do they never have the stuff at Stately House?”

Isla was already tapping.

Why would you find lamb concerning?

Never really cared for it

More Bon-Bon’s thing, come to think

Isla hesitated over an answer. “Does Uncle Jackie know about Boniface’s visit?”

“If not, are we the ones who should be breaking that news?”

“No. I think not.” Isla began a response. “Aunt Tsumiko is the one with closest ties to them. Or Kyrie. Maybe it simply hasn’t come up? A lot has happened over the last few weeks.”

Again, she angled the screen for him to see.

I’ll ask Revic about cravings

Dr. Naoki may have insight

He has firsthand experience as well

I don’t like borrowing Naoki too often

The children cling to him

And he clings right back

But I’ll have a quick word with Hajime

Who is that, please?

Which sparked a swift exchange of information, including a selfie in which Jacques beamed up at the camera, cheek-to-cheek with a tree-imp, red flowers cascading.

When Lapis only reacted with mild amusement, Isla squeaked in indignation. “You knew?”

“So did you, though you’ve since forgotten.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“Prolonged exposure. You don’t frequent Stately House with the same regularity.”

“I visit when I can!”

“I’m not criticizing, my dear. Merely pointing out that I’ve spent more time sleeping under trees.”

“Right. Sorry. It’s just … I feel left out!” As a peace offering, she budged over, making room for him on the wide chair. “Or foolish. I definitely remembered that Dr. Naoki had firsthand experience carrying children, but it never occurred to me that the father was in the picture. Tsumiko must be so happy. And Akira, too. Oh, do come up here. It’s grown chilly.”

Lapis stood and stepped back. “I should change out of these things.”

“Swapping silk for more silk isn’t much of a change. Come where it’s warm.”

He let her have her way, insinuating himself into the offered space.

With artless affection, she turned her body into his, slouching down so her head rested against his shoulder. He wondered what Michael would think if he saw them like this. The man had been understandably concerned about Lapis’s handling of his daughter. But not concerned enough to bring in Sansa.

Reassurances had come easily. Yes, Isla was often alone with him, just as they were now, but to her, Lapis was nothing more than a piece of home. A source of comfort. A comrade in whose arms she felt safe. But his intentions? Unwilling to lie, Lapis could only abase himself and admit that he’d beguile her if he could. If anything, Michael had seemed relieved.

Lapis still wasn’t entirely sure why. He didn’t really like the idea of being on reserve if Isla’s plans fell through. No dragon should be thought of as a consolation prize. And he might be annoyed if it turned out that Michael was trying to protect his former mentor, sparing him from a needful confrontation. Yet Hisoka continued to pretend Isla’s feelings weren’t fixed upon him, and Isla seemed equally unwilling to speak for fear of rejection.

Idiots, both of them.

But him most of all.

Lapis rested his cheek against her hair and asked, “Where are my other brides?”

“Tenma turned in already. He and Inti are in the western suite. And Revic wanted a flit, so he slipped out. I think he misses mountains, so he’s having an especially nice time.”

“Mmm. And what are you reading?” He touched a long finger to the book she wasn’t quite hiding from him. “Something you’ll recommend?”

“Oh, it’s fine, but it’s not really holding my attention.” She lifted her face to pout. “I can’t imagine why I’m so distracted.”

“Should I be redirecting you onto wiser courses? Or distracting you further?”

“The latter, please. And begin with this!” Her fingers trailed up his arm, stopping at a bangle he’d added to his evening’s attire.

“You noticed!”

“Couldn’t miss it.” She touched the milky blue remnant, an ancient thing, and asked, “Does it have a nice song?”

“A trifle wistful, but I think that’s part of its appeal. Did you want to hear?”

She turned further into him, eyes bright.

Heart light, he urged, “Slide it free so I can reach.”

Then the bangle was in her hands, and his framed hers, and he knew a teensy thrill of triumph. He’d always arrayed himself with unusual stones that he happened across, but these past few years, he’d sought more of them, intent on acquiring unique specimens. Because they attracted Isla’s interest. Because they pleased her.

Humming lightly, he unlocked the remnant, and they shared the visions hidden within.

She sighed and dabbed at her eyes, and her tone was subdued when she asked, “Why have we never had a story with a crystal adept?”

“Too close for comfort?” he suggested.

“Maybe at first, but now …?”

“All right. Would the adept be the human? Or the Amaranthine partner?”

Isla said, “Maybe they share an affinity, and that’s what brings them together. Initially.”

This is how their stories always started. Tossing an idea back and forth, from his hand to hers and back again. Each suggesting and amending until a story’s potential shone with enough clarity to begin.

The hour had grown exceedingly late when Lapis stole her glass and set it aside. “You need sleep.”

“Mmm. When will you need sleep?”

“I’ll find time next month.”

“Are you pushing your limits?”

“Usually,” he admitted. “I’m hoping that if I wait, Jacques will be allowed to watch over my rest.”

“What if Argent forbids it?” Isla’s brows drew down. “You can’t have always gone to Uncle Jackie. Who did you trust before?”

“I would go to Harmonious.” With a small frown, he said, “I could apply to Canarian and Catalan Evernhold. They step in from time to time.”

“What about me?” she asked.

“Isla.”

“What? I could watch over your long sleep.”

“Hardly appropriate.”

“Why not?”

“You’re female.”

“So?” She pointed out, “Uncle Jackie is gay.”

“I am not.” Merciful skies, she was serious. And on the verge of being stubborn. “And I talk in my sleep.”

Isla rolled her eyes. “I’m impervious to sway.”

“But not to curiosity.”

She bristled. “You don’t trust me?”

He warbled wearily. “Think. Your father would undoubtedly object to our spending a week in bed.”

“I don’t see why.” Which went hand-in-hand with not seeing him.

“Isla,” he protested.

“Think!” she urged, turning his own admonition back on him. “Papka will love the idea, since he’ll be able to tuck us in with a baby rock imp and monitor the resonances.”

Unwise. So unwise.

But she beamed at him and promised, “I’ll clear my schedule.”