Queen Orlaith picked up the cup, swirling it as she spoke. “Magic cup within my hand, make me wise to understand. I’ve bathed my trees in love’s sweet air, yet even so, their boughs are bare. They’ve soaked up light from love’s true kiss. They’re watered by such tears of bliss. What need they more to grow and thrive? Tell me the key to save their lives.”
The answer from the goblet came quicker than it had the other nights, as though it was weary of answering. “How can one show what you won’t see? How can one tell what you won’t be? Love is a tree, love is a river. Love is the gift and not the giver. True love becomes eternal, when offerings make love supernal.”
She put down the cup, her expression fierce in its frustration. We had to make the switch before she locked the goblet back in the box.
I moved closer to Jason. “This is it. Ready?”
Instead of answering, he stepped over to the queen’s table, swaggering as he walked. If he was anxious, he didn’t show it. Perhaps that’s what happened when you were constantly in front of cameras. You became immune to nerves.
The queen barely glanced at us. She fingered the goblet’s stem, repeating its words, muttering bits of it like a chant. “A tree. A river. What is both tree and river?” She turned the goblet absently. “Roots spread out like rivers. One finds water the other gives it. But love is the gift not the giver. Water. What does water have to do with love?”
Jason bowed. “Your Majesty, please forgive me for last night. I only meant to refill your cup. In my land, guys do that for girls.”
Her gaze flickered to him. “You’re a mortal. Tell me, how does your love differ from that of the fairies?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never loved a fairy.” He gave the queen a wink. “I could give it a try, though.”
One shouldn’t joke with fairy queens, especially frustrated ones. She gave him a look that could have dropped the temperature by ten degrees.
“Insolent, barbaric creatures,” she muttered. “They’re as weak as wind-blown leaves. How could their love be strong enough to matter?” She waved her fingers in our direction, dismissing us. “Go dance. Your apology is accepted.”
Jason bowed again. “May I sing for you, Your Highness? My music is the only gift I have that’s worthy of a fairy.”
When he said the word “gift,” Queen Orlaith’s gaze swung back to him. She seemed to grab onto the word, hold it up and consider it. “Yes, sing about love. Sing to your princess.” She gestured to me. “You sing too.”
Me? As though stealing a goblet wasn’t hard enough—now I had to do it while carrying a tune.
Like he’d done before, Jason gave the queen a name of one of his songs. Love for Two. She tapped her wand to the table, and the opening stanzas of Jason’s song filled the room. A change from the slower beat that had been playing. The swirling couples adjusted their pace, laughing as they tried to keep up.
Jason held out his hand to the queen, serenading her. “I don’t want four solo measures. Don’t need three part harmony. Just the two of us, living our sweet duet.”
I heard the words, but I didn’t. I was completely focused on the goblet sitting in front of the queen. It was a bit shorter than the one I’d brought. The base was thicker, the rim more delicate. How could switching them possibly fool the queen? And yet what other choice did we have? If I didn’t steal the goblet tonight, in the morning my father would demand either an explanation or Donovan’s execution. This was our last night.
I reached into my pocket, mouth dry, heart battering against my chest. I pulled the fake goblet from my pocket, holding it low, hidden beneath the edge of the table.
The queen was watching Jason tolerantly. Probably contemplating all the flaws of mortal love. Her goblet sat in front of her, waiting. My free hand shook. How could I make this work if my hand was shaking? And yet I held the false goblet in my hand. In about thirty seconds it would be my turn to sing. The queen’s attention would swing to me.
I felt Donovan’s hand brush against mine, give it a squeeze. I knew it was his way of saying he was there, that he believed in me.
Soundlessly, I reached for the queen’s goblet and grabbed the stem. It felt cold in my hand, hard. I kept my gaze on her. If she glanced at me, her eyes would be drawn to mine, and hopefully not see what I did with my hands.
I pulled the goblet toward me, held it below the table, and poured its liquid into the fake goblet. In my hurry, I clinked one goblet into the other. Fortunately, Jason’s singing covered the noise. He was almost done with his part. In another moment it would be my turn.
I placed the false goblet back in front of the queen, slipping the real one into my pocket. Only then did I breathe, which was a good thing since the song was about three seconds from my part. For two of those seconds, I couldn’t recall the words to the song. Ditto for one second.
Jason stopped singing and motioned to me. The queen’s gaze turned in my direction. I bluffed my way through the first few notes with an improvised, “Oh yeah . . . Baby . . . Baby.”
In my defense, those are the lyrics to a lot of songs.
Then I remembered the real lyrics. “You see someone different in me. You see the person I’m trying to be . . .”
The queen watched me placidly. Her gaze wandered to the other dancers, to their attempts to keep up with the beat. They were failing, but enjoying themselves, laughing at their less-than-perfect efforts.
I finished my verse, and Jason and I sung the chorus together. The queen lazily reached across the table for her goblet.
I tensed, had to force the next line out. She was going to notice it was fake. How could she not? She’d stared at the same goblet for nights. I kept singing—reminded myself I hadn’t noticed when Donovan used different coins in his trick.
She picked up the goblet, about to drink from it. And that’s when I realized our mistake. Even if the queen didn’t notice the goblet looked different, she might notice it tasted different, felt different on her lips. I should have waited until she’d drunk all the elixir before I made the switch.
I did the only thing I could think of. I drew in a breath, bent over and sneezed on the goblet.
The queen set the goblet down, repulsed, and wiped the back of her hand on the table cloth. No napkins sat on her table. Apparently fairies didn’t need them.
“My apologies!” I picked up part of the table cloth and dabbed it to her hand. As I tugged at the tablecloth the goblet toppled, spilling the remaining elixir. Some of which dribbled onto her dress.
She grabbed the goblet, stood up, and wiped the liquid off her dress. “Stupid girl!”
I shrank back from her. “I’m sorry that I’m so clumsy.” It was the truth in general, if not in this specific incident. “Clumsiness is part of being a mortal. Like sneezing. And coughing. And sometimes rashes and cavities.” Probably overkill, but I was nervous.
Still glaring at me, Queen Orlaith put the goblet in the middle of the box, tapped the table with her wand, and the box closed around the goblet, locking it up.
Mission accomplished.
The queen surveyed the crimson stain on her dress with anger. “This isn’t a mortal drink I can dissipate with a flick of my wand. This is fairy nectar. And you’ve . . .” She muttered something unintelligible that may have been fairy cursing. “Go!” She waved her hand at Jason and I. “Go dance. I need to see to my dress.” She sent another glare in my direction, just in case I hadn’t caught the meaning of the first one.
I curtsied, keeping my eyes on the ground. When I looked up again, she’d vanished, gone off somewhere to change.
I straightened, relief pouring over me so thick and quick I nearly felt dizzy with it. I had done it. I’d stolen the goblet.
Donovan spoke near my ear. “Brilliant.”