“My father doesn’t think it a good idea for you to accompany us,” Ceara tells her haughtily. She seems to have withdrawn from her after their conversation earlier. Perhaps it is easier for the Fire Princess to avoid the stone that would break the glass castle she has so painstakingly constructed. Croi shrugs, not particularly troubled by the princess’s hostility.

“You should come with us, Tinder,” Ceara says to the pixie. “There is no reason for you to shut yourself up with her.”

Tinder doesn’t react to the Fire Princess. She fixes her eyes on Croi instead, as if asking her what the best course of action is.

Croi shrugs. “You might as well go experience a Caisleán banquet so you can tell me all about it.”

“You want me to believe you’ll honestly stay in after we’re gone?” Tinder whispers in Croi’s ear.

“What you don’t know can’t hurt me,” Croi replies. “Perhaps you can get Ceara to confirm our speculations about the identity of the mystery kin.”

Tinder grimaces before nodding. “I will try.”

An hour later everyone on the fourth floor of the pavilion apart from Croi are dressed and ready to attend the banquet. Croi sits cross-legged on a chair in the living room and watches them.

The princess has outdone herself; she has on a dress so darkly green, it is almost midnight, silver shoes that sparkle, and hair tied in a complex style so that some of it cascades down her back while the rest of it is in a braided crown around her head. Her lips are red, and her orange cheeks are flushed. She looks beautiful, but she barely spent any time in front of the mirror admiring herself. Croi glances at her and sighs; if she looked like the princess, she would spend at least an hour staring at herself.

Tinder has on a green dress that she procured from somewhere; there are red flowers in her hair and sparkles in her eyes. The handmaids are, as they are wont to be, looking glorious but understated in their expensive gowns.

Monca looks muted, as though someone has stolen her light; she hasn’t leveled a single glare at Croi.

I wish I knew what she and the Tine King talked about.

“You and me both,” Croi thinks to her other self.

A knock sounds on the doors opening into the princess’s quarters before they open to reveal Aodh and Lorcan along with their attendants. They have stopped on their way downstairs to pick up Ceara and her entourage.

The Tine King looks at Croi, but she refuses to attend to him and makes it a point to stare out the window.

The ugly child is left home alone.

“I’m no one’s ugly child,” Croi growls at her other self.

“Someone will bring you food. Be good and stay inside,” the Tine King, seemingly impervious to Croi’s hostility, tells her.

She doesn’t reply to him.

“I’ll tell you how my investigation goes,” Tinder whispers in Croi’s ear. A few minutes later they’re gone, and Croi is alone.