“Well,” Gran said. “That can’t be the end.”

“It can’t?”

The old woman gave a decisive shake of her head. “So there’s no sense crying, if you don’t know how the story ends.”

Emry laughed despite herself.

Somehow, without her noticing, it had gotten late. She stood, brushing herself off. “I suppose I had better make supper,” she said, inspecting the bare shelves of the larder.

It was just dawning on her that she wasn’t going to be able to stomp down to the castle kitchens to demand coffee and fresh rolls. That once again, she was the kitchen.

“There’s pottage from yesterday,” said the old woman.

Emry flicked her fingers toward the hearth, and the fire crackled to life.

And then Emmett bustled through the door, carrying a fresh loaf from the baker’s. “I went too late, they only had oat left,” he called. Then he spotted Emry and frowned. “What are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer, but pressed him into a hug instead.

As they ate, she gave him the short version, but even that took a long time to tell.

“Better than I would have done,” Emmett said with a shrug, reaching for more wine.

Emry’s fingers twitched. The bottle slid across the table, into her hand, and she smirked. “How’s Jane?” she asked.

Emmett grimaced. “Oh,” he said, looking embarrassed. “That. It was a false alarm.”

“The girl certainly took her time admitting it,” Gran said sourly. “Had your brother halfway to the church before she confessed she’d been mistaken.”

“We weren’t halfway to the church,” Emmett corrected.

“Well, you should have been,” scolded Gran. “She’d certainly climbed into your bed enough times, insisting you were near as wed.”

Emmett coughed into his wine.

“So there’s no baby?” Emry said. “That’s wonderful.”

“That’s what I said,” Gran sounded smug. “The girl is barely sixteen. And of no ability to run a household. Her other abilities, I’ll leave your brother to comment on, should he wish his mouth washed out with soap.”

Emry laughed. “No,” she said. “I mean, it’s great because now Emmett can go to the castle. They need an apprentice court wizard. Badly.”

“I already told you—” he began.

“You’re selling yourself short,” Emry argued. “You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve improved under training.”

Fleoges.

Emry smiled as the wine bottle floated into the air. With a flick of her hand, she refilled Emmett’s glass. “They serve a different wine with each course at supper,” she said innocently.

“Each course?” Emmett asked, intrigued.

Emry merely smiled.

“Someday soon, Camelot’s going to need a wizard. A good one,” she said.

Emmett’s eyes met hers with a hint of amusement. It was what he’d said to her, back at the Crooked Spire. But she could tell Emmett wasn’t convinced.