She stepped back out into the balmy air of the patio, pulled by the smell of freshly baked bread. A lone guest sat at the table, a large book in their hands. The Heir of Saxbridge wore a light black jacket and stone-gray trousers, thick smudges of kohl lining their eyes.

“Neelo Emberspear,” Bri said with a chuckle, swaggering onto the terrace and dropping into a seat across from them. “Are we all hiding from the mistakes of our mothers, then?”

Neelo’s thick lashes lifted as they looked up from their book. They carefully placed a marker between the pages and set the book on the table. “Something like that.”

“Well, I’m glad to see you, regardless,” Bri added with a sigh.

“The West not all you imagined?” Neelo asked, turning to survey the turquoise waters and across to the teal pennants atop Bern’s family home.

Though the territory had never been officially claimed, both the Southern and Western sovereigns mined the region for its precious metals.

Bri’s gaze dropped to the table. Chunks of herb bread sat on a platter, surrounding bowls of olive oil, dried spices, and hummus. Grinning, Bri grabbed piece of bread, dipping it in the oil and then the saffron-colored spice mixture. The flavors lit up her tongue, the spices blending perfectly with the airy bread.

“Have I mentioned I’m glad you’re here?” Bri asked through a mouthful of food.

Neelo’s cheeks dimpled as they grabbed the open bottle of wine at the center of the table and poured Bri a glass. “When I heard you were coming,” they said, “I knew I couldn’t let you survive on the inevitable hard cheese and jerky you soldiers bring with you everywhere.”

A middle-aged woman scurried out onto the terrace, holding a tray with more flatbread and dips. She had brown skin, the same shade of umber as Neelo’s own, her straight black hair pulled into a high bun and tied with colorful thread.

“Rish!” Bri beamed at her.

“Oh, you’re early,” she said, setting the tray down between the two of them. “Here, this will get you started.”

Rish was Neelo’s personal green witch and had been serving the Heir of Saxbridge for as long as Bri could remember. Just as Lina had Cole and Rua had Aneryn, Neelo had Rish. Bri supposed Remy’s head witch was Fenrin now, though it would be expected of her to pick a red witch, and the lanky blond was a Western brown witch like Cole. Remy bucked traditions, anyway; her Court was one of her own making.

Bri winked at the green witch. “Thank you, Rish.”

The witch batted away Bri’s thanks. “Please,” she said, smoothing her hand down her sage green apron. “I delight when the Twin Eagles come to dine. No one appreciates my cooking more fervently than you and your brother.”