Page 1 of Deals & Dream Spells
Chapter One
The most aggravatingquality of Brightcrests, Evryn Rowanwood decided as he urged his pegasus to impossibly greater speeds, was their persistent talent for ruining perfectly good evenings.
This particular evening had begun with such promise. Slipping away from the tedium of the Season’s Opening Ball, enjoying the exhilarating rush of midnight wind against his face, and basking in the satisfaction of thwarting his mother’s matrimonial machinations. Now, however, that same evening threatened to culminate in the one outcome Evryn found utterly intolerable: finishing second to a Brightcrest in a race he should rightfully win.
He’d left the other riders far behind by now, including his friend Crispin, whose shouts of protest had faded into the night leagues ago. Fin had assumed the role of this evening’s designated judge, thus abstaining from the race, while Ryden was unable to participate in the night’s contest. Unlike the rest of them, he couldn’t escape the Opening Ball’s suffocating formalities quite so easily.
Cobalt’s midnight-blue wings cut through the night, leaving trails of silver sparks that faded into darkness as he and Evryn strained to close the narrowing gap. “Faster!” Evryn called out to Cobalt between gritted teeth. “We cannot loseagain!”
But the rider ahead remained maddeningly out of reach. Their pegasus—a sleek beast with a burnished copper coat and flame-tipped wings—navigated the unofficial ‘course’ with infuriating skill. Each time Evryn thought he’d found an advantage, the rider pulled ahead yet again, tilting into a turn or diving around the trees that Fin had enchanted to stretch or shrink without warning, an added challenge for this evening’s race.
Evryn leaned forward over Cobalt’s neck as new determination surged through him. He simply could not lose this race. The thought of the inevitable gloating was entirely unbearable. Of course, there would be other consequences beyond wounded pride. The evening’s unauthorized adventure had already ensured that regardless of whether he finished first or second, a reckoning awaited him at home. His mother would undoubtedly be upset. Not about the race itself; Lady Lelianna would never learn of his nighttime exploits if he could help it. It was his conspicuous absence from the Bloom Season’s Opening Ball that would earn her disappointment.
It was precisely the sort of behavior she had warned Evryn against—again—but after five previous Seasons spent watching newly manifested fae preen and posture before the High Lady, Evryn would rather brave his mother’s disappointment than endure another evening of tedious formality. The thrill of racing through moonlit skies proved infinitely preferable to exchanging proper pleasantries with ambitious young ladies who viewed him merely as a convenient stepping stone to the Rowanwood fortune.
Well. It was preferable when he wasn’t about to lose to a Brightcrest.
Cobalt swerved suddenly to avoid a sudden updraft of wild magic, likely released from the converging ley lines beneath Bloomhaven that gave the town its potent magical energy. Evryn gripped the reins tighter with one hand while adjusting his goggles with the other. He should have noticed the spinning swirls of magic—the lenses of his goggles were enchanted with night-vision enhancement—but he’d been too distracted by that infernal Brightcrest who seemed determined to humiliate him.
Drawing a steadying breath, he swept his gaze across his surroundings. Below, Bloomhaven glittered like scattered gems on black velvet, blissfully unaware of the ancient rivalry playing out in the skies above. Faelights illuminated the winding paths that connected elegant manor houses and shops nestled between flowering archways. A vast shadow interrupted the twinkling lights—the sprawling expanse of Elderbloom Park with its ancient trees andsecret grottos—while beyond it, a barely visible ribbon of enchanted road curved toward the grand hill where Solstice Hall presided in all its glory.
Light poured from every window of the High Lady’s summer palace, and even from this height, Evryn could make out the enchanted cherry trees lining the approach. Solstice Hall bustled with the cream of fae society, gathered for this most significant evening. The night when young fae who had manifested their magical abilities during the previous year would be formally presented to society.
It was a ritual that had remained unchanged for centuries. Families from across the United Fae Isles converged on Bloomhaven after the start of spring so that their newly manifested sons and daughters, typically eighteen or nineteen years of age, could demonstrate their magical powers before the assembled elite at the Bloom Season’s Opening Ball. The remainder of the Season would be spent strengthening their newfound magical abilities while navigating the intricate dance of courtship, all building toward the Summer Solstice Ball when the most fortunate would announce their engagements.
Evryn had little interest in participating in any of it. He’d manifested at eighteen, like most respectable fae, but his lumyrite-shaping abilities—while impressive enough to earn him the coveted ‘Lord’ title—lacked the practical utility of his older brother’s magic. Not that it mattered. Evryn was merely the second son, perpetually in Jasvian’s shadow, expected to ornament family gatherings rather than contribute anything of substance to the Rowanwood lumyrite empire. His ability to physically manipulate lumyrite like a sculptor, reshaping solid crystal as if it were clay, could perhaps be considered impressive. But it was hardly essential when compared to Jasvian’s life-saving ability to sense and calm the tempests that formed around raw lumyrite deposits in the mines.
Evryn clenched his jaw and returned his focus to the Brightcrest rider who maintained the lead as they soared over the dense copse of singing willows that marked the approach to their improvised finish line. Ahead, Evryn could make out Fin, a lone figure stationed at the base of an ancient, lightning-struck oak—the designated endpoint for tonight’s unsanctioned race. Frustration mounted as he urged Cobalt into a steeper dive, the wind howling past his ears despite the leather cap secured beneath his chin.
Cobalt surged forward with a final burst of speed, wings straining againstthe night air. For a split second, Evryn’s heart leaped as Cobalt gained precious inches. Almost … almost …almost …
But it was the Brightcrest rider and pegasus who shot across the invisible threshold first.
A bellow of frustration escaped Evryn’s lips as the copper pegasus ahead of him began a spiraling descent toward the clearing just beyond the lightning-struck oak. He directed Cobalt to follow.
“Second again?” Fin shouted up to Evryn, and Evryn caught a glimpse of the impish grin on his friend’s face. He ignored Fin, who was well aware of the decades-old Rowanwood-Brightcrest family feud and would no doubt enjoy teasing Evryn about this most recent loss. Instead, he guided Cobalt in tight circles toward the ground.
The moment they touched down, he leaped from Cobalt’s back, tearing off his leather riding gloves and flinging them to the ground in frustration. His goggles and leather cap followed swiftly.
“Brightcrest!” he called, striding toward the victor who had already dismounted.
Behind him, the remaining racers began to descend, their pegasi’s wings stirring the night air as they landed at various points around the clearing. Voices called out, some congratulatory, others commiserating, but Evryn didn’t spare them a glance.
His competitor turned, and with one fluid motion, removed the riding cap that had been secured tightly throughout the race. A cascade of golden hair tumbled free, spilling down in a messy braid over one shoulder. She removed her goggles and tossed her head. In the moonlight, her blue eyes gleamed with triumph.
“It seems I’ve bested you again, Rowanwood,” said Lady Mariselle Brightcrest, her voice musical with taunt.
Evryn’s jaw tightened. “A favorable wind and dubious shortcut hardly constitute superior skill.”
“Excuses become tiresome after the third defeat.” She tapped one gloved finger against her chin, frowning. “Or is it the fourth?”
“Third,” Evryn ground out. For someone celebrated throughout Bloomhaven for his effortless charm and unflappable demeanor, it was remarkable how quickly a Brightcrest victory could transform him into a tightly wound coil of indignation.
“Three losses in a row suggests a pattern rather than luck, wouldn’t you agree?” Mariselle’s smile was glacial. “Perhaps Brightcrests are simply superior riders.”
“Superior cheats, more like,” Evryn retorted, straightening the cuffs of his midnight-blue riding jacket. “It must be exhausting, constantly finding new ways to bend rules that were clearly established at the outset.”
“I have never once cheated, nor even bent a rule,” Mariselle replied, her jaw tightening. “Unlike your little masquerade at the races last year when you took someone’s place in the professional circuit. You think I did not recognize your riding style? The race officials might have been fooled, but I wasn’t.”
