Gods & Monsters (Serpent & Dove #3) by Shelby Mahurin

“Come now.” Her smile broadened, and unbidden, the image of a hungry shark rose in my mind’s eye. I clenched my skirt between two fists, mentally chastising myself. “There is no need for clever language amongst friends. How did you find it, truly?”

“I’m glad to have tasted it.”

“Glad.” She said the word slowly, curiously. “There are uglier designations, I suppose. I am glad you found it . . . what clever word did you use?” She tapped her lips. “Special. Now”—she snapped her fingers again—“clear it away. I tire of its stench.” The servants bustled to remove every plate of salted sea lettuce from the table. “S’il vous plaît,” she continued before they’d finished, “I crave heavier fare tonight. Bring the neige marine for our special guests.”

Perhaps not so calming at all.

My palms continued to sweat.

We sat in distinctly uncomfortable silence as more dishes were passed down the table. Isla didn’t seem to notice. She merely continued to smile as servants spooned small amounts of gray, sticky substance onto each plate. When she lifted a bite to her lips, she paused, appraising the room to ensure she held everyone’s attention. She did, of course. Every melusine’s face turned toward her as if she were their very sun. She waved an elegant hand with a laugh. “Eat, mes enfants, and be merry.”

Her children obliged, and the gentle sounds of clinking cutlery and soft voices soon filled the silence. Elvire, Leopoldine, and Lasimonne immediately engaged in conversation with Célie—and Angelica with a resigned Coco—leaving Beau and me to suffer the weight of Isla’s stare alone. “Tell me,” she crooned, leaning across him to grasp my clammy hand. He stiffened but didn’t complain. “What were your last words to Reid?”

I looked up from my neige marine in surprise. “Pardon me?”

“The last words you spoke to your lover—what were they?”

“I—” Glancing at Beau, I frowned. “I don’t remember.”

Her smile turned positively wicked. “Try.”

Feeling increasingly unsettled, I concentrated on recalling the memory, exhaling hard as the threads of our conversation returned. “I said ‘Either I kill my mother, or my mother kills me. It’s the only way.’”

That smile. Those eyes. Not tranquil water at all, but the calm in the eye of a hurricane. Perhaps the hurricane itself. Inexplicably, I knew the pleasantries had ended. She released my hand and returned to her seat, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “Is that so?”

“I wouldn’t have been able to say it otherwise.”

Beau pressed his foot over mine again.

“And . . . do you remember his last words to you?” she asked slyly.

These words I didn’t struggle to remember. “He promised he would find me.”

“Find you?” When she batted her lashes as if—as if goading me—unease lifted the hair at my neck. Surely this wasn’t appropriate table conversation? We’d only just met, and melusines valued etiquette. My suspicion only deepened when she asked, “He sleeps belowdecks, does he not?”

“He does.” I forced my voice to remain calm and collected—pleasant even. Still, I couldn’t help but search her features for some of her brother’s warmth. His good humor. “I’ve tried to wake him to no avail. Actually . . .” I cleared my throat as delicately as possible, throwing caution to the wind. “I was hoping you might . . . speed along the process.”

Inexplicable triumph flashed in those nameless eyes. “Oh?” Though her voice remained light, conversational, her words belied the tone. “You hope, or you presume?”

My brows furrowed at the word. “I would never presume—”

“No?” Idly, she lifted a hand, and a servant hurried to fill her flute. “Do my mirrors lie, l’oursin? Do you not secretly scheme for an alliance?”

“I—” Incredulous, I met Coco’s eyes across the table. She didn’t intervene, however. She didn’t dare interrupt. “I don’t scheme for anything, my lady. While I would’ve liked to secure your friendship during our visit, I don’t expect it.”

“Would’ve? Does this mean you no longer desire my friendship?”

“No, my lady. I mean yes. It’s just”—I splayed my hands helplessly—“this doesn’t seem to be going terribly well.”

“What do you expect, Louise, when you treat gods and goddesses as your personal attendants?” She sipped at her seawater, still studying me. “To be frank, I cannot fathom what my siblings see in you, nor why they indulge your arrogance. When I sent Angelica to fetch you, I expected . . . some sort of grandeur—a magnetism, perhaps—but now, having met you, I see you possess neither. Aurore has bestowed her blessing on a sea urchin.”

The first spark of anger lit in my chest. Aurore’s blessing? A sea urchin? “Is that why you invited me here? To satisfy your curiosity?”

She didn’t answer, instead turning to Beau. “What about you, princeling? Do you find Louise intelligent?”

He carefully returned his spoon to his plate before answering. “I do.”

“Do you find her extraordinarily intelligent?”