Me? As though stealing a goblet wasn’t hard enough—now I had to do it while carrying a tune.

Like he’d done before, Jason gave the queen a name of one of his songs. Love for Two. She tapped her wand to the table, and the opening stanzas of Jason’s song filled the room. A change from the slower beat that had been playing. The swirling couples adjusted their pace, laughing as they tried to keep up.

Jason held out his hand to the queen, serenading her. “I don’t want four solo measures. Don’t need three part harmony. Just the two of us, living our sweet duet.”

I heard the words, but I didn’t. I was completely focused on the goblet sitting in front of the queen. It was a bit shorter than the one I’d brought. The base was thicker, the rim more delicate. How could switching them possibly fool the queen? And yet what other choice did we have? If I didn’t steal the goblet tonight, in the morning my father would demand either an explanation or Donovan’s execution. This was our last night.

I reached into my pocket, mouth dry, heart battering against my chest. I pulled the fake goblet from my pocket, holding it low, hidden beneath the edge of the table.

The queen was watching Jason tolerantly. Probably contemplating all the flaws of mortal love. Her goblet sat in front of her, waiting. My free hand shook. How could I make this work if my hand was shaking? And yet I held the false goblet in my hand. In about thirty seconds it would be my turn to sing. The queen’s attention would swing to me.

I felt Donovan’s hand brush against mine, give it a squeeze. I knew it was his way of saying he was there, that he believed in me.

Soundlessly, I reached for the queen’s goblet and grabbed the stem. It felt cold in my hand, hard. I kept my gaze on her. If she glanced at me, her eyes would be drawn to mine, and hopefully not see what I did with my hands.

I pulled the goblet toward me, held it below the table, and poured its liquid into the fake goblet. In my hurry, I clinked one goblet into the other. Fortunately, Jason’s singing covered the noise. He was almost done with his part. In another moment it would be my turn.

I placed the false goblet back in front of the queen, slipping the real one into my pocket. Only then did I breathe, which was a good thing since the song was about three seconds from my part. For two of those seconds, I couldn’t recall the words to the song. Ditto for one second.

Jason stopped singing and motioned to me. The queen’s gaze turned in my direction. I bluffed my way through the first few notes with an improvised, “Oh yeah . . . Baby . . . Baby.”

In my defense, those are the lyrics to a lot of songs.

Then I remembered the real lyrics. “You see someone different in me. You see the person I’m trying to be . . .”

The queen watched me placidly. Her gaze wandered to the other dancers, to their attempts to keep up with the beat. They were failing, but enjoying themselves, laughing at their less-than-perfect efforts.

I finished my verse, and Jason and I sung the chorus together. The queen lazily reached across the table for her goblet.

I tensed, had to force the next line out. She was going to notice it was fake. How could she not? She’d stared at the same goblet for nights. I kept singing—reminded myself I hadn’t noticed when Donovan used different coins in his trick.

She picked up the goblet, about to drink from it. And that’s when I realized our mistake. Even if the queen didn’t notice the goblet looked different, she might notice it tasted different, felt different on her lips. I should have waited until she’d drunk all the elixir before I made the switch.

I did the only thing I could think of. I drew in a breath, bent over and sneezed on the goblet.

The queen set the goblet down, repulsed, and wiped the back of her hand on the table cloth. No napkins sat on her table. Apparently fairies didn’t need them.

“My apologies!” I picked up part of the table cloth and dabbed it to her hand. As I tugged at the tablecloth the goblet toppled, spilling the remaining elixir. Some of which dribbled onto her dress.

She grabbed the goblet, stood up, and wiped the liquid off her dress. “Stupid girl!”

I shrank back from her. “I’m sorry that I’m so clumsy.” It was the truth in general, if not in this specific incident. “Clumsiness is part of being a mortal. Like sneezing. And coughing. And sometimes rashes and cavities.” Probably overkill, but I was nervous.

Still glaring at me, Queen Orlaith put the goblet in the middle of the box, tapped the table with her wand, and the box closed around the goblet, locking it up.

Mission accomplished.

The queen surveyed the crimson stain on her dress with anger. “This isn’t a mortal drink I can dissipate with a flick of my wand. This is fairy nectar. And you’ve . . .” She muttered something unintelligible that may have been fairy cursing. “Go!” She waved her hand at Jason and I. “Go dance. I need to see to my dress.” She sent another glare in my direction, just in case I hadn’t caught the meaning of the first one.

I curtsied, keeping my eyes on the ground. When I looked up again, she’d vanished, gone off somewhere to change.

I straightened, relief pouring over me so thick and quick I nearly felt dizzy with it. I had done it. I’d stolen the goblet.

Donovan spoke near my ear. “Brilliant.”

“I’m not good at a lot of things, but I know how to be clumsy.”

Jason edged across the ballroom. “Let’s go.”

For once, all three of us agreed. Donovan and I followed after him, weaving our way around mingling couples.

Chapter 27

Donovan sat behind Jason in the boat, hands on the oars, helping him row so the boat would go faster. Jason leaned into the effort. “How come you never helped row earlier?”

“Because I figured you needed the exercise, oh Prince of Pop.”

I was too tense to listen to them argue, let alone try to stop them. The goblet felt heavy in my pocket. A golden piece of danger. I kept glancing over my shoulder, half expecting to see Queen Orlaith storming after us. I also worried some gigantic creepy seaweed hand would reach up out of the lake, grab me, and pull me under. Nerves. I was so not cut out for the criminal life.

When we reached the other shore, I hauled my skirts up and climbed out of the boat, not caring that it wasn’t a graceful disembarkment. My slippers sunk into the wet soil. I didn’t care about that, either. I ran to the posts where the lanterns waited.

I had only taken a few steps when I heard the birds. At first they were just a faint, distant cawing. I grabbed a lantern and turned to Jason, who was coming up behind me. I supposed Donovan was somewhere near too.

“Come on,” I told them and headed toward the trail.

The trees seemed darker than normal—taller. Their branches moved in the wind, limbs swaying. I hurried into the forest anyway. Birds erupted from the trees, scattering into the air. Some circled upward like smoke, their cries slicing into the night. Each caw sounded like the word ‘cup’!

I stared at them, a cold dread spreading over me.

“What’s wrong with the birds?” Jason asked.

Donovan’s voice came near my side. “Are they saying, ‘cup’?”

I hadn’t been the only one who heard the word in their calls. I swallowed hard. Somehow the birds knew I had the goblet. They must be like store alarms that went off when shoplifters took something. We’d tripped a magical alarm.

Without another word, we set off in a sprint. The lantern jiggled in my hand. I worried I would knock the flame out and we’d be stuck wandering the forest in the dark, but I didn’t slow down.

The birds circled upward above us, a dark tornado of wings flapping in alarm. “Cup! Cup!” they cawed. I waited for them to dive, to swarm down pecking and clawing at us. I scanned the trees for a loose branch I could use as a club—anything, any sort of weapon.