I patted my lap as she approached. “Come here, Mrs. Ivashkov.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know how I feel about that,” she warned. But to my delight, she did actually sit in my lap, though maybe that was just because a recently roused Hopper had curled up and fallen asleep in the chair opposite me at the table.

I put an arm around her slim waist and held up my purchase from the wine store with my other hand. “Look what I opened for us to celebrate,” I said. “Champagne.”

Sydney peered at the label. “It says it’s a sparkling Riesling from California.”

“Close enough,” I said. “It popped when I opened the cork, and the guy at the store gave me these plastic champagne flutes for free. He said something about a citrus bouquet and a late harvest. I didn’t follow it all, but it seemed celebratory to me.”

“Alcohol dulls human and Moroi magic,” she warned.

“And this is still our wedding day,” I countered. “Not to mention the only time we’re probably going to get to do this. Once we get to Court, we’ll want to stay clearheaded . . . not that I expect it to be anything like what we just went through. Compared to that, life at Court’s going to be a breeze.”

I expected another protest, but to my surprise, she accepted and let me pour us two flutes, which I deftly managed while still keeping her on my lap. I offered some to the guardians, but that actually only succeeded in making them look more uncomfortable than they already did.

“You know,” said Sydney, after a sip. “I kind of can taste some citrus in this. Just barely. Like a hint of orange. And it’s sweeter than I thought, but that’d make sense if the guy said it was a late harvest varietal. Grapes retain more sugar the longer they stay on the vine.”

“I knew it,” I said triumphantly. “I knew this was exactly what would happen if I ever got you to drink.”

She tilted her head, puzzled. “What?”

“Never mind.” I brushed a kiss over her lips and then studied her face, finally daring to believe that this beautiful, brave woman was really my wife. Her face was lovely in the ambient glow of the jet’s interior, and I hoped I could remember exactly how she looked right now for the rest of my life. “Huh. Look at that.”

“Look at what?” she asked.

I touched her cheek. The majority of her makeup had stayed on flawlessly, but some of the covering on her tattoo had rubbed off in places, revealing bits of the lily. “It’s turning silver,” I said.

“Is it?” She looked startled. “Marcus’s did, but that took years after he sealed it.”

“It hasn’t completely changed,” I said. “It’s still mostly gold. But there’s definitely silver starting to show here and there. Little shadows edging the gold.” I trailed my fingers down along her neck, to her exquisitely bare shoulder. “It’s beautiful. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried, just surprised.”

“Maybe everything you’ve done recently has expedited the process.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. She took another sip and leaned back into me with a content sigh. “I don’t suppose when we get to Court, they’re going to just leave us alone and let us have our wedding night in some posh honeymoon suite?”

I shrugged, not wanting to worry her. “We’ll probably have to answer a few boring questions, that’s all. All the more reason to enjoy life now.”

“I’m okay with boring,” she said, her brown eyes staring off. “I’d like peace for a while. No drama. No life-threatening situations. I’m so tired of it all, Adrian. Maybe they didn’t break me, but the Alchemists definitely wore me down in re-education. I’m sick of pain and violence. I want to help put an end to it with others . . . but first, I just need a break myself.”

“We’ll get it.” My heart ached for her as I thought back to those awful moments on the rooftop when she’d faced down Sheridan, standing there in that glittering dress and wielding flame like some sort of avenging goddess. She’d been beautiful and terrible to behold, exactly as she’d needed to be to make Sheridan cave. Only I understood what it had cost Sydney to be put in that position, and if I could help it, she’d never go through anything like that again.

“I’m proud of you,” she added unexpectedly. “You’ve used so much spirit throughout all of this and managed to keep in control of yourself. That doesn’t mean I approve of it becoming a regular thing, but you’ve really shown you can master it without any dire side effects.”

Yes, agreed Aunt Tatiana. We certainly have.

Indecision burned through me. I longed to tell Sydney everything—she was my wife, after all—but admitting I was tormented by a figment of my imagination was just too much. Besides, once this was all resolved, I’d find a way to get rid of Aunt Tatiana, and none of this would matter.

Good luck with that, she whispered in my mind.

To Sydney, I said, “Just part of our new life. Like I said, it’s going to be all smooth sailing from here on out.”

I topped off our glasses, but rather than bring about any wild festivities, the extra drinking just added on to what was pretty severe exhaustion for both of us. We’d drained ourselves mentally, physically, and magically today, and we both eventually dozed off, with her still curled up on my lap and head resting against my shoulder. Her last words before sleep were, “I wish I’d kept my bouquet.”