It was, Malvoria thought, one of those evenings that started out innocently enough and somehow spiraled into pure chaos before the moon had even risen above the Celestian palace spires.
The air in the sitting room still glimmered with the remnants of laughter and woodsmoke; empty wine goblets crowded the end table, and Sarisa's half-finished embroidery sat neglected on the armrest, thread tangling with every shift of the cushions.
Malvoria eyed the battered deck of cards in Lara's hands with deep suspicion. She trusted her sister about as far as she could throw her on matters of chance and games of skill.
They'd played Demon's Gambit, Warlocks' Bluff, and one round of Ceaseless Queens so heated that Malvoria suspected her own grandmother would have found it overwhelming.
