that already spread slow as poison in her blood.
The barge docked smoothly and the laughing courtiers spilled into the manicured gardens. A new set of musicians was already in place, playing livelier tunes to invite dancing and games. Tables strained with the weight of wine and confections, and the breeze was heady with sugar and alcohol and the tang of freshly clipped grass. Colored lanterns and candles in glass bowls painted the night with red and green, blue and gold, turned trees and hedges into a phantasmagoria of color and darkness. The cold light of the waxing moon cast opposing shadows.
Nikos lingered beside Savedra while the guests waited impatiently for him to begin a dance. “What’s wrong?”
She laughed too brightly. “Shall I draw you up a list?”
He traced the crease between her brows. “You’ll wrinkle if you keep frowning like that.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Your mother is a woman of taste and wisdom. Do you think she’d accept a seat on my council?”
That drew an honest laugh from her. “I imagine she would, if only to see the looks on the other archons’ faces.”
He kissed her lightly; he’d had years of practice learning not to smear paint or powder. “Forget about politics. Dance with me.”
She plucked his hand off her arm with feigned indignation. “Dance with your wife, Your Highness.”
He clasped the slighted hand to his breast. “As you command, my heart. But you must join me at least once tonight.”
“I make no promises. Go on-your court is waiting for you.”
The musicians struck up a new song as Nikos entered the circle of light that served as a dance floor and offered his hand to Ashlin with a bow. She rolled her eyes, but let him lead her into the center of the lawn. The princess rarely danced, but when she did it was with the same grace with which she wielded a sword. The guests watched them move together for an extra measure before pairing up and joining the steps.
Savedra tensed at footsteps in the grass behind her, but it was only Ginevra again. The Jsutien held another glass of wine; her eyes glittered, and Savedra wondered how many she’d already drunk.
“People will think we conspire,” she said.
Ginevra hid a smile by raising her glass. “I’ll say you were angry about my dress, and all we did was snipe and quarrel.” She watched Nikos and Ashlin move in each other’s arms, dark and bright. “Are you jealous?”
“Are you?” Savedra retorted, though the question had been honest and not biting.
The woman’s shrug made it look as though her gown would slide off her shoulder, but the dress was too well sewn for that. “No. But I don’t love him.”
“I’ve always known Nikos would marry. And he could hardly marry me, could he?”
“You might be jealous of
Savedra shot her a startled sideways glance. “We’re friends, however mad that seems. And she likes to unsettle. She doesn’t like women that way.” She realized how foolish that sounded as soon as the words left her mouth.
Ginevra made a noncommittal sound. And, Savedra realized, she didn’t know that for a certainty. Ashlin scorned the giggling pampered doves of the court, of either sex, but Savedra had never heard her speak of lust for anyone. But the princess hadn’t come virgin to the marriage bed-the tactful long betrothal was proof enough of that, for all that they had called it mourning for Lychandra. Who had Ashlin left behind in Celanor?
The flash of jewels as Ginevra shifted her weight drew Savedra from her brooding. The wine in her glass was nearly gone. “You don’t wear the hijra mark.”
She snapped her fan again; let watchers think they quarreled. But no one had asked her this in months, and she supposed it was due. Tactless, perhaps, but Ginevra was tipsy and curious. And, she realized with a flash of empathy, lonely. She kept her free hand from rising to her forehead, to the spot Nikos had touched, the place where the mark would be.
“Despite popular opinion, I am not precisely a whore.”
“I never-” Ginevra’s eyebrows rose. “Is that really what it means?”
“To bear the mark means accepting the rules of the hijra, and the hijra have joined with the Rose Council. They are their own faction within the Garden, and sell other services, but most sell themselves as well. I’m told this wasn’t always so, but in recent history they have found it expedient.” She let scorn flavor her voice. “So many are curious, after all, why not make them pay for it?”
She’d received her share of propositions since she came to court, and nearly all of were based on curiosity instead of honest desire, or hopes of the fabled hijra luck. She spurned them all, until Nikos.
“What do they think of you, unmarked?”
It was her turn to shrug. “Proud, I suppose, that I have a prince on my string. And annoyed that I won’t join them. Disappointed.” It was more than supposition, but her conversations with the Black Orchid weren’t ones she liked to recollect. “Some think I’m no better than a peacock in gaudy drag, since I shun the hijra mysticism.” She was always careful to keep her wardrobe subtle enough to deflect the worst of the barbs, though she envied the peacocks their stunning colors and their seeming comfort in their own skins.
“Did you ever think of joining them? Before Nikos.”
“I never had to.” Not precisely a lie-she smothered memories of the Black Orchid and the stifling incense- and-opium heat of the hijras’ temple, and blessed the darkness that hid her burning cheeks. “My family accepted me. Most androgynes have nowhere to turn when they discover the truth of themselves.” Her hand rose before she could stop it, one fingernail tracing the crease in her brow.
Ginevra made another soft sound, this one unhappy. Whether it was for the fate of the third sex or for her empty glass, Savedra wasn’t sure.
Her neck prickled-not just the itch of hair and feathers, but of eyes on her back. She turned away from Ginevra as if annoyed, snapping her fan as she risked a backward glance. Only Captain Denaris, lingering in the shadows of a fig tree, and she relaxed again. But the Captain looked unhappy, more so than even Thea Jsutien’s careless laughter might warrant.
The dancing continued for at least an hour. Savedra chose not to join, but Ginevra did, flouncing away with such perfect disdain that it was all Savedra could do not to laugh. The woman was a better actress than many she’d seen in an Orpheum. Natural talent, or a product of growing up under Thea’s ruthless gaze?
She wanted to like Ginevra. Wanted to believe her, but she knew that was foolishness. Instead she watched her charm Nikos into a dance and didn’t quite hide her glower behind her fan. Tomorrow’s gossip would be entertaining. After the dance, a knot of laughing young nobles swallowed Ginevra, leaving Savedra to wonder if the loneliness she thought she’d glimpsed was only a ruse.
The dancing ended with an eruption of giggles in a lull between songs. A Konstantin girl whose name Savedra could never remember slapped Ginevra on the arm with a shriek and cried “Hart!” The other girl shrieked in turn, then gathered her skirts in her hands and fled into the black mouth of the hedge maze. The rest of the crowd laughed and clapped and began counting loudly.
Amidst the clamor, Captain Denaris materialized at Savedra’s elbow. Her dark clothing and matte-painted steel were meant for skulking-the silver streaks in her tight-plaited hair were the brightest thing about her.
“I don’t like this,” she murmured, face creasing. “We haven’t found anything, but something isn’t right.”
Savedra frowned in turn and nodded. Perhaps she’d been too quick to dissuade Ashlin from bearing steel. Her hair sticks were sharp enough to serve in a fight, and she carried a small blade in a garter around one calf, but neither were practical enough to reassure her. “I’ll keep my eyes open,” she said, all she could ever do, and moved to join the hounds.
The Isle of Cormorants’ maze was nothing compared to the one at the heart of the palace grounds, but still large and winding enough to swallow the twenty-five people in attendance tonight. Some hunters snatched lanterns from their poles, and light swayed and rippled along the tops of the hedges as they ran. Which only served to make them easier to avoid, of course. Savedra kept to the shadows, pulling her skirts close to keep them from snagging on briars.
She leapt when a hand reached out of the darkness and caught her arm, taut-strung nerves singing. She had one sharpened stick out of her hair before she recognized Nikos. He froze with the tip inches from his throat.
