was glad her veils muffled her snort of amusement. The prince had come as his namesake bird, dressed in brilliant peacock blue with a skirt of feathers trailing behind him. His mask was white and black and blue, glittering with sequins and paste gems. Ashlin, a peahen to match, wore simple leathers in dull brown, except for a green leather gorget. Even Mathiros seemed amused as they walked in.
Isyllt tensed for an instant, waiting for trouble, but the prince and princess reached their chairs and stood waiting for Mathiros’s sign. When he gave it they sat-for Nikos this involved the delicate operation of sweeping his tailfeathers out of the way-the crowd rose, and the musicians began the soft notes of a minuet. A hundred voices lifted in laughter and conversation, and so began the festivities on the longest night of the year.
Savedra slunk into the ballroom after the first dance had begun, if one could slink weighed down by pounds of beads and velvet. From the dais she caught a flash of gems as Nikos glanced her way. She smiled, though he couldn’t see it-or see how sad and strained it was. Captain Denaris watched her too, white-and-grey livery blending into the wall beside the throne. Captain Kurgoth loomed beside her.
The dais was guarded by the best and soldiers watched all the doors, but assassins had breached palace security before. A knife in the dark was different than a public murder, of course. Did the man expect to survive the attempt? Was the reward worth the risk? How much was Ashlin’s life worth, exactly? She ought to ask Varis.
The crowd shifted and she glimpsed Isyllt on the far side, vivid as a bloodstain on white sheets. The sight was uncanny, like a reflection out of place in a mirror. The Vallish had a word for such a glimpse of oneself-
The costume was too hot for the press of the hall, but there was no other way-she and Isyllt might be much the same height and build, but no amount of cosmetics would turn Isyllt’s skin a convincing brown, or her own stark white.
She caught a few glances cast at her and her sister-bride, a few giggles and whispers hidden behind hands. Always an embarrassment to find one’s costume duplicated, and amazing to see it duplicated so perfectly.
The Severoi were already in attendance, mostly clustered around Nadesda in a small circle of chairs against one wall. Savedra ignored them, preferring to save her anonymity for the moment. Varis must be here as well, but she hadn’t spotted him yet. She saw Konstantins as well, and Aravinds and Hadrians, each drawn into their own familial knots. Most Alexioi concerned themselves with their estates in Medea; Mathiros was scrupulous about not favoring his own house over others. Savedra often thought he held all the Octagon Court in equal contempt.
The Jsutiens made a fashionably tardy entrance, timing their arrival with the end of the second dance. Thea was dressed as some historical empress or another, a tasteful costume for an older, stouter woman, while still costing more than many courtiers’ summer homes. Her husband, a notoriously handsome younger man, wore a cloth-of-gold turban and flowing silks, so Thea was probably meant to be the Iskari dowager empress Karekin- Karekin before consumption killed her, apparently, since she’d forgone the usual dramatic blood-spotted handkerchiefs.
And then came Ginevra, a pillar of crimson and black veils, and the giggles and whispers became murmurs.
In Selafai, brides wore red-the color of life and life’s blood, virgin’s blood, the blood of childbed, blood comingled in children. A color of fertility and fruitful unions. Veils had mostly gone out of fashion, and those who wore them usually chose gold or silver, or more crimson if their complexions could stand it. Black veils had been made famous decades earlier by the playwright Kharybdea, who chose the color for Aristomache in the tragedy that bore her name, the priestess of Astara who broke her vows for love of the prince Sarapion, only to be betrayed and abandoned on their wedding night after he had stolen her temple’s greatest treasure. She killed herself on Astara’s altar and haunted Sarapion in revenge, driving him to madness and finally death. It took a woman of morbid or vicious humor to dress as Aristomache for a masque; that three had done so tonight would surely be called an ill omen.
Savedra and Isyllt slid through the crowd, and Savedra had the pleasure of seeing Thea stumble as she saw her niece mirrored not once but twice. She shot a sharp glance at Ginevra; Savedra couldn’t follow the movement of her lips from so far away. Ginevra, however, showed no sign of surprise or dismay, merely glided into the ballroom and turned unerringly toward a pair of her friends, Aravind nymphs. Savedra, succumbing to a moment’s spite, curtsied deeply to Thea.
To Ginevra it was a game, a way to annoy her aunt and confound the palace gossips. And, she’d added slyly, a way to sneak a dance with Nikos. For Savedra it was a way to confound assassins. Ashlin herself couldn’t take part, but now anyone who wished her harm had to guess who was standing next to her at any given moment- Savedra, a necromancer, or the niece of the woman who wanted the princess dead.
The crowd shifted again, turning away from the mystery of the three Aristomaches as the prince and princess rose from their chairs. The third dance was traditional for royal couples, and the musicians began an intricate vals as Nikos and Ashlin bowed to one another.
Nikos managed not to trip on his ridiculous train; Ashlin avoided stray plumes with her usual grace. Toward the end of the dance a feather worked free of the skirt and drifted across the tiles. Savedra thought two giggling nymphs would come to blows over it.
Another lively tune followed, and couples crowded the floor. Ashlin returned to her chair with a glass of wine, but Nikos stayed on the floor, making a show of searching for a partner.
“This might be the most fun I’ve had at a masque in years,” Ginevra whispered, leaning close. Their veils rasped against each other and Savedra smelled warm skin and Ginevra’s subtle perfume. “Aunt Thea is livid, and doesn’t know who she should be angry with. My friends can’t tell if this is an insult or flattery or some bizarre coincidence. Eventually, though, I’m going to steal a plate of those cakes and hide in the garden to eat them. Veils aren’t very practical. Oh, who’s our triplet?”
“I’m not sure I should say.” Gauze hid her smile, but she couldn’t keep the amusement from her voice.
“Does she know who I am?”
“You walked in with Thea and House Hydra. I imagine everyone’s figured it out.”
Ginevra’s veil rippled with her soft huff. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“You’ll have to deduce her identity, then.”
They broke off as Nikos bowed to them both. “I shouldn’t trust vengeful women, but I can’t resist. Will one of you mysterious ladies honor me with a dance?”
He held out his hand to Savedra, and even if it was only a lucky guess it still warmed her. But true to her word, Ginevra cut in, bumping Savedra aside with a soft hip and laying her hand in the prince’s. He looked from one to the other in exaggerated confusion, but acquiesced as Ginevra tugged him toward the floor.
Savedra wanted to laugh, but that would break character. Instead she raised her chin and turned away in a satisfying hiss of skirts. Ginevra would have to have fun for all of them, since she and Isyllt couldn’t afford to.
Dancing was a pleasure Isyllt rarely found time to indulge. By the time Savedra relieved her of her post by the princess’s chair, she was ready to press any hapless passerby into service as a partner. On her way to do so, she nearly collided with an Assari ifrit in a blazing crown of feathers and sequins. She murmured an apology and began to turn away when she recognized Khelsea.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Khelsea did a double take and grinned. “The Vigils always get a few invitations for diplomacy’s sake. I made sure I got my hands on one.”
“Nice dress.”
“Isn’t it?” She spread her arms and spun, flaring tattered layers of red and gold and orange skirts and trailing sleeves. The orange was nearly the same shade as her uniform, but the low-cut and tight-laced bodice drew a different sort of attention. Her hair was unbraided for once, hanging in shining coils down her back. “Gemma made it. Yours is lovely too, but why are there three of you?”
“Assassin bait.”
“Charming.” The inspector drained her wine cup and set it on a passing servant’s tray. “Excellent timing, though. I thought I would have to dance with a stranger.” She claimed Isyllt’s arm and led her to the floor.
“Isn’t Gemma with you?”
“She’s attending Solstice services. Her sister is a priestess of Erishal.”
