“Good. You’re here. Let the plotting begin,” Mirandine said. Jone pulled over another chair and held it out for her, and then they crowded around the table, heads together. Jone briefly squeezed her gloved hand under the table and Tesara felt a rush of warmth.
“What are we plotting?” she asked.
“Your magnificent debut in Port Saint Frey society,” Mirandine said, with an arch glance at her. “Here.” She handed a shining green silk fabric to Tesara. Tesara unfolded it – it was a stunning mask. The eyeholes were embroidered with silver thread, and glittering beads were scattered artfully across the silk. Four ribbons trailed from the mask. Tesara held it up to her face. She looked at Mirandine, who appeared even more sharply in focus than before, a perspective forced by the narrowing of her vision.
“You see, Tesara, Jone and I have decided that you must have a come out. No ordinary debutante ball for you, my dear. No. You are going to make your entrance onto the Port Saint Frey stage and show them all. Your name will be on everyone’s lips. La Mederos, they will call you.”
Oh God, Tesara thought. She could imagine what her parents would have to say to that. “Go on,” she said. She lowered the mask. Mirandine took out a small silver flask, unstoppered it, and poured a dark amber liquid into the teapot. As if she were a dowager and serving a cream tea, she poured ceremoniously for everyone at the table.
“The Fleurenze family are having a masquerade tonight. They meant it to be most exclusive, but as they’re the Fleurenzes, and I know the eldest boy, Ermunde, I got tickets. And really, it’s going to be a riot. The Fleurenzes pretend to exclusivity, but they all agree the more the merrier. I am sure they will count it a great success that we’re crashing the party – with you in tow, no less.”
“I am only going under duress – to keep an eye on both of you,” Jone said.
“Nonsense. Ermie expressly said to bring that slender fellow with the gray eyes.”
“My eyes are brown,” Jone said, his voice excessively dry.
“Are they? How extraordinary. I’ll make sure to roast Ermie about that.”
Tesara tried to surreptitiously determine the color of Jone’s eyes without actually looking straight at him, and gave up once she realized it was impossible. “I think it will be great fun,” she said.
“Oh darling girl, it will be better than fun. Everyone will be talking about the mysterious girl in the green mask. You can unleash your special talents upon the world–”
Tesara’s eyes widened before she could help herself.
“And all the men will fall in love with you – and the women too,” Mirandine finished, apparently without noticing.
“Thank you, Mirandine, but I hardly think I’ll take the world or the Fleurenze masquerade by storm.”
“‘You wear your modesty well, darling, but it becomes you not.’”
The line from Shelter Me, Fair Maiden, a scandalous play by a Milias playwright called Oswette, caught Tesara by surprise. She snorted a laugh. Mirandine looked pleased with herself. She raised her teacup in a toast.
“To La Mederos,” she intoned. Patrons at other tables turned to look at them, and Tesara steeled herself to keep from blushing. Jone raised his cup too, with an expression she couldn’t quite interpret – concern? When had Jone become concerned about her? Determinedly, she raised her own cup.
“To the Fleurenzes,” she said, pitching her voice low, and adding her own scandalous quote, “‘For they totter to and fro, knowing not come they or go.’”
Mirandine laughed loud, gathering even more attention. They drank. The laced tea went down harsh and then smoothed out. Tesara coughed and her eyes watered. Mirandine laughed at her, but Tesara noted that her eyes watered too. Not so fast a girl as she wanted the world to believe, Tesara thought. She felt a pinprick of meanness, and forced it down. Mirandine was a friend, and she only had Tesara’s interests at heart.
She began to feel a bit warm and loose. She took another sip. The tea still tasted awful, so she added another lump of sugar, stirred and tried again. Now the brandy went down a bit more subtly. She didn’t cough. The waiter came round with a display of tea cakes and chocolates, and Mirandine pounced, selecting one of each for the table. The aroma of the chocolates, dark and luscious and subtly flavored with lavender and orange, took Tesara by surprise. In an instant she was plunged into a memory so powerful she was momentarily disoriented.
Tesara was in the infirmary at school, her broken hand throbbing in agony. Madam Callier had come to inspect her handiwork, looming over Tesara with the nurse hovering in the background. The headmistress said nothing to her victim, only observing Tesara’s bandaged hand with keen, cruel eyes. With relish, the formidable woman popped a chocolate into her mouth and chewed with great satisfaction, the aroma of chocolate mingling with the smells of the sickroom – vomit, antiseptic, urine. Chocolate dripped out of the corner of Madam’s mouth and she caught it with her finger and then turned away.
To Tesara’s great shame, she had fixated on that thin line of chocolate, and her mouth watered.
“Tesara?” Jone said. He sounded worried.
“Excuse me,” Tesara fumbled. “I need some air.” She got up, almost knocking her chair over in the tight space, and hurried out to the front of the store, trying to keep her gorge from rising. She stood in front of the teashop on the busy Mile, hands over her face, breathing hard, and trying to quell the nausea. Slowly, she regained control and to her embarrassment, noticed the passersby who looked at her curiously and then looked away.
La Mederos indeed, she thought bitterly. She should go home. She should forget about the Fleurenzes, the Scarlantis and the Edmorencys, and the Saint
