When Cinn didn’t reply, Julien spun around to find him frozen still, clear panic on his face.
“Look, Darcy and Elliot are over there,” Julien said, even though he hadn’t located them yet.
Scanning the massive space was a challenge, but at last he spotted them—Elliot looking sulky and Darcy in a floor-length emerald-green-silk gown that accentuated her coppery hair, mostly wrestled into an elegant bun.
Like divers swimming for treasure, they crossed the busy ballroom, the ambient murmur of polite chatter underscored by the clink of crystal glasses.
“I told you not to wear heels,” was the first thing out of Julien’s mouth.
“And I’ve told your ego complex again and again, that you don’t control the actions of everyone around you.”
They exchanged cheek kisses.
Elliot lifted champagne glasses for them all from a server’s tray. Cinn downed his entire drink, bubbles be damned, then swiped two more from another tray. Darcy gave Julien a look that said,look after him or die.
Cinn gravitated towards a small stage area, with Julien reluctantly trailing after him. He’d always hated theatrical entertainers channelling motes as cheap party tricks. This one was juggling fireballs that turned into watery ball-shaped whirlpools on every third rotation.Child’s play.YetCinn was enthralled.
Tugging at Cinn’s elbow, Julien guided the two of them over to his father to pay their respects, to ‘extend their best wishes’ like every other guest. Better to get it out of the way early.
His father, sitting on a throne-like chair surrounded by his usual loyal subjects, stood up to greet them both with handshakes. “Jonathan Steele is around here somewhere,” he said to Julien, nodding meaningfully.
Parfait. Julien was sure the director of MEET would love to be personally harassed about his application this evening. Likely, his father had already dropped some ‘subtle’ comments, anyway.
Upon noticing Cinn, Carrie immediately took it upon herself to sweep him away to introduce him to their ‘most important’ guests, many of whom Julien had already caught surveying Cinn with curiosity.
“I’ll stick right by you,” Julien whispered into Cinn’s ear, fully expecting some sort of sarcastic comment back. What he got instead was a quick grateful smile, plastered over a terrified expression. Julien brushed his hand over the small of Cinn’s back in reassurance. Had he forgotten it was Julien’s fault he was there in the first place?
The first guests happened to be Darcy’s parents, the Beaumonts.
“Alexander and Fiona are both completing pioneering work in the medical field,” said Carrie, by way of introduction. “And this is Cinnamon, or Cinn, Saunders.”
Fiona’s eyes—the exact same green as her daughter’s—lit up as she gushed about how much Darcy had spoken about Cinn that day. Cinn relaxed an infinitesimal amount—his shoulders slightly unfurled, and he wasn’t clutching his champagne as if it were a life support any longer.
Just as Alexander finished describing to Cinn how he and Fiona were developing a mote-powered pacemaker, funded by HorizonTech, Julien’s father’s company, Carrie brought over more guests to speak to them, each consortium chair-holders at Auri. These next three were not as tactful, however, and as soon as conversation turned to Cinn’s shadowslipping—their beady eyes raking over him like he was some sortof spectacle—Julien tugged him away, pretending his father needed them elsewhere.
After about an hour of this, a hush descended upon the room.
Viktor Sturmhart had arrived, fashionably late.
All eyes turned to the German man, whose commanding presence overshadowed even his formidable size. Although he’d passed sixty, he’d very few wrinkles to show for it, and only a peppering of grey in his dark hair.Motecraft cosmetics.
A quiet, low whistle. “Who the fuck is that?” asked Cinn.
“Viktor Sturmhart. He basically governs Auri’s consortium, even though it’s supposed to be leaderless. The man thinks he’s God’s gift to the universe and that he deserves to be in charge. He and my father are in each other’s pockets, of course.”
“What’s his actual role meant to be?”
“He’s supposed to manage and support the moteblessed we’ve placed in governing political parties across Europe, and be Auri’s representative on the world stage. As you’d imagine, he relishes the second part of his role.”
As if sensing his name, Sturmhart eyed them from across the room and strode purposefully towards them. Julien shuffled closer to Cinn until their arms touched.
“Julien! And of course, Cinnamon Saunders,” Sturmhart boomed, even though he was standing close enough for his nauseating cologne to assault their nostrils. “When Lucien told me you were attending, it made my day. I trust Eleanor has been taking care of you?”
Julien held back a scoff.
“Yes,” was all Cinn said.
“I look forward to hearing great things about you.” Sturmhart clapped Cinn on the shoulder before striding off to the right—straight to Julien’s father, who was now with Jonathon Steele.
