“My gods, Eloise. You’re stunning. I don’t know whether to bow or grab you by the throat, push you against the wall, and mark you with my mating scent for the third time today.” My voice is all grit and cinder, and I enjoy the flush that brightens her cheeks.
“Don’t you dare. It took me an hour to get my hair and makeup right. If we are ever going to make it to the festival, you’d better stick to distant compliments.” She winks at me over a wicked smile.
I bow deeply at the waist. “Pity.”
“And likewise.” She curtsies, her eyes raking over my New Stygarde finery. In truth, the style is similar to what it was before for men: a suit of black and silver with a crimson sash appropriate for the season. My war medals decorate the sash, enough gold pins to weigh down the fabric. They predate New Stygarde, but I doubt anyone will have the audacity to pry them off me.
“The plan is we stay for ninety minutes, draw attention by pretending to have a couple’s argument, and then excuse ourselves from the courtyard. You’ll head toward the stables, and I’ll exit out the back toward the cemetery. We’ll meet again at the real festival in Wickham Wood. You’ll bring the rabble beasts,” I say. I plan to watch over her as she rides, in case she runs into any unwelcome guests.
“Tempest has agreed to stay behind and encourage the queen to shut things down once the crowd dissipates around the two-hour mark,” she reminds me.
I hold out my elbow, and she hooks her hand through it. “Then shall we join the party?”
She smiles. “Today, everything changes.”
I lean over and whisper into her ear. “Not everything.” My limitless love for her will never change. But she knows that.
We descend the steps and exit into the courtyard where others, elves and shades alike, have begun to gather. I have to hand it to Eloise and the ladies of Stygarde; this may not be the real festival, but the ambiance is breathtaking. Chandeliers of white candles crisscross the courtyard, flames twinkling like stars above us. Tables, adorned in emerald tablecloths and gold and silver finery, welcome guests, each with a three-tiered stand of rare meats and delicate pastries.
Brahm acknowledges me with a tip of his head from his seat on a throne on the far side of the room. Nevina sees me as well, but she lifts her chin and turns her attention back to the elf in front of her.
The likeness of Thanesia oversees it all, her altar laden with more of the kingdom’s bounty. This sacrifice is nowhere near what is waiting for us in Wickham Wood but is just enough to seem plausible in these difficult times.
We mingle among the crowd as a band begins to play from a balcony above us. The musicians are competent but far from our best, but then, I know few of the people around me. About half are dark elves, judging by their tall, narrow bodies. The other half are composed of mostly younger shades. I wonder if many of them were born into New Stygarde and if their parents are still alive. Do they remember my parents’ reign? Do they understand how it was before and all that we have lost?
So much has changed since before I was taken.
A servant comes by with a tray of dark wine, and I take two, handing one to Eloise.
“Can you see what’s happening up there?” Eloise asks as a commotion near the door sends a rumble of whispers through the room.
I straighten to look over the heads of the other guests. A few elves move aside, and I see Tempest entering, followed by six men wearing the blue colors of Aendor and carrying a massive fish. I hide my laugh behind my fist, coughing into my hand.
“What is it? What’s going on?” Eloise asks again.
I lean closer and whisper in her ear. “Tempest has brought a dundle fish to add to the sacrifice.” We back up a few steps as her entourage makes its way down the center aisle toward the already overflowing altar.
“Oh!” Eloise raises her hand to her nose. “That is possibly the foulest stench that has ever stenched.” She stops breathing. “This is one time I’m happy to be a vampire.”
“Tempest knows how to make sure party guests don’t linger. I’m jealous right now that you don’t have to breathe,” I whisper. The men hoist the offering onto the altar. The swollen belly of the fish partially splits at the force of impact and blood and guts dribble over one end of the stone table. I snicker as the elves in the room start to drift toward the exit.
Tempest swaggers toward us and, through a tight smile, asks, “Did I make an impression?”
Moving only my eyes, I glance toward the king and queen. Brahm is scowling like he’s in pain, but Nevina is actually retching as her maids move her throne farther from the sacrifice.
I suppress my smile but can’t keep the corner of my mouth from twitching. “I’d say so.”
23
Complications
ELOISE
Despite the stench, the festival unfolds as planned. Odette and her people from the north arrive after Tempest. All the women from her villages are dressed in flowing skirts and stretchy tops like ballerinas. They break off, and after Odette consults with the band, they perform a dance for the goddess. I’ve never seen anything like it. The graceful women circle like birds, twisting and floating as only shadows can. But they land hard, their stomps creating their own percussion. Their bodies expand and contract for the goddess’s pleasure. It’s a masterwork in physical worship. It’s transcendent. I’m enchanted.
Tempest sighs through a widening smile and leaves us to seek out and congratulate Odette.
“It’s beautiful,” I say to Damien, placing a hand on my chest.
