Roux-Joubert’s mouth pressed into a tight line.
“Of course,” he said, kissing Zofia’s hand once more. She shuddered against the icy touch. “I do hope to see you again… Baroness.”
Hypnos swept her up in the dance. His body was warm and his brown hands dry and hot beneath hers.
“You look like a marvel,ma chère,” he said.
Other couples moved around them in dizzying spirals. Hypnos maneuvered them to the center of the room, far from the watchful gaze of the matriarch. Zofia moved closer, angling her reticule so he could slip out the original key. She felt his fingers against her wrist, then, just as quickly, they were gone. Hypnos smiled, then whispered in her ear, “I do mean it. You are stunning. Though I did not quite like the look of your friend.”
“He’s not my friend.”
“AmIyour friend?”
Zofia was not sure what to say to that. Hypnos had threatened to imprison them… which did not seem like a thing a friend should do. But he was other things too. Funny. He treated her no differently than anyone else. Zofia looked at his face. She knew that pattern of features: widened eyes, arched eyebrow, forced grin. Hopefulness. Vulnerability, even.
“What would friendship entail?”
“Well, on Wednesdays, we sacrifice a cat to Satan.”
Zofia nearly tripped.
“I’m teasing, Zofia.”
Her cheeks turned hot. “I don’t particularly like jokes.”
Hypnos gave her a spin. “Well, in the future, I’ll be more aware of that. Friends?”
The dance drew to an end. Near the entrance of the staircases, the clocks chimed the eleventh hour. Zofia weighed his words before dipping her chin. “Friends.”
At the conclusion of the dance, bits of the crowd broke off. Many of the invitations to House Kore expired an hour after midnight, and some who wished to leave early began to make their way to the entrance. Zofia stood in the greeting line, scanning the crowd as she waited to say her goodbyes. Somewhere in the crowd, Séverin was plotting the route to the library. Hypnos was sneaking the key back into the office. Tristan, Enrique, and Laila would be waiting for her in the greenhouse. But her mind kept returning to the man who had asked her to dance. Roux-Joubert. His touch reminded her of something… but what?
“Did you enjoy your time with us, Baroness?”
The matriarch stood in front of her, a slightly concerned expression on her face. Zofia startled, fumbling for the right words. She had practiced this exchange, but the floors and the man had thrown her off.
“Yes,” she said stiltedly. “And… and I like your floor.”
The matriarch blinked. “What?”
Oh no. Zofia felt that familiar tightness again… that sensation of reaching for a step on a staircase that wasn’t there. She’d said the wrong thing. She wanted to take it back, but then she remembered Laila’s advice. To perform. To own whatever illusion one cast of themselves. So she straightened her back. As elegantly as she could, she gestured to the floor.
“The logarithmic spiral based on the golden ratio,” she said. “One of nature’s favorite equations.”
“Ah!” The matriarch clapped her hands. “You have a fine eye, Baroness. My late husband imbued everything in our home with meaning. Though it is a shame I could not keep the grounds beyond the greenhouse open… that is truly a sight.”
Zofia felt the barest stab of guilt. It was her fault, after all, that the greenhouse couldn’t be accessed.
“A shame,” Zofia agreed.
“More so for my landscape artist and his colleague, though,” whispered the matriarch. “Pity what happened to them.”
The ebony doors opened. Damp fog rolled in through the entrance, sitting low on the hematite river. Zofia knew she was supposed to move, but she couldn’t. One of the matriarch’s servants leaned in to whisper something in her ear. Zofia felt all the air stolen from her lungs.
She gulped down a breath, the stays of her corset straining. “What?”
The next person in the greeting line tapped their foot. The din of the music played louder. A servant appeared at her elbow.
“What did you say about the landscape artist and his colleague?”
